AN: Modern!au because I can never resist a good heist and thieves are my favorite type of characters.
“You know, I didn’t sign on to be the face.” Obi’s voice sounded tinny through Zen’s earpiece but the put-upon quality of it came through loud and clear.
“The face?” Zen questioned as he leaned down to look over Kiki’s shoulder and watched the cameras pan slowly over Obi as he neared the entrance. Thank goodness for mob bosses and their fanatically obsessive security system, it made their job so much easier to just hijack what was already there, and in such high resolution color too.
“I’m the hands of this operation, you’re the face, and Shirayuki’s the mastermind,” Obi muttered, eyes meeting Zen’s through the camera feed for a split second before he kept his gaze moving. “You don’t switch those elements up and expect it to be smooth sailing.”
“We already agreed, Obi. They made me last time, so our only ace up our sleeve is your complete anonymity. Embrace the face.” Remembering the hours of discussion over how to go about doing the job, he knew Obi would perform his role no matter the gripes or groans that might come over the line. He would admit that putting him as the frontrunner was rather like trying to contain wind in a box, it wasn’t free to move as it wanted and sneak in where it would, but unfortunately, Zen had already blown his own chance at it.
He traced the pixels that made up Obi’s figure with a slow look, wishing he could be there even more. It had taken some convincing to get Obi to wear what he suggested, but it looked even better than his imagination could have foretold. It was truly a sin that life did not put Obi in suits more often, the tux’s sharp lines doing him all kinds of favors while the camera did not do it full justice in the least. He’d just have to convince Obi to don it once more for him and Shirayuki, another time.
And speaking of Shirayuki, he checked her progress towards the safe and crouched next to her by the grating, taking one look at the concoctions in her lap and figuring it safe to leave her to her tinctures; judging by the intense calculations scribbled down before her, distraction was the last thing she needed.
Returning to the cameras, Zen wished yet again that he had something more to do than just watch and wait. Obi had reached the weapons check area only one step from the main hall and stood with his hands in his pockets as the guard gestured through the prohibited list of items.
“Ah, I understand.” Obi pulled a knife from his pocket and a handgun from his boot, setting them both on the tray laid aside for his things. Standard protocol, if you attended a mob boss’s celebration dinner then you were expected to be packing at least a little, it was more suspicious to bring nothing. It raised questions of what else you could have as leverage. Zen nodded approvingly, so far so good, now to keep moving—
But Obi continued, unsheathing a set of knives from both pant legs, extracting each from the holsters in order from smallest to largest and laying them carefully on the table, before sliding yet another pistol from his jacket. Finally, he handed over the silencer for it and gestured with a roguish smile.
“All clean. Don’t forget, I’ll be wanting those back.” He strode into the venue and Zen wondered why he’d been reticent to be there if he could joke around like that.
“What were all of those? When did you put those on?” Zen asked, rubbing the bridge of his nose instead of sighing. “That was unnecessary.”
“Got your attention though, didn’t it?” Obi snagged a glass of champagne and took a sip before continuing. “What are you going to do? Give me a patdown next time?”
Zen was glad they were in the maintenance shafts, where the bad lighting could hide the fact that his face felt hotter than the chemical fires Shirayuki sometimes set and he could chalk his distracted cough down to the dust floating in the air. Kiki didn’t spare him more than a glance, but even that was enough to let him know he hadn’t fooled her.
“Mission first,” he managed to choke out.
“We’ll discuss what comes later,” Obi agreed, the purr in his voice not helping Zen’s matters much but thankfully they were interrupted by a group of men approaching Obi. Leaving him to schmooze with the best, Zen got himself more under control during the short walk back to Shirayuki, finding her mixing the last batch with a self-satisfied hum.
“I heard him,” she said before he could make any excuses. “Let’s finish this quickly.”
Unlike him, she was too professional to let anything like that distract her from their work, but even she wasn’t above being motivated by a sense of urgency that wasn’t entirely from the promise of money and a lot of jewels that lay at the end of the line.
Passing him a vial, she kicked open the hatch above the vault’s entrance and jumped. Zen’s heart leaped into his throat, wondering if she’d grown reckless in her haste but she beckoned to him to follow as she set off towards the reinforced door. Dropping into the hall, he straightened up to find the junction of the three corridors an unnerving amount of open space to have at their backs as they worked. The vault door yielded to the contents of Shirayuki’s beakers, slowly eating through the outer casing and revealing the keypad underneath centimeter by centimeter. One workaround for a keycard was merely melting through what it opened, but that only worked for so many inches of hard steel with what little corrosive concoction Shirayuki could make that wouldn’t also be melting through the alarm system embedded inside.
Zen couldn’t keep himself from glancing over his shoulder every few seconds. His usual job was working the crowds, finding the weaknesses in people’s smiles and small talk, and the long meters of empty hallway surrounding them left him with no cover from anything. How could he ever talk his way out of this one, if it came down to it? There might be more mobsters up there but the weapons were words, and although he could handle anything Obi had set on the table, it was where others were stripped bare that he could keep his facade intact.
“Got it,” came the soft whisper in their ears as Obi disengaged from the target. Zen could imagine the look in Obi’s eyes as he lounged against the side of a pillar as if checking his watch while those white-gloved fingers fondled the champaigne’s flute stem in apparent boredom. “Fifteen, twenty-seven, eight hundred ninety three.”
Zen punched in the numbers as soon as Obi said them, letting out his held breath when the click sounded and the door swung open. Doubt didn’t have any place in their line of work, and neither did hesitation.
“Get out now. We’ll see you in ten,” he said, locking eyes with Shirayuki and hurrying to grab what they’d come for. They had a bigger prize waiting for them later.
"Mitsuhude!" Kiki screamed in panic. She ran towards him, shifting her gaze across the scene. There he was, lying in the middle of the clearing on his side with both his hands pressed to his chest, covered in blood. Unusually, his sword was thrown away from his side.
She was only few feet in front of him when she slowed her pace. It was all quiet except for the sound of his heavy breathing. Danger is gone. Kiki crouched beside him and started shaking him.
"Mitsuhude, say something, wake up."
"Is that you Kiki?" Glancing up on her, he could clearly see how panicked she was, even with his blurred vision.
"Yes its me. Let me see your injury." He moved his hands showing a stab at his chest. She ripped his shirt and saw that the weapon had been embedded in his chest, too close to reach the heart. He had been bleeding too much nothing could be done. He got aware of the fact, feeling her hands tense and seeing the color drain from her face.
Kiki ripped out part of his shirt and started wrapping it around the wound. "Stop it. You know it's useless," Mitsuhude whispered. "Don't give up easily, there might still be a chance."
"You can't even convince yourself," he said pointing at her eyes. He was right because tears were prickling in the corner of her eyes. She dashed them away and continued working.
Struggling to form the words, he said, "I - I have to say something." She tied the last knot and placed his head on her lap. "Go on."
"I love you... I always did... with every day that passed by... my feelings grew more passionate... I treasured all my moments with you... from the bottom of my heart." He couldn't say anymore, for he was breathing heavily. Meanwhile, Kiki's eyes grew bigger with unshed tears.
"I also do, I love you so much. You-" a sob was threatening her voice and she had to swallow hard. Tears were racing down her eyes and dripping from the bridge of her nose. He was always there by her side to support her and she also loved him so much. She wanted to express her love in the simplest way.
"You are my sunshine, my only sunshine " She sang honey-like, sweet and slow.
"You make me happy, when skies are gray You never know dear, how much I love you Please don't take my sunshine away"
Mitsuhide's eyes have fluttered shut, and his chest is moving only slightly. Tears were rolling down Kiki's face in an unbroken stream.
"Please don't take my sunshine away."
She lowered her head letting her blonde strands fall on his face, allowing their lips to touch. Time seemed to stop at that kiss. It was a consolation to their sore feelings. She then raised her head slowly, her eyes red and cheeks wet. Smiling, Mitsuhide wiped her tears with the back of his hand. She pressed it against her cheek and felt its coldness however it slipped to his side. She groaned, "no, I love, this can't be the end!" She checked his pulse, it was still beating with hope.
Kiki retrieved the sword, wrapped Mitsuhide's arm around her shoulder and stood up ready to face any danger. Then she made her way back through the wilderness and muggers. She did not lose that tiny hope in arriving quickly to the nearest doctor and saving her love's life.
I hope you enjoyed reading, this is my first fanfiction, I was very hesitant to post it. I'd be glad if you gave me feedback so I could improve and be better ☺️☺️☺️
AN: Because a pirate!au is always a necessity. And I like capes.
Shirayuki clutched at the railing of the schooner, fighting to stay on her feet as the waves lashed at the hull with a thunder that shook her to her bones. The storm had snuck up on them, or at least had overtaken their escape and now proceeded to make the best of the opportunity to sink them right in sight of the coast.
“Ma’am! Please get belowdecks! The commander is worried for your safety, he can’t be responsible for you if you’re in the men’s way!” The swab shivered in his ragged sailor’s uniform, soaked to the skin while he tried to pull her away back towards the hatch and its dry cabin.
She was loathe to see the plush cage that the cabin really was—just another gilded box to transport a treasure in—when this voyage was her last chance to truly live without any shackles on her freedom, but she didn’t have time to do any more than shake her head before the cry came from the crow’s nest above.
“Pirates! Off the starboard bow! The Maelstrom has come!”
If the soldiers had been frantic before, it was nothing compared to now. Shirayuki clambered to the front until she was underneath the flapping jib and watched the fast approaching ship through the howling wind and the storming sea. If this was to be the end of it all, maybe she’d have a chance at swimming to shore or die trying. At the very least, she doubted the jewels and gold weighing the ship down would make it to the illustrious, and demanding, high prince.
The pirate ship was bigger than the Royal Decree by a good few meters, and noticeably faster too. Within the bare five minutes since it had been sighted, it had neared to little over a mile away as it squeezed the schooner against the cliffs in its attempt to flee. She’d expected a pirate ship to be black, and mostly ragged, but this one appeared to be a tinted silver, though that might have been the veil of the storm coloring the ship darker than it really was. Its prow boasted a figurehead in the shape of a bird she could have sworn was a peacock, with long flowing tail blending into the wood of the ship until it seemed the entire hull was carved from its feathers.
By now, it was close enough that she could see the pirates aboard it, most gathered at the side while two were climbing the ropes leading up to the top of the sail, their short capes fluttering in the wind like twin flags of black and white.
“Ready cannons! Fire!” The commander’s order was heard throughout the schooner, a harsh discordance against the harmony of the storm. Shirayuki looked across at the pirate ship, torn between wonder at its sight and fear at who would come out the victor of their clash. Either way the tides of this battle turned, she would come out the loser, dragged to either the sea floor or to the court to be drowned in the confines of the kingdom's most stifling court. The cannons thundered in time to the storm’s thrashing and she watched as they tore through the sides of the Maelstrom, leaving splintering holes in its sides.
The pirates endeavored to give as good as they got, their cannonfire sending shudders through the Royal Decree, accompanied by the whoops and hollers of those on the ropes. The two pirates up above let go, swinging onto the schooner’s deck to land amidships back-to-back like they were planning to take on the entire platoon’s worth of sailors and soldiers alike.
Creeping closer until she could watch from behind the foremast, the scene that confronted her wasn’t what she’d been expecting. Like two mirror images, they stood so close together their shoulders brushed and their feet touched at the heels, each facing their respective side of a half-dozen armed sailors with a wild glint in their eyes.
“Surrender your jewels and we’ll let you live!” the one on the left shouted, hair so drenched it was like an inkstain, though that did nothing to dim the bright amber shine of his irises. He brandished his knives, small though they were when compared with the swords of the royal sailors, there were nevertheless many eyes following their gleaming path warily.
“We’ll even help you to shore!” the other shouted, his white cape embroidered with swirls in the patterns of waves. His sabre was held in front of him, still sheathed, and his smile was so guileless and honest that Shirayuki almost forgot he was a pirate.
“That would be stranding them, Zen.” Adjusting his grip on the daggers, the first one pointed up at the commander with a blade, taunting. “We wouldn’t do that for all the gold in the world.”
“Oh, we’d never go so far as to strand them,” Zen agreed, his gaze catching on Shirayuki’s as he surveyed the arrayed attackers. “That would be too cruel. We’ll just have to satisfy ourselves with robbing them, won’t we, Obi?”
Obi didn’t bother with a reply; he leaped forward to slash at his own semicircle of sailors right as the commander jumped from the aft deck by the shipwheel to enter the foray with his own bellow of anger. She’d seen him fight before, back at the fort they’d mercifully left behind, and she was under illusions as to who would win.
“Do you mind?” Zen’s voice came from over her shoulder and she turned to find him wiping the rain from his face as he tugged her over to the railing without waiting for her answer.
“What are you doing?” She looked back to the chaos of the fight. “He needs your help!”
Zen followed her gaze, the cluster of gems dangling from his ear dripping onto his cape and he laughed.
“He really doesn’t,” he said, pointing to where Obi whirled between the slashes of swords like the dark smoke from a fire, sinking first one and then another knife into the commander’s pristine uniform where it stretched over his bulging arms. “And besides, we’ve got what we came for.”
“Me? The king won’t send a ransom for me. I’m merely to be one of his many concubines.”
“Well, not you specifically. I meant all these necklaces and bracelets you’re wearing. They’ve got to be awfully heavy.” Zen cut through the rope tied next to the railing and handed it to her. “Would you do me a favor and swing across? I can’t hope to carry those jewels myself and since you’re already here…”
“What if I don’t?” Shirayuki asked, even as she twisted the sodden line around her arm.
“You’re welcome to stay. Though dare I say, a life of a pirate might be a bit more exciting than the life of a concubine.”
She couldn’t exactly refute him there, but she still waited, looking back over her shoulder at the commander’s surprisingly difficult fight with his assailant. Obi held his own, largely by staying out of the commander’s reach, while the waves crashed over the edge and flooded the ship’s deck until they were wading more than they were attacking.
“It was a pleasure doing business with you!” Zen called out as he hopped up onto the railing to grab a loose line of rigging, giving a short, sharp whistle. “Till next time!”
Obi seemed to take that as his cue, spinning on his heel to splash across the sodden deck before grabbing Zen’s hand to jump, dragging them both out into the gap between the ships.
Shirayuki spared one last glance back at the staggering sailors and made her choice. The short swing across to the Maelstrom was all she needed to know she’d made the right one.
AN: I went with the ‘beloved, sought after’ aspect of the prompt, and finally wrote that one engagement dagger vignette that I’ve been meaning to for about a year! Coming up with six different knives was tough, but the ot3 demands it :P
Shirayuki stared at the blade in her hand, fingers tracing the filigree across the hilt and imagined using it to clean stalks and extract seeds while she smears dirt across its fine etchings. The grip was carved in the shape of a tulip, the flute of it spreading at just where her palm ended, as if it were made to fit in her hand alone. Which, knowing Zen, was within the lengths he’d have gone to have it made for her. It’s as beautiful an engagement dagger as any of the ladies in court could have boasted of.
When Zen had given it to her, she’d been almost speechless with shock, not to even mention how overcome she was when Obi handed his over with a wink and a kiss. From there, she’d staggered back to the herbalist rooms and stared at them until now, quiet awe filling her as she realized what it all meant.
Obi’s was smaller than Zen’s, but perfectly sized for cutting through even the most stubborn of roots and dragging them into the light of day. Remembering the days she’d spent sweating over the mistwort cores a few months ago, she shook her head slightly as a smile came over her in realization. Obi had come by then, during his breaks, and helped wrestle the worst of them out of the soil until there was enough for the winter’s supply. To think he’d remember that so much later, but the hooked, sharp edge was testament to just what he thought she’d be doing with it.
“Is this a congratulations occasion? Because if those aren’t what I think they are, then I dug these fire whiskey bottles out of the back closet for nothing.” Garack’s voice interrupted her thoughts as she plonked the spirits in question onto the table and pulled her into a hug.
“She ran by to yell it over to me,” Ryuu said from his spot behind Garack, the only part of him visible being the small bouquet of flowers clutched in his hand. Shirayuki could barely breathe from the force of Garack’s hug, but she freed one arm to touch the petals of the nearest bloom and realize just how much happiness there was inside her bursting in bubbles against her chest and making her feel lighter than air.
“Let me see them, oh Ryuu, have you ever seen this kind of craftmanship?” Garack finally released her and stepped back to oggle the daggers in their sheaths on the table.
“Can I borrow Obi’s sometime?” Ryuu asked, handing her the flowers and leaning over the table to eye the knives from up close.
“Of course, I’m certain he’d be delighted it gets more use,” Shirayuki looked from the knives to Ryuu, “How did you know that one was his?”
“You can’t miss it. You’re not the only who knows Obi.” Ryuu glanced at her before looking back at the one in question. “And he asked me about the right shape for it a few weeks ago.”
“Ryuu!” She couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her, she’d been so intent on her own efforts that she’d never thought to question what she would receive, and how much everyone else knew of their plans.
“Where are you going to wear them?” Garack asked, pulling Zen’s from its sheath and admiring the scrollwork along its edge. “That’s an important aspect too.”
“Wear them?” Shirayuki had thought she’d researched enough about this tradition that nothing would surprise her, but there was always something else that went unspoken because of how ubiquitous the knowledge seemed. The first time she’d heard of the engagement daggers, she’d assumed it a joke until she’d seen a lady’s-maid fawning over hers with her circle of friends.
“It’s customary to wear them, at least until the ceremony. It doesn’t have to be anywhere obvious, just so that they’re with you.” Garack grinned. “So your friends can ask to see them wherever you are.”
Glancing down at her herbalist’s coat, she tried to think of somewhere that wasn’t her too-small pockets and her nonexistent belt. If she’d still have her hair long, she might have been able to pin it up with both of them unsheathed, but with it this short that wouldn’t do either. Gazing at the two daggers in thought, she finally alighted on the perfect idea.
“If they made to be used, then used they will be. Who spends more time crouched near the earth than an herbalist?” She decided, sliding them into her boots, one in each. “Always within reach.”
——|-
Zen whooped as soon as he made it to the safety of his chambers. Keeping a straight face the whole way back had been about the hardest thing he’d had to do that day, his mind whirling in circles as the weight of the daggers at his waist kept him grounded. They’d barely parted ways, work pulling them apart, when he’d already paused in the corridor to fasten them to his hip and stride down the hall with more spring in his step than he could control. If he had to maintain that courtly manner the entire time, then he’d sure as hell put them somewhere they couldn’t be ignored, carrying them both with him as he did in his heart.
He’d been turning to close the doors when they snapped closed of their own accord, pushed by Kiki and Mitsuhide from their post behind each. Their twin stares let him know in an instant that they already knew, especially as Mitsuhide’s facade was breaking at the edges as a smile poked through.
“We’ve cleared the next half-hour,” Kiki announced, her own excitement better masked even as her eyes immediately found the two new additions to his belt.
“What do they look like? What happened?” Mitsuhide asked, giving up on trying to hide his curiosity.
“Have a look for yourself.” Zen carefully unhooked them, laying Shirayuki’s in Mitsuhide’s palm and offering Obi’s to Kiki, knowing she’d want to see just as much but wouldn’t reach for it out of principle. Some old fashioned customs over engagement daggers still remained, but he gladly handed it over.
She turned it over in her hands, expertly testing the weight and finding it impeccable, nothing less than what could be expected of Obi. At first glance, it looked to be in a letter opener’s style, slim and long, with a groove that ran down the length of the blade. But the longer she held it, the more obvious it became that it was as deceptive as Obi himself was. The blade’s hilt was secured so well it could cut more than simple paper open with a single slice, it could sever an artery just as easily, or sink as deep into flesh with the same amount of force.
Kiki hummed her approval, a smile hiding in her eyes as she handed it back with an appreciative nod. Mitsuhide took longer, marveling over the engraved handle and the slight facet to the blade, before finally understanding what it was for. It fit into the curve of the palm, aimed to pare the skin from a fruit with so fine a motion that it would remain one long, spiraling piece. Shirayuki, familiar as she was with all manner of a garden’s yields, had found a way to combine what would be needed for peeling and cutting into one knife.
“So you’ll be taking these along next time you escape, right? They’ve thought of everything for the adventure, something to help you eat…”
“And something to help you survive,” Kiki finished Mitsuhide’s thought, both of them watching as Zen reattached the two to his belt.
“You think I’d leave the two of them behind if I happened to go?” Zen asked, grinning from the flush of handling the daggers. He’d sometimes imagined what one would look like when he was young, more for the thrill of wielding a knife than any significance that came with it, but these held more precious heaviness to them than his sword did.
——-|-
Obi looked down at the harbor from his perch on the roof of the tower, tossing the dagger into the air and watching it flash with the light of the sun. The crystal center of it shone like a gem, more ostentatious than anything he’d have thought to carry, but its delicate appearance belied a deadliness he’d been surprised by when Zen presented it to him with a hopeful gaze.
He’d always ridiculed the traditions, presenting a knife to someone as a token of affection seemed laughable when he’d grown up surrounded by them and knew the blood and suffering they drew. It was twice as absurd when he’d overheard one man’s reasoning for it in a bar years ago, the idea that while giving a beautiful dagger was an obvious choice, ensuring that it remained deadly was another aspect to respect. Not only a means of protection against others, but a trust in them for protecting against yourself as well. Baring your heart to your love emotionally was not enough, but to bare it to them in the flesh was what it meant to truly give over everything.
That trust was not something he’d ever expected, or truly wanted, for the longest time, not sure he could be either the receiver or the giver in equal parts. But now, he tipped the blade on its side, watching the liquid inside move in a viscous slide down the crystal capsule embedded in the hilt, and wondered whether Zen knew how deep it had hit him to realize the prince had offered him not one means to kill him, but two. Oh, he knew it fit him to have a poison dagger but the underlying message was one that made him feel stripped bare, raw to the soul at how it touched him.
He lay back against the line of the roof and slid the blade back into its sheath along his right arm, under his sleeve. It would be out of sight but never out of mind, something to hold close to his skin and where he couldn’t always wear his heart on his sleeve, he would have this instead.
Pulling Shirayuki’s out of his left, he flipped it over and over in his fingers, the edge brushing his knuckles like a caress. If he didn’t know better, the shape would remind him of an arrowhead; it was among his shortest daggers, more akin to a throwing knife with its heft and easy weight. The ribbon wrapped around the hilt was a spring green, a pattern of vines running over and under each other in a never-ending pattern that he could trace for hours and never tire of.
The two of them, a tether tying him to both that he would never choose to cut, not with the sharpest knife, and yet they’d given him precisely that to do with as he chose. He could understand the solemn awe people would handle their engagement daggers with now, a tangible reminder that the one who gave it to him bared their soul right back. He doubted he could ever get used to that, the wild feeling of being accepted in whole and still being treasured, but he’d have a reminder of it with on the empty nights, everywhere under the moon.
AN: Went with the magical portion of this prompt! Also, I imagine running through mist would be magical in itself. Credit to @vfordii and the beautiful Miraculous Ladybug au they did, I love it too much
Zen’s pretty sure this isn’t how normal school worked. There wasn’t a single television show that covered anything even close to this, and there was one airing with a classmate moonlighting as a hidden alien. This was honestly as complicated as he could take his life getting, any more than this and he would consider returning to his room to never leave as his only option. How could he end up falling for both of Paris’ heroes, in one night? From just an interest to a rather concerted interest, of a different connotation.
He hadn’t meant to get saved by them, it was just a routine run around the city out for some fresh air and the paparazzi had mobbed him right when he was farthest from home. Backing into the fence as he raised his hands to avoid the bright flashes in the twilight, he almost lost his composure when he was grabbed under the arms and hoisted into the air far higher than he would have thought possible. The next second he’d been on a rooftop a few blocks away, facing Ladybug and Chat Noir while he fought to keep his potential heart-attack under control.
High profile dinners were the only thing that saved him from making a complete fool of himself. If he could keep a straight face while the host’s dog bit through his shoes and tried to drag him under the table, then he could very well not fall to pieces in front of the most famous people in Paris.
“Lovely night, no?” he said, trying for nonchalance. “Thank you for your help back there.”
“Is it always like that?” Ladybug asked, catching her yoyo as she straightened up from her crouch.
“Usually I manage to switch up my routes enough that they can’t catch me, but this time I guess I got distracted.” He wasn’t going to admit that the source of that distraction had been the two standing in front of him, more namely their latest exploits and pictures thereof. Ladybug and the radiant hope she emanated, red hair floating about her face in the wind; and Chat Noir, amber eyes glowing in the dark, reflecting the shadow that he was, containing the destruction within. He’d read all the theories, compiled the facts himself to see what picture they put together and where the dots led in the search for who they were and where they’d come from.
“Miss, are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“Hardly ever, but I’m listening.” Ladybug smiled, her mask crinkling from the gesture and Zen had to hope his blush wouldn’t be visible on the dark rooftop.
“We run a patrol route most nights, what’s one more to come along?”
Zen was almost certain his ears had been lost during the rescue and what he was now hearing was simply a delusion brought on by his brain not having the capacity to both deal with the pain and the currently magical situation happening before him. That was the only explanation.
“I don’t see why not,” Ladybug turned to him, “You said you switch routes every night, we can simply start at your house and move on from there.”
“Wh— Ho— You know where I live?”
“You are Zen Wistalia, right? Am I mistaking you for some other billboard model plastered over half of Paris?”
“Ah.” Zen had to give her that, he shouldn’t have assumed it was any kind of clue to who they were that she knew where the head of Wistalia Fashions lived with his little brother.
“And I’ve read your articles online, for the blog? Some of the things you’ve uncovered even we didn’t know,” Chat Noir chimed in, his smile dark as an oil slick but Zen didn’t feel anything except a flutter in his chest at the sight. Hours of videos and analysis of all the fights could never have prepared him for this, to hear that the heroes who had pulled him from his monotone life knew of his—could he call it work?—efforts, however incomplete they might be.
“We’ve been meaning to thank you for some of the tips on there,” Ladybug said, adding another heart palpitation to Zen’s list of symptoms. “But you’re hard to grab ahold of.”
“Apparently not that hard.” He could’ve really thought more about his response but his brain was taking its time to cool down properly and this was what the rest of him came up with.
“Oh, don’t worry, we’ll make sure we’re gentle next time,” Chat promised, slinking close enough that Zen was pretty sure he saw him wink before he circled behind him. If Zen didn’t know any better, mostly going on the fact that he couldn’t quite process what was happening to him, then he’d almost believe that counted as flirting.
“You’ll be in good hands.” Ladybug laid a hand on his shoulder, her eyes earnest, so close that he could smell what he thought was cloves. “Until next time, pretty boy.”
That definitely counted too. Zen almost lost his footing then, feeling weak in the knees and only gaining his focus back when he found back on the street just a few buildings down from his house. Nobody was going to believe it, but he swore to himself he’d convince Mitsuhide and Kiki of the meeting. Not necessarily of the heart-pounding parts, that could remain just for him.
AN: This time I took the prompt more literally, but I’ve always wanted to have an outside pov of the main three. Inspired by the thought of Zen, Obi and Shirayuki becoming myth and legend someday, and perhaps what comes of that
The rain misted down in between the carnival’s stalls, turning the streets into a vaporous maze and leaving people as hazy outlines in the twilight. Miya clutched her scarf close to her chest, hunched under the small awning at the side of a wine vendor’s cart as she peered into the night in the vain hope that her parents would come within view.
A rattle of metal came from behind her and she startled away from the noise and further towards the bustling thoroughfare. On so many occasions her mother had drilled it into her head that if she were ever lost, it was better to stay still than to go running on the chance that she’d stumble onto them with sheer, dumb luck. But the shadows behind her felt like they were growing deeper, coalescing into a solid form and the thought chilled her more than her sodden cap ever could. What could she do if something attacked her here? The night felt hostile now, gone was the merriment of the festival still going on only a few feet away, without her parents it felt like a screen separating her from them.
“What’s a little miss doing back here?” The voice was smooth and low where it echoed out of the darkness, forcing Miya to squint to try and see anything beyond a silhouette. She froze, surprised that she didn’t feel any further fear at the approaching figure. Perhaps it was because she’d heard the story, known the occasion, but had never thought to believe it. But that was not important, she had a chance now.
“I lost my mama,” she finally whispered, her back to the light as the shadow crouched down in front of her and reached out a hand. It was solid, the fingers callused where they brushed the leaves from her shawl with a gentle motion. The figure’s clothes were dark as the night, clasped with a pin as bright as a star in the fabric of the sky while his eyes glowed like a cat’s.
“I have a friend who can help, alright? Visit the lights at the end of the row, he’ll show you the way.” His smile was crooked, but the kind that cut through fear and let someone in on a joke, and she knew that it was right.
By the time she turned at the corner of the stall, to glimpse one last look, the shadow had disappeared, taking his nightcloak with him, as silent as they say.
She followed the row of vendors down to the quay, where the lights were so bright her father had said they could be seen all the way up at the castle. The passersby stopped and stared, faces turned up to the floating candles and glimmers of reflection from the colored glass lanterns moored to the ground. It was dazzling, capturing even the most determined of festival attendees to stop and watch a while. The rain dampened it not at all, only lending another surface for the sparkling vista to dance in, each flame protected against it while it shone forth.
Miya wasn’t able to resist either, faltering in her steps and forgetting the shadow’s voice for only a minute as her eyes filled with the glittering light. But as she turned to point one out to her mother, she remembered the absence and began to run, hoping to make up the time lost by a hurry taken now. Her haste made her reckless and she stumbled into a lantern, knocking a panel free and leaving her with pain blooming across her finger.
“There now, are you being chased?” This voice was milder, but nonetheless mischievous, and a hand on her shoulder kept her from falling to the muddy ground.
Miya’s breath caught in her throat, in part from how close she had come to sprawling in the street and because she had never thought it could be true. Surely, one was a lucky chance, two was a miracle.
She looked behind her and saw eyes as bright as the lanterns, a brilliance lying across his shoulders and cascading towards the ground like a waterfall of snow, cloak dissolving in shining sparks before it ever reached the dirt beneath his shoes.
“Your friend sent me. I’ve lost my papa. I forgot for a moment and…” She stared at the beads of red blossoming from her finger to mix with the fine rain coating them both. Although, for her companion it seemed to be drawn in to form a faint aurora of mist about his outline, washing his edges as he let out a slight laugh.
“He sent you, did he? Don’t worry, I know who’ll be the perfect one to bring them back to you. And to mend that cut of yours.” He crouched, the luminous gaze upon her with a kind glow. “Go along until you smell sweet, hot cider. She’ll be there.”
Miya nodded, dumbstruck, and it was only when he gave an encouraging nod that her feet regained their steadiness and she struck out for the food quarter of the festival’s vast spread. This time, she didn’t look back, knowing he and his moonbright cloak had vanished already.
She had grown hungry and tired by now, pushing through the crowds and craning her neck above the high shoulders for any sight of the barrels that always signalled the piping flood of cider that she’d so loved to sip with her parents. In the midst of the damp night and the scores of people, she had doubted she would be able to pick out the smell of it without being up close to the counters, but she could no longer doubt it when the aroma wafted over her and she felt safe. Pausing by the fountain in the center where the crowd’s eddy pushed her, she slumped onto the rim and wondered how she would pick out anyone in such a rush.
“Ah, why are you hurt and alone, dear?” The voice was as sweet as the cider’s smell, and just as warming to hear. Two hands cupped her own, the feeling akin to when she’d her fingers through the summer-ripe grass, and the woman ran her thumb over the cut with a soft sigh. Her cloak was as red as her hair, flowing like the leaves in autumn over her knees and the relief Miya felt was enough to make her cry. She could go no further, her parents felt as far away as the castle and she could only take comfort in the woman’s firm hold of her to keep her upright.
“I c-can’t find my parents,” she confessed, one more time, looking into the woman’s apple-green eyes and searching for the promise of the end as she’d been taught would come.
“You have found me, and I assure you they will find you too,” she said, tucking Miya’s hair back under her scarf and kissing her forehead with the softest touch.
As soon as Miya closed her eyes at the gesture and opened them again, she saw her parents from across the fountain, searching the crowd with frantic expressions. She bounded along the edge as fast as she could, skirting the crowd until she flung herself at her father’s legs.
“Miya! Where have you been? Oh thank the stars.” Her mother leaned down to sweep her into a hug, even as Miya couldn’t find the words fast enough to express what she’d been through.
“I met the Red Dawn and the White Moon! And the Dark Night, they all led me back here!” She pointed across the fountain, but in her excitement she’d forgotten what had happened before and the woman and her dawnfire cloak were gone. As was the cut on her hand.
“Darling, I know I’ve read that story to you too many times but this is just a festival for them. You can’t expect to meet them, we must celebrate them ourselves!” Her father hoisted her onto his shoulders, perhaps to give her a view to distract her and perhaps to keep her from being lost to sight again, but all the same, Miya didn’t let the banners of red, white and black distract her from the truth of what she’d seen that night.
AN: I haven’t read a Yona of the Dawn au yet, so here’s my take! One fiery redhead for another!
“Can you feel anything? Are we getting closer?” Shirayuki asked, for about the twentieth time that afternoon. She knew Zen was getting tired of it but they couldn’t be this close to the Blue Dragon and still somehow let them escape after all their efforts, wasting two weeks of exhaustive traveling.
Zen closed his eyes, holding out his hand towards the sun setting behind the treeline. His skin shimmered where the last rays hit the scales running up his arm, while his white hair shone like a beacon in the fading light. It was clear in the frown that flickered across his face that the Blue Dragon had managed to give them the slip again.
“They’ve moved again, haven’t they?” Shirayuki sighed, wondering if this was harder than catching smoke or if it was just the same. Her body felt so heavy after climbing the mountainous forests for days, pulled first in one direction and then another. While it was another added burden for Zen to be the one who had to fight to keep any kind of sign of their quarry, he seemed almost more driven than she to keep going. She could only hope the Blue Dragon would be as kind as he was, she could still remember how harsh her escape from the palace had been, nothing to her name save the prophecy and promise of what she needed to find. Or rather, who.
“I could have sworn we were closer, but since last time, it’s like they’ve vanished.” Zen curled his clawed hand into a fist in frustration. She’d seen the logs he could destroy in seconds, but this wasn’t a problem he could attack head on and that strain of attempting something he had no solid grasp of was taking its toll.
“We should stop here. There’s no use getting lost now, we’ll start again tomorrow.” Dropping her bag to the ground, she started to unpack their things before he could protest. She might not be the best about her own limits, but she knew where his were and she refused to cross them. “Show me your arm.”
“There’s nothing wrong with it, completely healed. See?” he said, reluctantly sagging to the ground after a few seconds of pause. Stretching out his arm in demonstration, he curled his fingers in as she reached over, careful to keep from scratching her with his claws. The first time he’d happened to touch with them, he’d apologized, and she’d fought to keep him from pulling his arm away from her each time she came close. He wasn’t one to disparage the White Dragon’s legacy, but there was something there that she couldn’t quite break through, a barrier as strong as his scales separating them.
“Don’t strain it just yet.” She gently began to unfurl his fingers, inspecting the give in his movements. The dragon’s arm might be invulnerable, but that didn’t keep the human body from cramping regardless and pulling the muscles underneath. Not all harm came from outside.
“Zen… it won’t help if you don’t stretch them out,” she muttered, surprised at the resistance his fingers had gained against her efforts. He usually wasn’t this reticent, had she done something to make him this wary of hurting her? She’d thought they were making progress. Looking up, she found him staring into the woods with eyes like glass, frozen.
“Ah, ah, ah. Now, we can finally talk,” the voice was like rough silk, the edges fraying from the tapestry but retaining the richness of it yet. A shadow moved above her and before she could blink, a figure dropped from the boughs overhead to land not two feet away. Robes dark enough to blend into the night that she could really only imagine assassins wearing, hands covered in gloves that gripped the handle of daggers sheathed at his waist and yet the most threatening thing about him was his eyes.
Gold so deep it was like staring into the veins of the earth, mesmerizing as they bored into her. And dangerous, if what he’d done to Zen was any indication. She had no doubt it was his doing, Zen’s vacant gaze and wooden limbs.
“It’s nice to finally find you, Blue Dragon,” she said, pulling herself up straight.
“Not much for a surprise, huh? Most princesses I’ve met would run screaming. Or try to behead me if we were this close.” Tilting his head to the side quizzically, he settled down into a crouch before her, not quite relaxed but more inclined to stay in one place for now.
“I’m not royal.” She had nothing to refute the other two points with, she wasn’t going to leave Zen and she hadn’t gotten used to wielding a sword so well yet that she could attempt to swing it while still sitting.
“Those robes you’re wearing say otherwise. Thief?” He smiled at that. “Same feathers, if that.”
“Servant, of a sort.” She pulled at the edge of her shirt, the hem of it almost entirely undone. It would take a good eye to ever assume they were from a palace’s closets, much less to know they’d belong to a noble. But he did say he’d met quite a few.
“And why would you be following me around?”
“Why did you come to me?” she asked instead of answering his question. Remembering Zen’s flash fever her presence had induced, she looked more closely at his face, at more than just his eyes. Captivating as they were, he guarded them too well for them to tell her what she really needed. But the beads of sweat glistening on his neck and his shallow breaths spoke volumes instead. His composure might have been impeccable otherwise, but the body would always betray that which couldn’t be controlled.
“You know who I am,” she continued, not waiting for him to answer. After all those days spent searching, having him drop almost into her lap was something that both frustrated her and excited her in one.
“Someone who thinks they have a right to leash me. What happened to your precious White Dragon can still happen to you,” he warned, sitting back on his heels as if ready to bolt.
“I won’t ask for anything but your help. I don’t know what’s been passed down about the dragons, I barely know anything about them at all, but I know you do have the power to leave whenever you wish.”
“But your friend can still hunt me like a dog.” The glance he threw Zen wasn’t filled with as much vitriol as his words pretended to deliver, if anything there was a similarity there, brothers in blood of a different way. “I’ve lived that life long enough to keep going longer than you.”
“If these last two weeks prove anything, it’s that.” She spread her hands as if to show their meager supplies and the threadbare state of their provisions. “But I promise, if you wish, we’ll leave you alone.”
“Why? Won’t that ruin whatever prophecy it is you’re chasing?” He turned back to her, finally letting his knees touch the ground as he settled.
“I know that there’s more than one medicine for certain ills. I came looking because I hoped that I would find someone who could be a part of that, but when ingredients don’t work well together, it ruins the whole batch.”
She’d expected him to scoff at her naive reasoning, but he laughed instead. So hard, he fell back and had to brace himself with one hand on the ground while the other wiped a tear from his eye.
“You know, I’ve never exactly cured anything, in fact I’m usually the plague in this scenario, but you won’t last to find out going this way.”
“We’ll manage—”
“Not without me.” He paused, before nodding. “So I guess you get to add one more to your collection of dragons.”
Shirayuki blinked, relief flooding her in seconds. The Blue Dragon was a different cup of tincture than she’d expected, especially after Zen’s zealousness, but he was refreshingly bold and she could almost feel the rightness settle over them as he settled down fully.
“Will you let Zen go now?” she asked.
“In a second, as soon as I do, I’ll be bearing the same state for as long as he did. I should name before I do that, should I not?”
“Shirayuki.”
“Obi.”
“I’m pleased you’ve decided to stay,” she said.
“Well, it isn’t every day I meet someone who’s willing to lock eyes with me for so long.” Obi smiled, moving to slap Zen’s back. “Don’t let him get me in the meantime though, miss. Not much use to you mawled.”
As soon as he touched Zen, it was as if the power he had wielded flowed back into him, rending as much damage there as it did on his victim. His eyes slid closed as he froze, the smile still on his lips.
AN: Based on @vfordii‘s amazing Natsume Yuujinchou au, I just like the quiet snowy mood that comes with winter. So youkai!Obi and Shirayuki with their antics
“Should we chase him off?” Obi looks across at Shirayuki, hoping to read the same thought in her face. She’d become more open to his suggestions lately. More open to laughing and playing the particular tricks that he’d found made most humans run home with heads full of questions and beliefs that would fade over time as always, to forget what they’d seen without a second thought. But it was the moments where their expressions morphed into pure shock, where they lingered in the space between awe and fear that they could have real, tangible fun.
He tugs on the end of her tunic, waiting for her reply. He won’t do it unless she does too, there was no point to his jokes if she would be watching, alone, from the sidelines. That should remain in the past, the marker of the time when she first stumbled into the shrine’s grounds after escaping and Obi had found the means to entertain her in the humans who came by. Now, she joined in the fun with him, usually.
This human looks promising after all. Quiet, respectful even, as he crosses the courtyard and stops by the wish-tree to stare at the bare branches laden with snow. The scarf around his neck hides most of his face, but his ice-blue eyes are clear as he exhales a plume of warm air and tilts his head to the sky.
“He can see us,” Shirayuki finally says, leaning forward from her perch on the roof to tilt her mask down over her eyes.
“How can you tell? He hasn’t looked at us yet.” Obi peers down below them, where the boy has moved beneath the eaves of their hall and almost out of sight.
“He’s listening,” she whispers, climbing back across to the other side of the roof to swing her head down below the eaves to see. Her fingers grip the tiles with a surety that Obi was almost surprised at, but it’s a sign of progress and he’s glad for it.
He’d been determined to stubbornly ignore the boy, now that he would provide no entertainment for the night, but his curiosity takes over as he creeps to Shirayuki’s side. What is it about this boy that compels him to duck underneath as well, to watch as he meanders around in front of the temple’s displayed items with a somber weight to his step? As if he carries something heavy, not something that bends his back but rather settles on his soul.
Obi draws in a breath of cold fresh air and startles at the smell of the human that hits him from below, enough for his grip to slip and he tumbles off the roof with a muted yelp. He’d smelled familiar! A memory of similarly pale hair and sharp blue eyes swims into his mind, along with the sting of defeat and a cunning smile that might just put his own to shame.
Shirayuki’s peals of laughter bring him back to the present. As he sits up to shake the snow from his hair, he sees the boy hiding his own smile behind his scarf as he pretends to be staring at the line of statues behind him. But the way his eyes keep flicking over him as Obi stands in the snowdrift in a distinct huff does not evade his notice.
“What do you want?” he yells over, brushing the snow out of his sleeves even though he doesn’t necessarily feel the cold all that much. His mask had dropped during his fall and he only thinks of it when the boy retrieves it from the icy bush it had become buried in.
“I’ve come to return something to you,” the boy says, looking up as Shirayuki’s bursts of giggles subside and she hops down to the railing beside him like a sparrow alighting on a branch. Her mask hides her face but from the way she leans towards him it’s plain that she’s eager to meet him, as opposed to Obi’s unwelcoming glare.
“Why do you smell like him?” Obi picks his way over to the path leading through the temple’s garden while he points at the boy in accusation.
“That’s why I’m here. To give you back what he took.” The boy holds out the mask, carefully holding the ceramic with his gloves so as not to dirty it and Obi reluctantly comes closer to take it from his grasp.
“Give it back?” He almost doesn’t believe it, but something about the way the boy’s eyes lit up as Shirayuki laughed and his care with the mask that he seems to know is an important part of Obi, he wants to trust him.
“Yes. You obey no one, and I don’t want to hold a hidden leash around you.” The boy twisted, pulling the book from his backpack and splaying it open. Pages whirled, the soft ticking sound as they settled mesmerizing, until one single leaf of it snapped upright. “Do you want it?”
Obi stared at the name on the paper, the familiar blocky characters from a time when he’d been excited to write his name in a human’s book because despite the dent in his pride it had been the first time one had seen him and talked to him. And now, this one, offers his name back and without any kind of challenge issued at all.
“On one condition,” he puts his mask back on and looks at Shirayuki, who nods, “You come back. Your brother won this with a game, I’ll only take it back if you come again for a game.”
“What game?”
“I’ll come up with one,” Shirayuki says, sliding her mask to the side to show her smile. His mission complete, Obi gestures to the boy to go ahead. He tears out the page and settles on the cold floor of the temple with his scarf as cushioning underneath him. Slipping the page between his lips, the boy exhales and Obi closes his eyes as his name flows back into him with a sigh. It wasn’t a missing part of him, but he still feels a little more complete now, as if something he lent to someone has been returned in as good a condition as he gave it. He shivers, despite his bare feet on the icy ground feeling nothing of the chill.
The boy climbs wearily to his feet, his face paler than before as if from exertion. It seems it was for the best Obi didn’t demand a game right after, in this condition the boy wouldn’t have been any fun at all; Shirayuki would’ve run circles around him and there would have been no challenge.
“Swear on your name, you’ll come again,” Obi demands, dashing past him to block his exit from the temple. He won’t let them go back to being alone together again, Shirayuki hadn’t laughed that brightly since they made someone slip in surprise down the temple’s grassy hillside last spring. He’d missed the sound, its bright notes and he wanted to hear it again. Names mayhap held more sway for youkai but this human would understand the gravity of what he promised.
“I, Zen, swear on my name that I’ll return.” The boy catches his gaze and holds it, a hidden steel there behind the tiredness hanging on his limbs. Accompanying him to the temple’s boundary, they watch as he makes his way slowly down the stairs to the bus stop.
“Do you think he’ll really come?” Shirayuki asks after a time, when they’re watching the snow come sifting down out of the sky.
“We didn’t chase him off, did we? So he’ll be back.”
