#in which shirayuki is in the newspaper

[claudeng80]

Dearest Readers, ch. 3

 Dearest readers,

 With the completion of the seven nations summit, another disappointed princess returns to her realm having failed at fixing the interest of either of our most eligible of royals. We don’t imply, of course, that King Izana would set aside his long-standing engagement, despite the inexplicable lack of motion toward a state wedding, but Prince Zen is of age and, so far as we are aware, unencumbered by betrothal. After last year’s debacle with Princess Rona of Tanbarun, we thought he might have been more open to options closer to his age, but there were tears in Princess I——’s eyes as she ascended into her carriage.

 The summit itself resulted in a number of agreements and treaties that should ensure peace and prosperity in the northern half of Fortissia for years to come, but the enumeration of those is beyond the scope of your beloved correspondent’s understanding. Instead I shall predict that, based on the gowns worn at the celebratory ball (from which Prince Zen disappeared early with Lady Kiki and her fiance Lord Hisame) and the decreasing textile tariffs from the southern kingdoms, that this year will bring renewed interest in lace and knotwork. It will be a welcome change from beadwork, which I for one am tired of . . .

Read the rest on AO3

[recurring-polynya]

Does anyone in the world remember Heroes of the Hueco Mundo Invasion – In Love!!, a short and very strange piece of fiction I wrote while high on bad antidepressants because @unohanadaydreams​ told me to? Anyway, I wrote another chapter. I wrote this ages ago and never posted it because I was considering cutting the joke about the bowling shirts in favor of actually having them go bowling eventually. I still haven’t decided, but the bit about the bowling shirts is too good to cut. Why did I write this??? Anyway, it is transcendentally stupid and every single line of it is extremely hilarious to me. I just made a joke about Renji playing the tambourine and remembered this existed, so here you go. Happy Saturday.

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“Are you seeing this?” Ichigo exclaimed.

Rukia sighed, cradling her phone between her shoulder and her ear. “Yeah.”

“First of all, since when does Soul Society have YouTube?”

“I don’t know why you keep calling it that, it’s called SoulTube, and how else would we watch cat videos and skateboard tricks?”

“Since when do you have skateboards? And also, what the junk, Chad and Ishida?”

Rukia sighed as Matsumoto narrated the highlights of Chad and Uryuu’s Shinigami Women’s Association-sponsored date.

“Chad and Uryuu decided to each plan half the date to surprise the other!” Matsumoto was trilling. “Tell me, Uryuu, what did Mr. Tall, Dark and Silent have in store for you?”

“Well, the Karakura Art Museum was doing a tribute to Leonora Carrington, who is apparently one of Chad’s favorite artists. He was clearly nervous about it. I mean, her works are a little avant garde, but he said that he wanted to share something about himself and that he felt I would understand. I was honestly really touched by that. I wasn’t exactly surprised that Chad is into magical realism, we all know that 100 Years of Solitude is his favorite book.”

“Do we?” Ichigo echoed. “Do we all know that, Ishida?”

The camera panned to Chad standing in front of a large painting in which some plague doctors appeared to be spray-painting a flamingo. There was close to a minute of silence, punctuated by a bit of zooming in and out, before Chad rumbled “This one is my favorite.”

“For the second half of the date, Uryuu took a bit of a different tack!” Matsumoto explained.

Uryuu was back on camera again. “I mean, I tried to think of things Chad likes. I’m kinda boring, and I felt bad for making him do this. I know I went for the really obvious thing.”

The video switched to the interior of a kitten cafe. Chad was covered in kittens. There were two on his head, one on each shoulder, and at least seven cradled in his massive arms. His face was just one massive grin. It cut over to Uryuu, a single, tiny kitten cradled in the crook of his arm, sipping at a cup of tea, gazing at Chad mistily.

“Awwwww,” Rukia murmured. It was the sixth time she had watched this. It was the sixth time she had involuntarily murmured ‘awwwww’ at this part.

“I am so mad at him,” Ichigo grouched. “I thought Ishida would screw this up royally. I mean, we all knew Chad would do a good job, but look at this! How am I supposed to take Inoue on a date after this?! Why did I agree to this?!”

“Because you were high on painkillers,” Rukia pointed out for the sixth time, as, on her computer screen, Chad and Uryuu fed each other bites of pastry. “What are you all nervous about anyway? Orihime is the kindest person in existence and she thinks the world of you. Aside from accidentally stabbing her-- which, sometimes you do accidentally stab people, so try not to-- there’s really no way to mess this up. Besides, technically, didn’t she ask you out?”

Ichigo let out a big huff, which Rukia assumed was at her, and not at Hisagi’s surreptitious, long-range zoom shot of Uryuu and Chad having a very chaste good-night peck on the lips.

“Askin’ a girl out is very hard, Rukia, and I’ve got this opportunity, and I don’t wanna blow it! I know that Orihime will like anything, and that’s why it’s so hard to figure out the thing that will actually really make her happy!”

“You. She wants to go on a date with you, dude.”

“I mean, would she be impressed if I wore a suit? Or would I just look like a mortician? Maybe she’s into morticians. Should I ask my dad if I can borrow his leather jacket? I mean, it’s super cool, but it’s also my dad’s, so it comes with terrible vibes.”

“She will like whatever you are wearing because she likes you. She has sent me no less than 18 text messages on this topic.”

“And Nanao and Hisagi definitely do not know how human money works, they gave us way too much. Do you think I should take her someplace really upscale? I feel like that’s a dangerous move on my part.”

“You could honestly just walk around with her. She likes you disgustingly much.”

“Is there some ancient disgraced shinigami sealed in a cave we could… y’know… loosen the bindings on…? Orihime loves sealin’ up an undead evil.”

“Dude, you just said this was a big opportunity for you, and b) that’s what we’re doing next week so I can get out of my date.”

Ichigo snorted. “C’mon, you have it so easy. I wish I could go on a date with Renji.”

“Fine. Let’s swap then, and you can.”

“Nooooooooo, because then Orihime would like you better than me, I don’t want that! And besides, that’s not really what I meant.”

“What did you mean?” Rukia asked, her voice dropping down into Sode no Shirayuki territory.

“You guys go on dates all the time, even if you don’t call it that. Keigo was really confused when he found out you two weren’t married.”

“Keigo gets confused by vending machines. And I just take Renji to noble crap because Brother says he is ‘an acceptable escort’ and he’s really good at being tall and making growly faces at gross people who would otherwise be hitting on me.”

“You take him to noble stuff? I didn’t know you took him to noble stuff.”

“I mean, we go drinking, too, but everyone goes drinking, that’s not a date.”

“Sure, drinking in a large group is not a date.”

“It is also not a date to go drinking with just one other person. Sometimes you want to hear what the other person has to say, you know, or you just want to offload about your day with someone who understands you really well!”

“To be honest, Rukia, I was specifically referring to the time we went to karaoke and you two sang ‘The Chain’ by Fleetwood Mac together and maybe also the time we went bowling and you guys had matching shirts, but now that I have further information, I think he might actually be your boyfriend.”

“I sound exactly like Stevie Nicks when I sing!” Rukia protested. “And Brother bought us those shirts. He has one, too.” She sucked her teeth for a moment. “I’m pretty sure if he were my boyfriend, that would have required us to kiss at some point.”

“Oh.” There was a long silence at the other end of the line. “D’you want to? Kiss him, I mean.”

Rukia scratched her head, and backed up to the part where Chad was covered in kittens again. “I dunno. Do you want to kiss Orihime?”

“I kinda do, Rukia. Have you met her?”

“Fair. You should wear a suit and also sunglasses. Wear a tie, but loosen it a bunch and maybe halfway through the date, take it off and stick it in your pocket. Bring flowers. Lounge against a doorway and occasionally stare off into the middle distance before you say something. She’ll flip her shit. I promise.”

“Thanks, Rukia! You’re the best!”

“I’m not,” Rukia grumbled, squinting at the screen, trying to figure out who had initiated the Chad - Uryuu kiss.

“Renji’s pretty hot. I don’t judge you for wanting to kiss him.”

“I-- !” Rukia protested, then closed her mouth. “Thanks, Ichigo.”

“This could be a big opportunity for you, too, y’know.”

“Maybe,” Rukia agreed, and started typing “eye makeup tutorial not look like clown” into the SoulTube search bar.

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Renji frowned at the bill of damages in front of him. Apparently, Harribel was in charge of Hueco Mundo now, and she had discovered paperwork. He was supposed to confirm all of the things that he, personally, had destroyed. He didn’t think he should be charged for destroying Rudabone’s skeletons, since the guy just made more of them. Also, 73 Menos Grande seemed excessive. He wondered if Queen Harribel was trying to have one over on them.

“Lieutenant Abarai,” Captain Kuchiki intoned. “I have seen the SoulTube video.”

Renji jumped a foot in the air. “Aw, jeez, Captain, you almost gave me a heart attack!” he gasped. “The one where me and Rikichi do sweet skateboard jumps? Or the one where Hisagi sings ‘Ship to Wreck’ and I play backup on the tambourine?”

His captain glared at him. “The one where the ryouka boys go on a romantic outing."

“Oh,” Renji replied. “Captain, I know what you’re thinking.”

“Do you?” Byakuya intoned, his voice dripping with skepticism.

“And I think a cat cafe could really take off in Soul Society, it would be a great investment opportunity! You should move quick, though, while this video is still so popular.”

“What I was referring to, Abarai,” Byakuya growled, “is that you are scheduled to take my beloved sister on a similar such outing, no?”

“Oh,” Renji said again. “Yeah, I guess.”

“You guess?”

Renji hunched a little. “It’s not a big deal, sir. Hisagi’s really been blowing it all outta proportion. It’s just a cute thing for the newspaper, like the time they printed your recipe for Ambassador Seaweed taiyaki, remember that? You got dressed up in a little apron and hat and stuff and then you got all that fan mail?”

“This is not like that at all, Abarai,” Byakuya informed him. “I knew it would be thus. I shall call Lieutenant Hisagi and tell him to call this wretched exercise off immediately.”

“Uh… why, sir?” Renji asked, his eyes wide.

“You are not taking this seriously, Lieutenant. My sister is the most beautiful and charming woman in Soul Society, and I will not have her affections treated as a publicity stunt.”

“You underestimate me, sir!” Renji barked. “No one has more respect and sincere affection for your sister than me! I swear on my sword, I will show her A Real Good Time!”

Byakuya scrutinized his lieutenant. “You will select an activity that will be both surprising, yet enjoyable to her?”

“Yes, sir!”

“You will compliment her clothes and hairstyle, even if she insists on wearing those horrific Living World combat boots she owns?”

“For sure, sir!” Renji replied. He was a great fan of the combat boots.

“You will return her home by 9pm?”

“That’s a little early, sir, and also, there’s a nonlinear time gap between…”

Byakuya narrowed his eyes. Renji’s numerous Senbonzakura scars were starting to itch.

“No later than 8:45, sir.”

Byakuya nodded. “I am going to trust you on this, Lieutenant, but I shall be waiting up with ice cream and hot fudge, should you disappoint my sister.”

“I thought you didn’t like sweet things,” Renji frowned.

“I make allowances where my sister’s heart is at stake.”

“Well, I’m gonna do my best, sir, and I know her pretty well, so I don’t think you’ll need it.” It occurred to Renji that over the years, Byakuya had turned out to be a pretty decent brother, after all, but he didn’t think it would be particularly helpful to point that out. “Uh, sir?”

“Yes, Abarai?”

“You got any policies on good-night kisses?”

“If I am shown a particularly nice time, I allow myself to be kissed at the end of a date.”

Renji blinked. “I meant, uh, vis-a-vis Rukia.”

“Ah.” Byakuya contemplated this for a moment. “Obviously, your own preferences carry some weight, but my sister is quite a catch. If Rukia wishes to kiss you, I think you should let her.”

Renji nodded curtly. “Will do, sir!”

[sabraeal]

Seven Swipes for Shirayuki, Chapter 2

Prologue | Chapter 1

Obiyukiweek 2020, Day 1: Fair Play Never attack an unarmed foe. Never charge an unhorsed opponent. Never attack from behind. Avoid cheating. Avoid torture.

“You don’t have to go.”

Newspaper crumples beneath her hands, but the smell of ink and wood pulp steadies her, keeps her on her feet instead of-- of going right over there and giving him a piece of her mind the way her father taught her. Shirayuki braces herself against the island, willing her feet to stay put, to stay rooted right on the tile. Sure, she’ll feel good when she does it, righteous anger filling her right to brim, but once that’s gone, all she’ll have left is--

Is regret. No, not that, never that, but she knows from experience: anger can keep you going, but it hollows you out when it’s done, and she’s just...tired of that. She’s cried her tears over this; she won’t waste more on a situation that can’t be changed.

With a steeling breath, she lays the paper flat again, the chill of the marble seeping through the print. She grabs a dish from the pile, wrapping it so tight it has hospital corners before stacking it in the box. Another inhale, another dish, over and over again. She has to keep her hands busy, otherwise she’ll have to talk, and if she talks--

Well, like she said; she’s done with crying.

“Shirayuki--”

“I know,” she manages, finally. “But I should.”

“No.”

Obi’s over by the oven, but she can feel him stiffen, shoulders hunched and hackles raised. He doesn’t turn, doesn’t look, but his chin tilts just so and she knows, she knows he’s aware of every body in this room.

“No, Shirayuki...” Zen sighs, dragging runnels through the shaggy mop of his hair. “I didn’t mean-- it’s just-- it’s not fair that not only am I...” He bites his lip, thankfully stopping that train of thought before it starts. “You shouldn’t have to lose your home on top of...everything else.”

Her gaze fixes on Obi’s back, on the way the yoke of his shirt stretches tight against the width of his shoulders, taunt over the tank beneath like skin over bone. “You’re right. It’s not.”

“Then...stay.” His voice is so soft, so earnest, she wants to believe in it, in him. That if she only sat down, if they only talked, they could find some way out of this whole mess. “There’s no reason you can’t. We’ve always been friends.”

But that’s the problem, isn’t it? They’ve had six years and yet, yet--

They’ve never had the talks that matter. She’s not sure they ever knew how.

“And we’ll always be friends. It’s just...” So many words vie to be the ones that fall from her lips, but she carefully picks, “It’s better that I’m not here.”

It’s only half a sentence, but she’s too kind to say the rest: to watch you be happy with your model wife. Instead it just sits on her tongue, searingly bitter before she swallows it down.

He’ll never hear them, not from her, which for him is just as good as not knowing. Zen’s never been able to hear what she won’t speak out loud. Not that she’s any better. Ah, that’s probably why they made it this far in the first place.

“That’s not true,” he says, “this is where you belong, even if we’re not--” his breath hitches-- “listen, it’s not like it would be weird for me to have a physician on call. Plenty of people do.”

That pulls her up short. Zen makes it so easy to forget that he isn’t just some-- some normal guy she knows, someone moderately wealthy, whose family has a house with too many guest rooms and who got a car for his sixteenth birthday. But sometimes--

Sometimes he says things like this, and she remembers the number of zeroes in a Forbes article. He’s literally almost too rich to function.

A box clangs next to her on the island, Obi’s knuckles blanched where he holds it. “Plenty of people also pay to keep mistresses on call too,” he says, so casual, “I wonder which one they’ll think you are, Miss?”

Zen cheeks flush so red he might as well have been slapped. “What do you mean by--?”

“Obi,” she manages, voice strained. “Don’t you think you should...?”

She nods to the box. He takes a breath, eyes narrowing to an angry slant.

“Right,” he breathes, hefting it into his arms. “This is all packed up. I should take it out to the car.”

Her eyes catch his, holding his gaze meaningfully. “I think that might be best.”

“Yeah, well.” He shifts the box, careful not to look at either of them. “Call me if you need me.”

Zen loiters in the doorway, and for a hot minute, she’s convinced Obi will barrel right through him, that he’ll take those shoulders of his and knock Zen to the floor.

But he doesn’t. The way Obi moves has only ever had a passing acquaintance with the known laws of physics, and now is no different. The math says there’s no way two men of their dimensions could fit in a single doorway and not touch, but Obi manages it without even looking, box and bodyguard both.

Zen sucks in a breath like he’s been hit, air hissing through his teeth as he pointedly does not look at the place Obi is not.

“I’m sorry it ended up like this,” he says after the wound in the room stops bleeding. “You have to know that I didn’t...”

Have a choice. That’s what he wants to say, what he always says when his brother’s machinations scuttle their plans. But that’s not true here. There was a choice, a clear one.

And he chose Izana over her. She can’t even say she’s surprised. She can’t even say she blames him.

“Garrack told me you quit your job at the hospital,” he says, so soft. “You don’t have to do that. Not because of me.”

“It’s not.” She stacks another dish in her box. “It just made the decision easier.”

“Shirayuki...” His foot hovers, but still, he won’t cross into the room. “Where are you even going to go?”

Shirayuki bites her lip, folding cardboard flaps. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

“Of course I do!” he snaps, pushing his hair back. “Just because I had to-- to do this doesn’t mean I don’t care about you.”

It does. Or at least it should. It would if he was anyone else; if he was just some guy she met in a medical library, trying to hide from her boss. Someone who had enough money to ruin a Ralph Lauren polo without batting an eye, but not--

Not someone who owned a hospital outright. Not someone who could split his life into before my trust fund matured and after. The guy she thought she’d met all those years ago.

But he’s not that, he’s-- this. With all the baggage and responsibilities that come with it. Including the model fiancée.

“I want to be with you,” he manages, finally, every word pulled painfully from his lips. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

Her fingers clench on the box, cardboard denting under her grip. It’s right there, trapped behind her teeth, why didn’t you--?

But that’s not-- not fair to ask. Not when she knows how heavy this weighed on him, how much he must have tried to avoid it--

“Shirayuki.” His breath hitches in his chest. “You know I didn’t mean for this to happen, not this way. I thought...” His fist thumps gently on the frame. “I would never humiliate you, not on purpose.”

“I...” Her mouth works, even if her throat won’t, even if all she can manage is a croaking, “I know.”

“Do you?” His voice breaks, caught in his chest, and it’s only her grip on this box that stops her from going to him, that stops her from telling him it’s all right.

It’s not all right. But that doesn’t mean it’s his fault. Not entirely. “Zen...”

“Shirayuki, you know that I...”

She turns to him then, box in hand, and his knuckles are white where they clench the jamb. His gaze is fixed to the floor, to the tile she broke that first night she moved in, when the bottle hit the floor after he-- he--

(”There’s champagne in the fridge,” she says, blinking as she crouches among the shelves. “Did you order this?”

There’s a laugh in his voice when Zen answers, “No.” He shuffles around behind her, breath hot on her ear, and oh, he’s just-- this is very close-- “But there’s a note.”

“Oh!” she squeaks, staring at his hand as it snakes over her shoulder, gently tugging the embossed card off the bottle. “Then who--?”

“My brother.” The humor’s leached from his voice now, lifeless and annoyed. “He says he hopes you are not disappointed by the humble dimensions of your apartment.”

She blinks, sitting back on her heels. The bottle sits heavy in her hand, so wide and awkward. “Humble? This is almost as big as my grandparents’ place. Obi and I could go whole days without meeting, if we tried.”

Zen shrugs, a twitch of his shoulders. “I asked for a bigger one.”

To ask why would only invite madness. The kitchen here might be larger than her old apartment, but anything less than a three-floor penthouse is pauperish to this crowd.

“Come on.” Zen holds out a hand, smile wide. “Let’s at least enjoy the rare fruits of my brother’s kingly generosity.”

She giggles, letting him pull her to her feet, but it catches in her throat as they pause. He’s so close, only a single tile separating them.

His eyes flicker up, meeting hers, and ah, she’s seen that before, the barely-banked heat in his eyes. Her heart flutters against its cage, and she doesn’t know whether her instincts are telling her flight or fight, not when he tugs her in, and she, inexorably, comes.

Shirayuki has never been one for kissing-- it’s messy, for one, and she never knows where to put her nose-- but with Zen it’s simple, it’s uncomplicated. He holds her, one arm banding around her shoulders, pulling her close to the narrow shape of his body. He feels like his kiss, warm and delicate, the bare tracery of his ribs rising up against her fingers.

They part, a scant breath between them, and she can see how his hooded eyes watch her, feel how his heart pounds beneath the cotton of his button-down. “Shirayuki, I...”

He leans in again, lips brushing hers, but it’s different this time, like he’s-- he’s testing her.

His hands curl around her shoulders as he pulls away, holding her fast. The heat still lingers in his eyes, but it’s not just that which darkens them, oh no, but something heavier, something more meaningful.

“Shirayuki.” He takes a deep breath, not a hint of humor in him. “I lo--”

With a clink, a crack and a fizz, liquid seeps into her socks, and-- “Oh!” she yelps, springing back. “The champagne!”

The bottle, so sturdy in her hand, is now in a half dozen pieces on the floor, fizzy drink everywhere and only fit for a paper towel.

“I hope that wasn’t expensive,” she breathes, hands clapped to her face.

Zen laughs lowly. “Oh, it was. But not as expensive as that.”

Her gaze drops, fixing to the large crack in the terracotta tile. “Ohh,” she moans, traipsing over to the sink, grabbing a sheaf of towels. “You are not getting your deposit back on this place.”

“It’s fine,” he mutters, cheeks flushed, “I own it, after all.”)

Zen’s lips seal around his words, just as they always did, just like they always would. That’s the thing, isn’t it? He could never bring himself to say it. And she--

Well, she’d only managed the once.

“I guess that’s it for this box,” she says brightly, tucking it firm against her chest. “I should-- I should bring this down to the truck.”

“R-right.” He shuffles in the doorway, and when he situates himself, he’s just outside, hovering in the hallway.

“Great.” She walks toward him, stilted, as if she’s barefoot and the carpet is gravel, like every step hurts, and--

Well, it does. She draws level with him in the door, and even though she can feel every molecule of air between them, his body is too far out of her ambit to reach.

“What are you going to do?” he asks, too soft, his foot edging too close. “Where are you going to live?”

“Zen...” She steels herself, lifting her gaze to meet his. “You don’t need to worry about it.”

His inhale is sharp, a stab. “Shirayuki, I couldn’t live with myself if you...if I...”

His words flounder in the air between them, as awkward and foreign as fish out of water. She-- she doesn’t know what worst case scenario his mind conjures, what imagined fault he’s ready to nobly fall upon, and in the end-- she doesn’t want to.

If he can’t walk away from her, she’ll have to walk away from him. No surprise; the Wisterias have always let the hardest tasks fall to her.

“Well then,” she breathes, heart beating hard in her chest, “it’s a good thing you brother already took care of all that.”

(”You’ll forgive him, won’t you?” There’s no concern in his voice, no curiosity, just a polite inquiry to bring the conversation to where he wants it. Izana Wisteria is as sleek as his leather interior, and twice as slippery. “It was, after all, a mistake. Inexperience makes fools of us all.”

Funny how acceptable that explanation is when it’s her that’s been made ridiculous. He hadn’t been so gracious about Laxdo ward all those years ago.

“You don’t have to pretend you care,” she informs him, fingers clenched around her phone. It’s been buzzing nonstop for the last mile; even with a whole morning spent, Yuzuri still hasn’t run out of ways to ruin Zen’s life. It’d be sweet, if she wasn’t so-- so--

Empty.

“No,” Izana agrees, crossing his legs at the knee. It’s a full-size limo, but those legs leave her crushed in the corner, no room unless she wants to risk playing footsie with the man who owns half of LA. “I suppose I don’t. Not with you.” The corner of his mouth twitches, and he turns away, covering it with a hand. “Which must be why I do.”

There’s nothing she can say to that. Ah, what she wouldn’t give for Obi to be here, for him to remind her of all the reasons she’s very angry.

“Don’t think this is some...condolence ,” he tells her, voice muted by the vacuum of leather and carpeting. “I had planned to ask you even before this all was so...certain.”

“A severance package?” she offers waspishly, if only because she knows he likes the sting. His teeth peek out from behind his lips; as much of a smile she has ever seen from him.

“Yes, not that at all.” His mouth curves, amused. “I do nothing out of pity, Shirayuki, least of all business. I planned long ago to try to woo you over to my employ, this only...accelerated the timetable.”

“I see,” she hums, and for once, she believes him, if only because Izana Wisteria has no more reason to lie to her. Not when he’s gotten what he wanted all along.

“Of course,” he continues, waving an absent hand, “I thought this would be in addition to your duties at the hospital.” He fixes her with a raised brow. “I do know how much you value your independence.”

She’s known Izana for too long, for she hears exactly what he means to say: or at least the illusion of it.

“I will admit, however,” he drawls, “that I do find this a more convenient state of affairs.”

Her hands clench in her lap, the soft jersey of her skirt slick against her palms. “How nice that everything worked out for you, then.”

His brow cants, wryly. “I cannot help but point out, everything is working out for you as well.”

“F-funny,” she manages, throat aching with every word, “it doesn’t really feel like it right now.”

Her fingers blur, lost in the pastel flowers, until it’s almost like one of those paintings at the MFA, all blotchy colors to make up a bigger picture. Maybe this would all come into focus too, if she wasn’t so close to it.

“No.” The word is too soft for Izana, too human. “I don’t imagine it would.”

“Don’t.” The word bursts out of her before she can stop it, but still, still-- she stands behind it. “Don’t pretend you feel sorry.”

“I don’t,” he assures her. “This was how it was meant to be. However...” he hesitates, the tip of his tongue coming out to wet his lips, “...I can regret that my brother’s illusion didn’t last longer.”

He clears his throat, and she could swear that there’s the barest blur of pink on his cheeks as he says, “In any case, the contract would stipulate that you could retain your current staff, if that sort of arrangement would please you.”

She blinks. “My staff?”

“Your bodyguard,” he clarifies, head rolling along its axis to meet her gaze. “What was his name...? Obi.”

“O-oh.” She hadn’t even thought-- she had barely even remembered that he was Zen’s, not just another security detail hired on by the hospital, not just there, just for her. But now she’s reminded, and--

And she thinks of that giant penthouse, absurd for just the two of them, only now with one less tenant. Of sitting in her office with only the white noise of the vents. Of trying to live around the silence of his absence, one day at a time.

“Yes.” She’s too breathless, too eager. “I would. I mean, if he agrees to come with me.”

Izana’s lips curve into a bemused smirk. “I doubt that will be a problem.”

She’s half-tempted to ask him what he means by that, but he glances up, pinning her with a look that she’d see on barn cats that had caught themselves a good vole for dinner. “As for my brother...I’ll leave informing him of this new arrangement to your discretion.”

“Ah.” The sound huffs out her, a palpable hit. “I see. That’s...” she swallows, throat thick, “one way to pass the buck, I suppose.”

He laughs, quick and sharp; it startles her. “Isn’t it?” The floor beneath them rolls to a stop. “Ah, it seems we’ve arrived.”

A quick glance over her shoulder confirms: that’s the front of her apartment building, doorman already hurrying over to help with the limo door. “Oh, we have.”

The door opens, the din of the outside world rushing in. Tires crunch on the pavement, birds chirp distantly from overhangs; somewhere down the street someone must take a left from the right lane, the protests of other motorists bleat angrily in response. Shirayuki slides her feet around the corner of the bench, one foot hanging out, just about to brush the curb--

And she hesitates. Her gaze fixes where the limo kisses the sidewalk, and this-- this is the moment, the end of the rabbit hole. This is where Alice steps out of Wonderland.

“I’ll have the contract sent over in the morning.”

Shirayuki jolts, sole scraping the sidewalk as she turns, wide-eyed. His gaze is fixed to her, oddly intent. “It’s been a pleasure doing business with you, Dr. Lyon.” His mouth twitches toward a smile. “I’m quite looking forward to this arrangement.”

Her hands fist in her lap, curling around the film of her skirt. Oh, how foolish she was to think that this was an end, that even something like this could possibly be her exit from this world. This isn’t where Alice ends her adventure-- oh no, this is where she walks through the looking glass.

“Thank you,” she manages, smoothing her palms against her thighs. “And, ah...congratulations.”

Izana Wisteria is known to smirk, known to grin, known to even, at times, leer. But now, now--

He smiles. Ear-to-ear, tooth-baring, and pleased.

Maybe if he did that more often, she might be able to forgive him for all this. Eventually.

She slides along the leather, stone solid beneath the sole of her flat as she moves to leave, but she catches a glimpse of black and white lingering against a palm tree. Even from the corner of her eyes, she knows him, knows that casual lean and languid tilt of the head.

“One more thing,” she hears herself say.

Izana raises a brow. “Go on.”

His sunglasses might be mirrored, but she knows his gaze meets hers, even this far away. “Obi gets a raise.”)

Her fingers tremble, stilled only by where she presses them against the box’s sides, but it does nothing for the jellied state of her knees, for the way she feels like she might lose her entire lunch if she does anything more than just stand here and breathe.

In. Out. This is-- fine. It’ll be fine. The hurt is only momentary. What did Opa always say? What doesn’t kill you keeps you moving.

Right, she just has to-- do that. Keep moving. Putting one foot in front of the other until all this is just a reflection in the rearview. She’s done it before, she can do it again.

It’s only-- she thought she was done with this, with losing everything.

Her feet guide her around the corner, and--

And Obi lazes between the bank of elevators, box tucked under his arm and head tilted back, relaxed. Starched cotton stretches across his chest, rucked up at his elbows. Even like this, even rumpled and at rest, eyes closed, she knows he’s aware of her, of how many steps it would be to put himself between her and any potential danger.

Shirayuki stops, shoes scuffing to a standstill. One eye slits open, gold peeping through a net of black.

“Good?” he asks, mouth tense at the corners. Behind him, the elevator creeps up the shaft, its whirring muffled by the walls. Still, she can see the numbers tick up behind him, an old timey affectation for a building this new, 7...8...9...

“Yeah.” Her fingers clench. The box’s corners are cardboard, but they cut into her knuckles still. “Great. Just...fine.”

Both eyes open now, narrow brows raising straight to the bristle of his hairline, and ah, she should know better than to put on her brave face when he’s so practiced at looking straight past it.

“It’s only...do you think we could...?” She hesitates, hugging the box closer to her chest. “Maybe we should ask the movers to get the rest.”

The doors ding, parting, and he sticks out a hand to hold it. “Sure thing, Miss.”

She only realizes she’s been holding a breath when she lets it go, practically deflating as she steps into the car. “Good. Great.”

“They’re already on their way.”

Her head jerks up, twisting to stare at him, and he-- he just smiles, a soft curl at the corner of his lips before he sets a knuckle on the L button.

Shirayuki breathes, staring down at the box in her arms. Maybe she hasn’t lost everything this time.

[nalufever]

Opportunity

Chapter Two of The Night Shift, a collaborative work between myself and @hidetheremote

AnS fandom, Obi x Shirayuki, hopelessly late posting for ‘Trope Madness’ 

One of Obi's faults is that he's gallant, always wanting to help those less fortunate - and some people (Torou) take advantage of his foolish, soft heart. Good thing Shirayuki is always in Obi's corner.

Read Chapter One HERE

Fifteen years ago…..

Garbage whipped by a bitter wind skittered past a cold and shaking Obi. Winter had hit hard, the snow was piling up fast. If he’d had free time and the urge he’d have made a snowman - but he didn’t and couldn’t waste energy on such a frivolous activity. Obi needed to find shelter and he was running out of time.

Tall for his age and thin, most people assumed he was an adult and left him to his own devices. Obi was barely able to feed himself, let alone clothe himself. His jacket was half as old as he was - and badly patched. It didn’t keep him warm from the snow that threatened to freeze his bones as he scrounged for work. Not wanting to burden his few friends with overstaying his welcome, Obi refused to take advantage. He moved from friend's house to friend's house, keeping his secrets close to his chest.

A newspaper carried by the strong wind hit him in the chest with a wet thump, startling Obi into reflexively grabbing it. An article jumped out at Obi, one that mentioned a food kitchen looking for volunteers. It was close - and that was the best news he'd had all day.

The first person to greet Obi was a short but bouncy, red-headed sprite of a girl. “Hi! I’m Shirayuki, what’s your name?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Manners are very important!”

The young girl pouted and Obi couldn’t help but tease. “On second thought, you’re right. Manners are what separate humans from animals, Miss. Please accept my apologies for my lack of priorities. My name is Obi.”

Shirayuki smiled and Obi’s worries and fears started fading. He’d have a hot meal and maybe start to rebuild his life; this girl was beaming at him so brightly he felt invincible - his guiding star had to be on the rise. Obi accepted a tray from the girl and portions of everything available, waving goodbye to the little Miss and then searching for a good spot to sit and eat.

In the far corner away from the door (which every time it opened sent more cold snow and air swirling into the room), Obi sat with his back to the wall at a table with another girl of roughly his own age - also with her back to the wall. Intent on feeding himself, Obi tore open the bun and slathered butter on it, ripping a big portion off with his first bite. He chewed and did his best to keep his appreciative moans and smacking lips to a minimum.

“Oi! Keep it down!”

“Sorry-not-sorry.” Obi shoved a giant spoonful of stew into his mouth and turned his head to look with suspicion at his table mate. “Mrff sppr anfry.”

“Gross. You always talk with your mouth full?”

Obi swallowed and sighed at the girl. “I’m super hungry.”

“Nice to meet you, ‘super hungry,’ I’m Torou.” The girl - Torou - flicked her long brown hair over her shoulder and batted her matching brown eyes at Obi coquettishly. “First time in a place like this?”

“Is it that obvious?” Obi sat more upright and pretended to not be guarding his food. “I’ve been doing alright for the most part. I don’t like to have to accept help, but I-I’m having a hard time.”

“We all are, every person here has it tough.” Torou pulled out another bun from her pocket and a couple more packets of butter, pushing them at the thin but cute teen. “What about a real name?”

“Ugh, yeah - sorry. You can call me Nanaki.” Obi crammed the rest of his bun into his mouth, grabbing the offered bread to shove it into a pocket for later. He chewed and swallowed. “Thanks, Torou, I haven’t eaten since…I’m not sure.”

“I could tell.” She giggled, twirling strands of her hair around one finger, leaning closer. “Well, maybe we can help each other.”

“You got more food in your pockets? Don’t you want to eat that?”

“Silly boy, I’m talking about taking opportunities and turning them into cash.”

><><><><><

Present day….

Obi checked his phone and again Torou had texted him, begging for one more chance. Enough was enough. He’d done lots of stupid things when he’d been young and homeless - and now Obi was poised to finally have a date with Shirayuki. There was no way in hell he wanted to screw his chances.

He sighed, about to shut off his phone, but it chimed - this time a phone call from Torou. Voice pitched low and aggravated, Obi growled, “What do you want?” The hallway was too full of distractions so Obi sped to the stairwell and slumped against the far wall.

“I still want what I was asking from you at the Greenhouse.” She was clearly amused. “I’m gonna keep working on you until you cave. One little, tiny favour is all I ask - you could do it in your sleep!”

“Maybe fifteen years ago, but I’ve changed - and I thought you had too.”

“What’s that old saying? A leopard doesn’t change its spots?” Torou’s laugh was high and shrill. “I’ve shed some of my spots - but there’s one big one that just won’t budge. Tomi won’t let me escape so easily.”

“Tomi, still?” Ire and disgust coloured Obi’s tone.

“Don’t say it like that, I gave up most of that when he got sent away.” Torou’s voice got thin and small, in direct contrast to how she’d laughed only seconds ago. “I wouldn’t ask if I had any other choice.”

“Ugh… Dammit.”

“I knew I could count on you.”

“I’m not saying yes, but it looks like I can’t say no.” Obi rubbed his forehead. “My shift is pretty well over. Where are you?”

“I’ll text you the address. And Obi...don't end up like me.”

Obi heard Torou sniff and end the connection. Stomach roiling with old fears, new doubts and a fair amount of anger for Tomi, Obi shoved his phone into his pocket and made tracks for the parking lot.

><><><><><

“Pssst!” Torou yanked Obi’s arm as he walked past where she’d been lurking. “Come here often?”

Obi grimaced, turning to face Torou as she started giggling. He growled, “I didn’t come here for my health or any of your lame jokes. Why don’t you come with me and we can discuss your problems in my car? It’s too cold out in the open.”

“Didn’t know you wanted to get cozy.” Torou batted her eyelashes and licked her lips. “Giving up on Shirayuki? ‘Bout time.” She held onto his shoulders, almost leaning against him.

“As if. Your antics leave me even colder than the weather.” Obi shrugged away from Torou.

“Spoilsport.”

“Yeah, well -”

Torou’s phone chirped and she shushed Obi to look at the message she’d been sent. The blood drained from her face and she gasped, shivering, absently rubbing her gut. All her previous flirtatiousness behaviour died. “The job is a go - right now.”

Obi watched Torou shrink in on herself. As much as he didn’t want to assist her - he felt obligated. He’d never seen her so distraught before, not even when she’d been threatened with juvie. “And never again.”

“Sure, sure.” Torou pulled herself together, turning back into a capable thief in the space of a heartbeat. “Joint’s been cased thorough, I need you to get me inside, my talent will crack open the safe.”

“Fine, I open the door and leave.”

“Not so fast, two heads are better than one, right? I could use an extra set of eyes and ears - just in case.”

“Sounds like it hasn’t been cased proper.” Obi folded his arms and glared. “You need me to help search for the safe, don’t you?”

“Tomi stops digging once he sees what he wants.” Torou shrugged, jamming her hands into her pockets. “Especially if he can send someone else to do the real work.”

“Fucking unbelievable.”

“I promise, never again.” Torou gave a subtle head nod to the garish green house on the corner. “C’mon, time’s a wasting!”

><><><><><

It was regretfully easy for Obi to bypass the electronic locks on the back patio door; fifteen years hiatus on his break and enter skills hadn’t been enough to set any rust on them. Dammit. One more careful motion and the physical lock popped open. Obi slid the door open and motioned to Torou. “Hurry.”

“Don’t get your panties in a knot.” She blew on her gloved fingers. “We both search - upstairs first - there’s only three bedrooms on that floor. Behind big ugly paintings first and closets second.”

“Tell me something I don’t already know.”

“You’re cute when you’re angry.” Torou blew Obi a kiss before tiptoeing down the hall and running up the stairs, knowing her unwilling partner would soon follow once he explored the main floor. His habits were part of his charm.

Obi scowled as he stalked through the house, finding nothing out of the ordinary - it was well maintained and decorated nicely - if a bit old-fashioned. He shuddered - lots of big floral patterns and an excessive amount of plaid where they’d run out of room for roses. There was a wood burning fireplace too - currently unused - flanked by an antique set of wrought iron tools.

Obi met Torou leaving the bedroom closest to the stairs; she shook her head. “A kid’s room. It’s gotta be the second or the master bedroom.”

“You take the master then, most likely it’s not the second - but I’ll check it out.”

“Okay.” Torou gave Obi a mock salute. “You haven’t missed a trick even after all these years.”

“But I’d like to,” he muttered, “forget all about this and the dumb stuff you pulled me into.”

“If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.” Torou taunted Obi with a wink and another blown kiss.

“That’s only if Tomi didn't steal them first.” Obi rubbed his forehead and walked towards the second bedroom, slipping inside. Nothing on these walls except more giant, ugly, cabbage roses on the wallpaper. Ugh! So old-fashioned. Was this the house of a grandma from the 1950’s? The closet door was in contrast overly new looking - and the right size for a custom walk-in. Could be the safe was here instead of in the master.

Only one way to find out - Obi drew open the closet door and did his best to staunch a horrified gasp. No safe, but lots and lots of adult...gear. Whips, chains, what had to be porn magazines, several squirt bottles of lube and items he thankfully could not easily identify. He shook his head and shuddered. Fucking hell.

Suddenly aware he’d zoned out, standing in front of what could fully stock an orgy, Obi made to shut the Pandora’s box of porn - but a heavy tread stumping up the stairs made his flesh crawl and his blood chill. Too late to run to warn Torou… A split second later, Obi made up his mind and jumped into the closet, sending a frantic text to Torou. <>

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

He anxiously watched his phone, expecting Torou to text him back - but no answer. Shit. Was the homeowner bludgeoning Torou as he cowered amongst the pleather outfits and massive battery driven toys? Shit. Obi held his breath - the carefree, loud footsteps were getting louder. His stomach plummeted. Somebody wanted a little something-something before getting some sleep.

Shit. Fuck. Damn. Obi secured his phone and waited in the farthest corner of the closet, poised to take action. The door was yanked open and a hand rummaged inside - through long familiarity no doubt - reaching with unerring grace for the flesh pocket - and shut the door. Obi slumped backward in relief. Thank all the unholy sex gods and goddesses.

Shit - now did he try to save Torou from the horny homeowner or escape? Shit. Fuck. Damn. Obi strained his ears - nothing. No horrid buzz of an adult toy - no heavy footsteps - no screams. He said a little prayer and pushed the closet door open the smallest amount he could to see out of - and about felt his soul leave his body.

The horny homeowner was sitting on the spare bed looking through his mail - the waiting lurid plastic lips of the fleshlight leering at Obi. Jesus, lord love a duck. At least the guy's head was bowed and he’d missed seeing a surprise visitor pop out of his closet. Obi didn’t know what to hope for - the horny guy going to town on himself, or sudden merciful death.

Torou texted Obi. <>

Several things happened at once. Obi’s phone signalled itself with a snippet of Lady Gaga’s Bad Romance, horny homeowner bolted off his bed, still holding his mail, looking around wildly. “What the fuck!”

Shit. Fuck. Damn. Obi yanked his balaclava down to obscure his face, blindly taking the closest item to hand and bolted out of the closet. Fast, so fast - sprinting like the wind - but the horny homeowner managed to tackle Obi. Obi felt a sharp, burning pinch and then he twisted, bucking off the guy who was screaming bloody blue murder. Slamming the door behind himself, Obi used the bullwhip he'd grabbed, jamming it like a doorstop to keep the irate man a little occupied while they escaped.

“Go, go, go!” Obi ran past Torou who was cradling her ill-gotten goods in a nondescript gym bag.

“I’m going!” Torou hissed. “New much?”

“Never again!” Adrenalin kept Obi and Torou running outside into the bare glimmer of dawn - Obi towards his car and Torou - she jumped into a waiting white van that zoomed off before she’d even fully landed in the passenger seat. Fuck. Shit. Damn. Obi ran into the semi cover of a bush - slowed his headlong rush into an ambling power walk and uncovered his face. Nothing said ‘up to no good’ like a balaclava pulled down on a guy fleeing in the dark. He’d fucked up but he could repent at leisure once he was safe.

Obi hustled down the alley to his car, unlocking it, smiling at the cheerful chirp and slid inside behind the wheel. His back spasmed - fire erupted in his nerves. What the fuck? He felt his back as best he could, fingers coming away sticky - with something god-damned familiar.

><><><><

“Gimme a damn minute!” Shirayuki pulled on her bathrobe and belted it tight - the idiot pounding on her door was obviously drunk - and she’d have to kick his ass to curb without her pajamas. Barefoot, she stomped over to her front door, quickly checking that her door was on the chain. “What the hell is wrong with you? Some people are trying to-” she yanked open the door as much as the safety chain allowed, her angry tirade dying as she met Obi’s glazed eyes in his pale face.

“Mostly, what’s wrong with me, is I’ve been stabbed.” Obi gurgled a listless chuckle and collapsed.

[bubblesthemonsterartist]

Pas de Deux, Chapter 4

“You haven’t heard anything?” Shirayuki asks lowly, grasping Yuzuri’s arm. “You’re sure?”

Yuzuri’s brow furrows and she shifts them out of the open doorway and into the hall so the other ballerinas can spill out from behind them. No one looks at them. “I haven’t heard anything.”

“And you would find out about it? No matter what it was about?”

Yuzuri looks over her shoulder, nervous. “…what is this about, Shirayuki? Why are we speaking Japanese?”

Shirayuki worries her lips between her teeth and looks away, dropping her hand to fuss with the stiff tulle. Her friend grabs her wrist, pulling her back and stopping her from ruining the starch.

“Did-” Yuzuri’s voice lowers to a whisper. “Did something happen last night?”

“No!” she replies, shaking her head vehemently. “Nothing happened.” At Yuzuri’s skeptical expression, she lowers her gaze. “…maybe something. But- but it’s not serious. I think. Or maybe it is?”

Yuzuri’s hand tighten around her wrist. “Do you need to–?”

“Not now,” Shirayuki interrupts. “I don’t want to talk about it right before the show.”

She lets out a tense exhale through her nose. “Tonight then?”

“Mm,” she nods.

~ ~ ~

She crowds in close backstage, her shoulders brushing velvet curtains and sweaty palms pressed to her stomach. She can’t see anything over the heads of the chorus dancers in front of her. The music cascades, fading to nothing just as the stage lights blackout to the applause of the audience.

A dark shadow of furs and royal purple whisks off stage, followed an army of little rats. Unbidden, her eyes sweep over him, but he is leaning down, taking the hand of one ratlings who has opened her mouth to speak.

“Good job,” Obi whispers, his other hand holding his forefinger to his lips in a request for silence. They disappear behind two figures glowing in blinding white appear. Izana holds Haki’s hand in his upturned palm and they cast each other a barely there smile just as the lights return to full.

It’s what she imagines a true King and Queen to be like, all slow graceful movements trailed by long gossamer and sequined cloth. When they step beyond the boom and onto the stage, the audience cheers.

Shirayuki shifts, anxious, as the thrill goes through her and the rest of the dancers. The orchestra waits, patient, for the crowd to give the retiring primo and prima their dues before rising up to replace the growing silence with their score. First one, then another, then two more snowflakes spill out onto the stage and she shuffles forward to a place where she can see the stage. The Mistress of Winter sits, her hand resting on her rounded belly, as Izana stands center stage, directing the snowflakes with flicks of his wrist and swirls of his cape before the delighted Clara and her Prince.

Shirayuki’s heart gives one hard lurch as she looks upon him.

Zen.

There’s no time to think, only to move as she hears their queue. The rest of the chorus enters the stage as one, flitting and sweeping across the floor. She is suddenly grateful Haruka put them through their paces so many times, for her mind has gone completely blank. She does not remember the steps of this dance any longer, but thankfully her body does.

From the rafters, she hears the choir raise the voice as one, and Clara skips down from her throne, Zen on her heels as she weaves in and out of the formation of snowflakes, briefly touching their outstretched hands. As he passes her, their eyes meet and something like thunder rolls through her veins.

Just… keep going. Just keep moving.

It’s when her grouping darts of stage that she realizes she’s trembling; it’s then she remembers how easy it is to remove someone from a chorus mid-production, but there’s no time because their queue is coming up again and she bourrées back onto the stage, smile wide and motions blessedly in sync.

She can do this. She can make it through Opening Night without causing a scene. Even if this is her first and last time on this stage, she will do this right.

It’s then she makes the mistake of looking towards the throne mid-pirouette.

Izana is watching her, too.

~ ~ ~

It’s tricky business, slipping from behind backstage and into the service hall before anyone can catch up to her. There are so many of them in such delicate costumes and only one set of double doors. The whir of the tech pulling the heavy curtains closed behind her makes her heart fly into a panic. Beyond the stage, the murmurs of the audience lets her know that the house lights have gone up for intermission.

She can hear Zen’s voice behind her and she pushes her way through, slipping past the slow moving crowd and down the hall. Someone lets out a surprised sound and she calls back half an apology, ducking around the corner.

Her face nearly collides with a bare chest and she skitters to a stop, raising her arms and tucking her body in on itself. Familiar hands wrap around her wrists and her panic mingles with a sense of familiarity as they are pulled away from her face.

“What’s the rush, Mademoiselle?”

Obi’s eye crinkle at the edges, smiling down on her and her mouth gapes open.

“Kiki, did you see which way Shirayuki went?”

Shirayuki’s eyes widen, barely registering Kiki’s response, and she jerks away, looking for a hiding spot. Before she can make a decision, she is folded into the crook of an arm and redirected, ushered forward into a prop room, Zen’s voice blaring in her ears just as Obi pulls the door shut behind him.

In the dim orange light, she can feel Obi’s gaze on her, but she clasps her hands in front of her chest and closes her eyes, refusing to say a word. Outside the little room, Zen’s voice fades further and further away.

“What is going on?”

Shirayuki shakes her head, eyes still shut and hands clenched tight. “Nothing.”

She jumps a little when a hand rests on her shoulder, eyes opening wide and he flinches back. Brow furrowing, he drops his hand and his gaze sweeps her body. He must not like what he sees.

“Your movements have been stiff since this morning.”

Nerves make her straighten her spine and she looks away. “You should get ready for the next act,” she whispers, opening the door to move past him. “You have a dance with Clara to focus on.”

He lets her go.

~ ~ ~

After the show, she waits in the stall until the building goes still and quiet. It’s late. Yuzuri was waiting. She was probably worried sick that she hadn’t come home yet.

Slowly, she stands up, legs now numb from sitting on the toilet seat for so long and she limps around the bathroom, her legs tingling as blood rushes back into them. When it becomes tolerable, she reaches for the door and hefts it open, peering around the corner and relaxing when she sees that the hallway is empty. Straightening up, she opens the door wider and exits, turning to latch it shut.

“I get the feeling you’ve been avoiding me.”

Shirayuki freezes.

There, leaning against the wall opposite the door and face half shrouded in shadows, stands the man she has spent the last 24 hours desperately trying to avoid. His hair obscures his eyes.

“Zen,” she begins, wincing at the sound of her own voice. “I-”

He sighs and his head thumps against the wall behind him as he stares up at the ceiling. “Am I that bad of a kisser?”

Her shoulders drop, stuttering for words that don’t come. Ah, this was hard enough in Japanese. In English, it is nearly impossible.

He sucks his teeth and finally looks over at her. Whatever he sees on her face makes him grimace. “Oh, that bad.”

“Ah,” she swallows, shaking her head. “No. You were quite… good. It was- it was nice.”

He smirks like he doesn’t believe her. “But?”

Her nails dig into the soft of her palm. “I had a wonderful time last night, Zen. You’re very nice. And kind. And sweet. And handsome. And—”

Zen laughs, holding his hands up in surrender. “Stop, stop,” he smiles, but it is wane. “I get it.”

She exhales, looking up at him. “I am sorry.”

He shrugs, laissez-faire. “It is what it is. At least a got a night out on the town with a pretty girl on my arm.”

A shy blush heats her face, but her lips tremble. No. She bites the inside of her cheek. She was going to get through this next part like an adult. “I can empty my locker now if you want.”

“What? Why?”

She’s surprised to find his expression horrified and slowly bordering on insulted. The heat on her face intensifies. “I just- I thought- I mean…”

“Shirayuki,” Zen interrupts, and this time his face is the most earnest she has seen. “I don’t know exactly what happened back in Japan, but I can guess from what I know of Raj.”

It’s like he has struck her to the face and she looks down, shamed. Her eyes start to sting. So much for being an adult. “I thought you wanted…”

“This isn’t quid-pro-quo,” he interrupts, his voice firm. “I’m not going to have you fired just because you didn’t sleep with me.”

It hurts how relieved she is and she blinks rapidly, eyes watering as she looks down at the shine of his shoes peeking out from under his slacks. When they blur, she reaches into her purse, hands grasping for something to staunch the flood.

His knuckles touch the crook of her arm and she blinks, tears knocking loose. Fine white linen comes into focus and she pauses, touched. Slowly, she takes it from him and dabs her eyes. He pointedly does not look at her.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

“Don’t mention it.”

“Okay.”

He lets out a soft laugh and she smiles. When she has calmed, she crumbles the damp fabric up in her hands and looks back up at him. His face is kind. “Anyway, I couldn’t possibly fire you,” he grins, so charming. “I still want to see you become prima.”

~ ~ ~

Shirayuki opens the door and enters into a bright New York City night, her heart lighter and more at ease than it has been for months. Taking in a deep breath, she descends the stairs, purse tucked against her side.

It’s then that she sees him.

“Obi!”

The man in question is seated at a bench, reading a newspaper underneath the street lamp. He lowers it, looking up at her.

She hadn’t know that he needed reading glasses.

“Mademoiselle,” he smiles, as if it wasn’t the middle of the night and he wasn’t still sitting outside the studio like a stray cat waiting for kibble at a benefactor’s door. “You’re here late.”

“I could say the same for you,” she replies with a frown. “What are you doing here?”

He hums, folding the newspaper closed and removing his glasses. She finds that she misses them as soon as they are disappeared into his lapel pocket. “I wonder.”

Her face falls flat. How could he be so attractive and irritating at the same time? “Well, I am going to head home now. Goodnight.”

“Just a moment.”

She stops cold as he rises off the bench and up to his full height, towering over her and- Oh. How could her reaction to the man inside and the man before her be so different? His gloved hands reach out, tilting her chin so her eyes meet his.

“You've been crying.” It is not a question.

She quickly looks away. There was no use in lying. “There was a misunderstanding.”

His hand twitches. “Has it been cleared up?”

She nods.

He sighs, his hand dropping away. Turning back to the bench, he grabs his hat and affixes it to the top of his head. “Well, there’s that, at least.”

She watches him; the way he moves even here on the street does strange things to her. “Obi,” she begins, and he turns half way, raising his eyebrow in question. She wets her lips. “You asked me once if I was ready for the next step. And I didn’t have an answer for you then.”

He turns fully towards her. “And now?”

“And now I have my answer.”

[mcollawn]

Top Anime Ice Users

Ice is present in the world, but only in conditions where the 0 degrees Celsius is possible. The cold and ice go hand-in-hand for they complement one another; ice cannot occur without having cold temperatures.

People might not think that ice is a force of nature but glaciers play a major part in the polar ice caps and the tundra habitat. Wielders of ice in Anime are seen as tough fighters and can be difficult to deal with in battle.

Tōshirō Hitsugaya is a 10th division captain in the Gotei 13 throughout Bleach. Hyōrinmaru is Tōshirō's Zanpakutō (a spiritual blade for a Shinigami in the series) which is the strongest of all ice-element Zanpakutō in Soul Society. The sword's two power levels are Shikai and Bankai where the power increases from ice dragon projectiles in Shikai to a dragon's features displayed as ice reinforced battle armor in Bankai which is the most powerful form.

Gelato is the Vongola Snow Guardian and is the villain of Katekyō Hitman Reborn! DS Fate of Heat III. He makes objects made from snow and water through the techniques of Diamond Dust, Cage of Snow, or etc. Probably, a well-known attack from him is Snow Reindeer, where a reindeer rushes towards enemies, which is Gelaro's Box Weapon while his most surprising move is Zero Point Breakthrough: First Edition (a move that seals weak Dying Will Flames and is immune to all attacks except by strong Dying Will Flames).

Esdeath was a high ranking official in the Empire and became the Jaegers' leader under the Prime Minister in Akame Ga Kill! She has a hidden ability to her ice powers where an Elemental-type Teigu, The Demon's Extract, is absorbed through the user's blood and tied to their life for living. Ice powers from the Demon's Extract gives Esdeath abilities over freezing time and space, creating an army of centaur soldiers, and a large scale Russian winter over an entire area.

Mizore Shirayuki takes the position on the Newspaper Club at Yōkai Academy and her status of Yōkai is a Yuki-Onna. In Japanese, Yuki-Onna translates to Snow-Woman and Mizore's control over Cryokinesis or ice manipulation is very immense. She can freeze any body of water and shape it as blast attacks, projectiles, or claw hardened hands throughout Rosario + Vampire.

Tōran is a part of the Panther Divas who seek revenge against the Dog Demon clan in InuYasha. Winter Storm is Tōran in English and as the name applies ice is first and cold wind second. She fights fiercely and uses a staff to continue firing ice blasts and freezing her opponents.

During the Ice Age, ice used to be a dominant force of nature. The Ice Age was a period in which half of North America was covered by sheets of glaciers. These glaciers carved out the land underneath it to the point of deep erosion across the ground. Similarly, in Anime, if an ice user stumbles upon an earth user, then ice could influence the earth and create a permafrost like ground. Permafrost could hinder an opponent's control over the ground. Ice then being present, would allow both or either of the users to manipulate the frozen ground.

https://i.imgur.com/E3jTX0t.jpg

[claudeng80]

Dearest Readers, Chapter 4

 Dearest Readers,

Your beloved correspondent has received a number of letters lately accusing her of hiding behind her anonymity. Clearly she must be covering up unsavory secrets, or else she would have no qualms speaking out under her true name.

But anonymity is a tool. If you knew Lady Auditore herself were in line with you in the market, would you talk to her about what is bothering you? Would a noble gossip with her openly at a party, or a guard confess the strange things he has seen?

As regrettable as the fact may be, Lady Auditore cannot exist in a spirit of transparency.

Read the rest on AO3

[claudeng80]

Dearest Readers, ch. 2

Dearest Readers,

This esteemed publication would like to offer our sincerest congratulations to Lady Y— on the birth of her two baby boys. According to reliable sources, they are possessed of three hairs between them, startlingly blue eyes, and the unmistakable Y— countenance. Whether the heir and spare will be forever only children or whether they may have the chance to become elder siblings will depend entirely on Lord Y—’s skill at groveling. Lady Y— may be difficult to win over, after what has been said about her, but Lord Y—’s history on the king’s council gives us every confidence that abject capitulation will be entirely within his skillset. We wish them all the best.

The pie thief that has been troubling bakeries near Sunward Square has at last been discovered, although bringing him or her into custody may be more difficult than anticipated. Guards pursued the perpetrator into an abandoned building . . .

***

It’s been years, now, since Obi entered the gates of Wistal town with the intention of staying.

Read the rest on AO3

[claudeng80]

Dearest Readers ch. 1

For real this time - the first part of this was posted for Guilty Projects at New Years, but here’s the whole first chapter.

*

 Dearest Readers,

 It is with immense and everlasting pleasure that I may lay before you the most momentous news of the social season to date. Let this not be taken as a commentary on the season itself, which has been, in this humble correspondent’s opinion, rather tame, but instead a measure of import of the news. I shall place it in its own paragraph to highlight its singular nature.

 The king has made a sartorial error.

Read the rest on AO3

[claudeng80]

Dearest Readers

Dearest Readers,

It is with immense and everlasting pleasure that I may lay before you the most momentous news of the social season to date. Let this not be taken as a commentary on the season itself, which has been, in this humble correspondent’s opinion, rather tame, but instead a measure of import of the news. I shall place it in its own paragraph to highlight its singular nature.

The king has made a sartorial error.

Our beloved monarch has been a perennial leader of fashion ever since his majority, known far and wide for both his correctness of dress and his innovation. Were he any less attentive to details, the news of the jarring mismatch of blues between his pocket square and the lining of his coat would not be nearly as satisfying as it is. No word has reached us of any illness among his personal staff, so it is with glee that we lay the blame at His Majesty’s most esteemed feet.

Perhaps His Majesty is distracted by his continued lack of a bride; this chronicler has not observed any pointed attentions on his part toward any lady of his court or any foreign delegation, despite frequent overtures in his direction. For any readers new to this humble column, the efforts of Lady Y—— were the talk of the court last year. There has been no announcement of any change in the terms of the king’s long-standing betrothal with Lady Haki of Lilias, but he is now years past his majority with no heirs of the body, no wedding date, and no fiancee in residence. One must ask what obstacles stand in the path of his marital happiness? Speculation and inside information may be passed to this column by way of the publisher.

Perhaps, if it is not romantic woes that lead to his uncharacteristic imprecision of dress, the cause may fall equally close to home. Prince Zen’s extensive portfolio of responsibilities, while laudable in a responsible royal, may be weighing on his shoulders. He has been all but absent from public engagements for the entirety of the season, and his countenance, when he has been encountered in the hallways of the palace, was stormy as ever before he disappeared from public life entirely this past week. Is he pining for a certain red-haired castle staff member again, despite her now two-year absence from the court? She has been doing illustrious scientific work on an extended assignment in the north, but now that she has run into a difficulty, it appears that he doesn’t hesitate to fly to her side against his brother’s wishes.

***

Shirayuki folds the newspaper and slaps it to the seat beside her. It’s an unusual amount of violence, even for her, and Obi grins into the cloak in his lap. He can’t see what page she was on when she suddenly stopped reading out loud, but he can make an educated guess. He pulls the thread through another stitch, careful to  secure the existing holes in the fur trim to undamaged cloth in the lining. “You only do that when she’s talking about you, you know.”

Her disgruntled huff deepens his smile, as she tries to slide the paper under a cushion as though that isn’t entirely obvious. “I was going to fix that cloak, you know. It’s not like I’m going to need it right away.”

“I got to it first.” His stitching is neater than hers, to her eternal frustration, and he never intends to let her forget it. The more of his needlework she’s wearing on a daily basis, the more triumphant he’ll be. And the less memories of Ryuu in tears, clutching at her clothes to steady himself- “And it’s not like two years living in Lilias has made you immune to the cold.”

“It’s spring,” she objects, but the counter-evidence is right there in clear sight, still shining from every branch of the trees. Obi needs no more than a pointed glance at the window to win that point.

And she’s not going to distract him that easily. A second suffices to secure his needle, and he whisks the paper across her lap while she’s turned her disapproving frown on the lingering ice. “So what does Lady Madrigal have to say about you this time?”

She squeaks and grabs for his prize, but she’s far too nice to take a chance on tearing it. If she’d paid for it there would be no question, but this is Eisetsu’s copy. It had been a nice enough surprise that he subscribed to the capital paper. She grounds her hands on the sofa cushions, bracing for the truth. “She says I’m illustrious.”

“Truth in the gossip column, what a novel concept.” The sarcasm is so he doesn’t give too much away, because sincerity would be far too easy. Her cheeks pink, anyway, and he tries not to notice.

“And then she makes it sound like Zen’s running around after me, neglecting his duties.” He’d love to be able to say it’s wrong, but he can’t. Master was taking advantage of proximity, grabbing the chance to see her when he could. Obi can’t fault him for that, when he would have done the same. It doesn’t mean he wants to see it called out in the capital paper for everyone to read. He folds the paper back closed, tidier than Shirayuki had, and she watches the motion but doesn’t reach for it when he lets it lie. “We dealt with this without him- Tsuruba, and Eisetsu and Shuu, and you and Ryuu, and even Kageya-”

“You think he’s going to get the credit?” Her lips twist; she was thinking it, even if she won’t admit it.

“You know it’s going to end up in the papers, and I worry about what the story’s going to look like. Is Kageya a traitor? A victim? How are they going to cover the knights’ involvement?” She flops back on the sofa, her near hand so close to Obi’s it would only take a tiny movement to cover it. “Maybe it’s better to pretend we weren’t even here.”

There were so many eyes on them at Eisetsu’s ball. Kiki, and that snake, and dozens of guests that they were never even introduced to. Oriold and its society may be far from Wistal, but the capital exerts its own pull and gossip is always the first to go rolling down the hill. It was a miracle that Master hadn’t already heard about their ruse. The rest is only a matter of time. “That is probably too much to ask.”

A/N: Thanks to @bubblesthemonsterartist for the idea. I’m still working out the rest, so consider this a preview.

[claudeng80]

Rumours and Proposals 2: Izana

Part 1

Dawn after a ball always comes too soon, even for Duke Wisteria. He’s recovering with his tea and newspaper when his brother sulks into the morning-room. “To what do we owe the rainclouds? You were popular last night.” If men carried dance-cards, last night Zen’s would have been filled. He is far too polite to refuse a lady in want of a partner, and last night ladies in want were constantly crossing his path. How curious.

Izana refrains from smiling at the knowledge that Zen had only danced one set with his pharmacist. Shirayuki’s card had been just as full, despite her mediocre skills.

Zen pours himself a cup of tea, then scowls into it. “I heard people talking last night.”

“There were certainly plenty to hear.” A good turnout, a good social investment. And best of all, the Bergatts didn’t show.

“About Shirayuki,” Zen adds.

Finally, he’s heard. It took long enough. Izana hadn’t wanted to be the one to break it to his brother, but he’d been thinking he was going to have to. “You must admit, it was careless of her to be in such a compromising position, and on the road to Gretna Green, no less.”

Zen’s cup droops in his fingers, spilling hot tea across the carpet. “She what? That’s not-” He tries to set the cup down, misses the table, then scrambles for it as it rolls under his chair. “Tell me what you know,” he demands when he emerges.

Izana hums, folding his newspaper. Looks like he’s the bearer of ill tidings after all. “She was seen traveling on the Great North Road with a man, unchaperoned.”

“But that was just Obi, and they were bringing back her colleague’s runaway son-”

“If Obi is not a man, I have been greatly misinformed.” Izana punctuates the jab with another sip of tea.

Zen doesn’t shout, which is a distinct improvement. Izana may not want Shirayuki for a sister-in-law, but there’s no denying she’s been a maturing influence. But neither does he have anything to deny. “I mean he wouldn’t- do anything. To her. He knows I- We-”

“As you say.” If Zen hasn’t seen the way his newly uplifted friend looks at his paramour, Izana’s certainly not going to be the one to open his eyes. “But the fact remains they were seen together. Are you so certain that you know her heart?”