#zinestiria

[unterseebrot]

full illustration for @zinestiria! 

i thought about the seraphim picking up gardening for sorey 🌥️🌱🥕🍅🦋

[tsukimqru]

zine piece for @zinestiria !

[applegelstore]

IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT
MY @zinestiria CONTRIBUTOR COPY ARRIVED TODAY PERKS OF LIVING IN THE NEIGHBOURING COUNTRY FROM WHERE IT’S SHIPPED

LOOK AT THIS FAT CAT WITH A ZINE

LOOK AT MY PIC OF A FAT CAT The longer I look at my own art the more I want to redo it from scratch and pretend its shortcomings didn’t happen And now you know what I had to leave so much chastity space between Sorey and Mikleo

Okay moving on LOOK AT MY ART SITUATED BETWEEN TWO AWESOME FICS PLEASE

LOOK AT THESE CRAFTY NORMIN AND @crazayrock / @cdrart ’S SHINEY PIN

Again, I want to thank all the other contributors for their lovely work, and of course our dear mods and helpers for their hard work (and their also terribly lovely contributions; Lou, the cover is still so fucking pretty!)

(done by our one and only @looveel-realm / @looveelart )

I was so, so happy to be part of this zine – thank you again! This game has a special place in my heart, and I’m beyond grateful that I was even able to make friends through it; the zine played a big part in this, and I will forever love it <3

[codeadleaf]

My @zinestiria copy arrived yesterday yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay~

Everything is sooooo pretty, I’m almost afraid to touch :’) Now, I won’t be able to read it right away but here are some quick comments on those wonderful looking merchs:

@gogoberu So cute, there will never be enough Sorey/Mikleo charms out there, never! @queencanis I’ve been waiting so long for some tiny miss Creep Girl merchs, thank you!! @cdrart I wanna carry the pin everywhere but I’m afraid to lose it ;___; @saji-tan There’s cute armless normins, and then there’s Phoenix, raising from dark matter/ashes looking all glorious xD @sennel Cute waiters in cute aprons @applegelstore All hail the lesbian Shepherd and her lesbian Squire! @piripika NEVER ENOUGH ADORABLE TINY SORMIK!! (btw I love the continuity of the pregame sormik and postgame rosali prints) @z04 It looks like the world’s fate depends on that cake, maybe it was the true way to save Heldalf all along…

Everything is just fucking pretty and I shall find a nice spot to expose it!

Thanks to all the contributors for their hard work, I’m sorry I couldn’t join the discord to talk with you guys, but I promise to give all of you some feedback once I read the zine!

Thanks to everyone for supporting us and ordering the zine!

And last but not least, I would like to thank and congratulate our dear mods Cray and Lou for making this zine happens, for staying strong despite all the harships and always doing everything they could to keep us informed and make things work. You guys did great and deserves lot of love and hugs!

This was my first time participating in such amazing project and I will forever be grateful and treasure this experience.

Thank you for everything <3

[birbleafs]

[fic] Silk and Steel

Rating: G Genre: . Game-Canon, Humour. Character(s): Sorey, Rose, Mikleo, Dezel, and Eguille, with mentions of the Sparrowfeathers. Warnings: Brief mentions of slight injuries, but nothing serious. Summary: In which Sorey and Rose engage in a friendly sparring match. A/N: Here’s my full piece for @zinestiria (with some minor edits). This was actually written sometime in Apr/May 2018, but hey, it still counts for the first posted fic of the new year, right? lol. This was a lot of fun and I'm grateful to be able to write more Sorey and Rose brotp moments for this project. Many thanks to the mods for all their hard work, and to everyone else who supported us by ordering a copy!

Fic can also be read on AO3

In retrospect, he supposed it all started with crabs. Well, crab hellions, to be exact. Which was an actual thing and not just a regular crab—Sorey was almost proud to say he and Mikleo had easily figured out how to tell the two apart after the incident on Camelot bridge. Both creatures had pincers capable of deadlock grips and tended to gurgle out foam bubbles. But regular crabs didn’t have more than eight legs and—as Dezel had assured them waspishly—definitely didn’t come in over thirty-feet-tall. Neither were they usually dressed in what looked suspiciously like tattered pieces of civilian clothing, unless crab-people were another thing Lailah had conveniently decided not to mention.

Sorey was glad, of course, that they’d managed to stop the crab hellions’ rampage through the port side town and had eventually purified them. But whatever tiny victories they’d achieved then didn’t seem quite enough for Rose. He was in the midst of helping Dezel tend to the injuries of a small squirrel (that they’d picked up after crossing paths with the Sparrowfeathers, on the way out of town) when she stomped up to him, fixing him with a scrutinizing glare. He stared up at her, startled, and then, perplexed. He’d just about managed to gently prompt Dezel to share a story about his friend Lafarga. But with Rose swooping down over them like a hawk now, Dezel had quickly reverted to his default aloofness, complete with monosyllabic grunts of disapproval. Sorey sighed inwardly—well, he’d tried, at least. He endured Rose’s scrutiny for two whole minutes, listening to the soft clatter of cutlery by the fireside where Felice and Talfryn were preparing supper, before finally working up the courage to break the awkward silence between them— “Um, Dezel?” Sorey began, hesitantly. “What’s Rose doing?” Rose only tutted, hands at her hips and her gaze still pinned squarely upon him. Dezel grunted, muttered something incomprehensible, and continued tending the squirrel. Its injured front leg was already bandaged neatly, but that didn’t stop the wind seraph from wrapping yet another unnecessary roll of bandage around it, if only so he could continue to avoid Rose’s gaze. Something shifted behind Rose, and Mikleo soon appeared at her side, fixing Sorey with an equally penetrating gaze. “Guys—” Sorey tried again, only to have Rose punch his shoulder. “O-ow! What was that for?” “Hm,” Mikleo said, and then sighed—a sign that he’d arrived to a decision of sorts. “I hate to admit it, Rose, but it is a bit worrisome. I regret not realising it sooner.” “Told ya!” Rose waved a hand. “And no worries! It’s still not too late to fix this.” “I honestly have no idea what’s going on,” Sorey said helplessly. “What’s worrisome and needs fixing?” Rose and Mikleo leaned closer over him, their expressions ominous, their eyes glimmering with fire. “You,” they said. Before Sorey could protest, they yanked him to his feet and shepherded him away through the shrubbery.

*

“Okay, here’s the thing, Sorey—you kind of, uh, suck,” Rose declared, hardly batting an eyelid. She’d led them into a clearing away from camp and beside a gurgling stream. Even though he’d feigned indifference in the earlier conversation, Dezel had dutifully trailed after them as well, the squirrel now chittering upon his shoulder. “What she means is,” Mikleo offered, to soften the blow, even as he tried to hide his smirk behind a hand, “you’ve been slacking off from training and it’s starting to show. Your unarmed combat has been sloppy lately.” “Sloppy is putting it mildly.” Rose threw out her arms for emphasis, frowning twice as hard now. “That hellion this morning really threw you off when you lost your sword. Without it, you were like a sitting duck waiting to be shanked!” “Come on, guys. It wasn’t that bad!” Sorey said, slightly wounded at these sudden accusations. “So I was caught off-guard this one time…” Rose and Mikleo only exchanged a look, unconvinced. “One time?” Mikleo echoed, folding his arms. “What about the incident with the werewolf hellion just days before?” “Or that scuffle with the bandits while on the road last week?” Rose added. Sorey winced, brushing a finger gingerly at the small cuts across his right cheek. The cuts were healing, but his skin still felt tender to touch—the werewolf hellion had scratched him up pretty badly after it’d bitten his sword arm. And well, one of the bandits had gotten too close and very nearly gouged an eye out.  He didn’t like where this conversation was headed, but… All right, so maybe they both had a point. “Fine, so perhaps there were a couple of times I might not have dodged soon enough,” Sorey admitted. “But you guys covered for me then and it all turned out just fine, right?” Rose sighed. “That’s the problem! I mean, sure, you can count on us to keep an eye out  for each other during battles. But that doesn’t mean being careless and leaving yourself wide open!” “That werewolf hellion was a lot stronger than we had anticipated—even Edna and I got knocked around a bit,” Mikleo said. “But Sorey… Rose isn’t wrong either. While you have the advantage of seraphim to aid you in battles, there may be times where even we might not be able to fight alongside you, however much we wish to…” He trailed off, eyes downcast now. Sorey felt a twinge of guilt at Mikleo’s expression; there was truth in those words. The memory of his temporary resonance loss in Glaivend Basin—the helplessness, fear, and desperation a roiling dark cloud—still weighed heavily over them. “No, you’re both right,” he said. “I haven’t been as focused lately and look what that got me—bruises and bites that I could’ve easily avoided. And I could really learn a thing or two from you, Rose. You dive into battles with just a pair of daggers but still come out with little more than scrapes.” “Well, it’s one part Rose-awesomeness and two parts battle experience. But flattery will get you everywhere, so fret not! I know just how to help!” Rose said, clapping her hands together. At her signal, Eguille appeared beside her and tossed Sorey a short sparring stick. “Eguille’s been training me in close combat since I was a kid, so I’ve asked him to share some techniques that you might find useful.” “Not sure why Rose still thinks I’m one to offer pointers, considering how I got my rear handed to me by you at Rayfalke,” Eguille said coolly. “You’re a tough fighter, Mister Shepherd.” Sorey could only return an embarrassed grin. “That hadn’t really been a fight in your favour. I did have help from my friends—uh, the seraphim, after all.” “So the rumours are true then. Well, let’s start with the basics.” Eguille turned to Rose, who was twirling her sparring stick idly. “First rule of the Scattered Bones Fight Club,” Rose began, her expression solemn. “We don’t talk about the Scattered Bones Fight Club. Second rule: leave no corrupt officials or Shepherds alive—” “Righ—wait, what?!” Sorey flinched, incredulous, only to be met with bubbling laughter as Rose chanted, “Just kidding!” Eguille coughed politely, and Rose attempted a contrite Cheshire grin, gesturing for him to continue. “Always with the teasing, boss,” Eguille chuckled. “Anyway, back to the lesson. First rule of combat: never underestimate your opponent, even inexperienced ones. Sometimes you can learn a lot just by assessing them—when you’re able to discern your opponents’ drive and limitations, you can anticipate their moves better.” Eguille nodded at Sorey, watching as he mimicked Rose’s stance. “You’ve witnessed Rose in battle a few times. Let’s see if you’re able to assess her moves and spar one-on-one against her without relying on your magic tricks.” “Okay, I think I got this,” Sorey said, holding up his sparring stick and balancing on his toes the way Eguille had shown him. “All right, hit me with all you got, Rose. I’m ready.” He wasn’t ready. Sorey had lunged forward, right arm pulled back for a jab with his stick, when he realised his first mistake—letting Rose leap out of his line of sight; she was already gone in the blink of an eye. He wondered, briefly then, if Dezel had gotten nosy somehow and cast Wind-step to assist her—but no, Rose really was as quick as lightning. By the time he could react, Rose was already darting around him from the shadows. Sorey dodged, swinging his stick just in time to parry a blow—but not before he felt a sharp strike across the back of his shoulders. He gasped in surprise, stumbling forward. Rose landed lightly in the grass several metres behind him, keeping her guard up. She grinned. “Eguille’s right about you being a natural at rough-housing. Gotta work on your speed and footwork, though.” Sorey chuckled as he straightened up, raising his stick again. “I’ll keep that in mind.” “We Scattered Bones are more nimble than most fighters,” Eguille said. “Rose uses this to her full advantage. Think of your own advantage and strengths in battle, Sorey—use it as a counter-balance. You’re physically strong for your size, but agile enough to stay light on your feet. Keep your movements fluid like water, silent like silk; strike hard at your opponents, like steel. Try again.” Sorey exhaled slowly, taking a moment to reflect over Eguille’s words. Then, finding his centre, he dashed forward once again. This time, Rose rushed ahead to meet his attack directly, catching his stick with hers before jabbing her fist forward. Sorey blocked her flurry of punches and strikes, matching her speed step by step. Then, seeing an opening, he dove past her guard to knock the stick from her grip. But his victory was short-lived—with both hands free, Rose caught his outstretched arm, and using his own momentum against him, easily flipped him over. Sorey wheezed painfully as he hit the ground. His back was going to hate him in the morning. “Good disarming move,” Eguille said. Sorey wasn’t sure if it was praise directed at him or Rose, but praise was praise, right? “However, you let your guard down by assuming the fight was over when Rose lost her weapon; she easily worked that to her advantage instead.” Eguille held out a hand, helping Sorey to his feet. “So, second rule of combat: put the battle on your terms—you should always be acting, not reacting.” “Battle on my terms…” Sorey repeated, readying himself once more. “Acting, not reacting.” Rose was already on the offense, charging straight at him. Sorey moved to meet her rush, and then side-stepped away easily. He caught the flicker of surprise in her expression, before it morphed into a smirk. He returned the grin, eyes bright with daring, a playful challenge, which Rose readily accepted; pivoting on her heels, she darted around him like a fierce whirlwind. Sorey deflected her blows, searching for an opening to disarm her again. Acting, not reacting— He struck out as Rose swung her stick, felt her punch connect instead—hard enough to bruise his wrist—and his grip slipped from his weapon. Still, he pressed forward, ignoring the pain. He dodged Rose’s kick, before lunging forward enough to ram his elbow against her guard, knocking her off-balance. Yes! He grinned, unabashed at the unexpected win, and— “Sorey, the water—!” “Tch, watch it, you fools!” Mikleo and Dezel’s mental shouts were his only warning, before Sorey felt Rose seizing his shirt. “Gyeaaah!!” Rose yelped, tugging at Sorey as she flailed about. She slipped over the grassy bank, sending them both tumbling into the stream with a splash.

*

Sorey sat down beside Rose, handing her a mug of hot cocoa. “Thanks,” she said gratefully. They sat in comfortable silence by the fire as they sipped at their drinks, wrapped in blankets to keep the chill out. “Sorry about earlier,” Sorey said at length, his mug balanced carefully between his fingers. “I should’ve noticed how close we were to the stream before charging at you like that.” Rose narrowed her eyes and snorted, leaning in to nudge her shoulder playfully against his. “You’re too soft, Shepherd. All’s fair in combat if it keeps your hide safe. Besides, it’s not like that was the first time we’ve fallen into surging water together.” Sorey grinned sheepishly. “Still, I’m glad you weren’t seriously hurt or anything—o-ow!” This time, Rose elbowed him in the ribs, scowling hard. “Seriously? C’mon, it’ll take a hell of a lot more than that to put me out of commission. Let’s just compromise and say we’re both a force to be reckoned with.” “Fair enough.” Sorey let out a soft laugh. “Eguille did call it a draw, so I guess we both win this round, huh?” “Yup! And while it’s great to know we’re both capable of holding our own against each other in combat, I think I very much prefer us fighting on the same side.” Rose downed the last of her drink with relish before she yawned widely, leaning back to rest against the fallen log behind them. Sorey could feel the fatigue finally catching up to him just from watching her. His shoulders and back were already protesting the mistreatment from the day’s sparring session. “I’m really glad we’re on the same side too,” he said, stretching languidly to ease the kinks out of his sore back and settling down to rest beside his Squire.

“And together, we’re the bestest. Vigilantes of the people, for truth and justice!” Rose declared sleepily, one arm raised in a victorious fist-pump.   Sorey thought back to the look of fright and horror the townspeople had cast their way during their scuffle with the crab hellions that morning, and smiled wryly. He didn’t quite have the heart to tell Rose otherwise.

*

“All right, kiddos—get your suppers while they’re piping hot… Ah.” Eguille paused in his steps, balancing two bowls of stew and a basket of bread rolls on a tray. Sorey and Rose had both dozed off, their backs resting against the log as they curled close to the warmth of the fireplace. “Supper will have to wait till later then,” Eguille sighed, setting the tray down on a nearby tree stump so he could adjust the blankets over the two. He watched and listened—to the way the flames flickered a little brighter, to the sound of a stray breeze rustling the leaves of the canopy above—and glanced back at Rose and Sorey’s sleeping forms. “So the rumours are true, huh,” he murmured to no one in particular. He clasped his palms together over his chest, a show of gratitude. “This supper isn’t much, but I hope you’ll be able to share it with Rose and Sorey. Thank you for always watching over us.” The branches above bobbed lightly as if in response; while he’d never had any resonance for it, Eguille felt in that moment he could almost, almostsee the Shepherd’s seraphim beaming silently from the shadows.

—End—

[shepherdsoreydidnothingwrong]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

While furiously working on the continuation to The Christmas Prince, I present my contribution to the lovely @zinestiria!

I was partnered with @dejinyucu, who did a wonderful job illustrating this. Thanks for a great zine and a great time!

[pengiesama]

Shepherd Michael Versus the World (Fic, Gen)

Title: Shepherd Michael Versus the World Series: Tales of Zestiria Pairing: Gen Characters: Michael, Lailah, Maotelus

Summary: The Shepherding life is a lonely one indeed, but Michael thinks that he's probably got more problems than most. (TALES OF BERSERIA SPOILERS)

Link: AO3

This was my entry for @zinestiria! Check out the other fic and art entries here:

AO3 Collection Tumblr Twitter

Read on Tumblr!

From the very moment he and Muse were tossed into the Aqueduct together, he expected trials. He expected hardship. He expected and accepted all of it, and took up the Shepherd’s vow so Muse didn’t have to suffer the burden. He took it up so he could cut through the suffering of a world breaking under its strain. It was something that he knew from the start, from the moment he laid his hands over Lailah’s on the holy sword and yanked it from the pedestal.

All things considered, though, Michael couldn’t really have predicted things to go exactly like this.

“Please. Explain to me again why you were in the depths of the Shrinechurch,” said the Pendrago guard. “Now that the scribe is here to take the statement, I’m sure the church officials would love to have your tale in writing for posterity.”

Now, Michael knew that he was rather young, still. He’d only been doing this Shepherd thing for a year and some change, and most people when asked to describe a “Shepherd” probably...wouldn’t be able to at all, considering there hadn’t been one in years, but in any case, they wouldn’t immediately jump to “thirteen years old and short for his age”. But this guard that had chased Michael down through the Shrinechurch looked like he barely had a few years on him, and also looked like he was trying way too hard to make himself look older than he was. That patchy attempt at a beard was doing him no favors. 

Michael stared the guard dead in the eyes, and repeated his statement.

“I was acting on the direct order of the Great Lord Maotelus. He told me to bring him booze, then he stole my journal and made me chase him through the Shrinechurch Labyrinth.”

“You tell ‘em, Mike,” Maotelus slurred in his ear, still drunk. “You tell those pigs that you don’t talk to cops. Don’t sell me out.”

Michael really wanted to know why Maotelus wasn’t helping more. He was, in fact, making things worse. In addition to being a rowdy, belligerent drunk, Lailah had to pretend to not see him; making her unable to offer her brand of questionable assistance as well. She was off twirling around in the corner with her hands over her ears, humming loudly to herself. For the umpteenth time in his short Shepherd career, Michael found himself on his own.

The guard was smirking at him as the scribe took down Michael’s statement. For his part, the guard clearly could not see the disaster unfolding around Michael. (That was probably for the best. Michael was not in the mood to serve as spiritual counselor to someone having a crisis of faith over the fact that their religion’s head god was an alcoholic, kleptomaniac child.) But that smirk – if Michael was the smiting type, that smirk would have been sorely asking for it. It made Michael want to grab him by that terrible beard, to share some of this resonance of his and make him fall to his knees in holy terror.

“Quite a story, indeed,” said the guard.

“It is,” Michael agreed. “You must like it, since you’ve asked me to repeat it about four times now. But if you keep forgetting the details, you might want to take a break. The heat in that tin can you’re wearing must be going to your head.”

The guard’s eyes narrowed. His hand tightened on the hilt of his sword, then relaxed. Such self-control. Michael had gotten slapped around by guards for much less, in the past.

“Please, go on,” the guard said indulgently. “What happened next, after you chased down this divine encounter? Speak slowly and clearly, so we’re able to present the full story at your upcoming blasphemy trial.”

“Mike. Mikeeeyyyyyy,” Maotelus patted and poked at his cheek repeatedly. “You know I was just foolin’. Just joshin’. Just havin’ a grand ol’ time. I’m no kleptomanicalcoholic.”

Michael’s hands were bound behind his back, and even without this factor, there was no sharing of resonance to be done with Lailah…currently incapable of acting as a mediator. Michael could make this guard fall to his knees via other methods, though. For example: Michael lunged backwards, kicking his feet out and up to land a solid hit on the guard’s crotch. The guard yelped and collapsed to the floor in pain, giving Michael enough time to roll to his feet and summon the holy flame to burn the bindings on his hands. The flames licked up his arms; painless, but causing him to appear ablaze in a radiant inferno. His hair and cape swirled about his face and body in the superheated air. The terrified scribe, clearly deciding that this was out of his paygrade, dropped his supplies and fled for the Shrinechurch’s exit. Michael quickly snatched up his confiscated belongings and weapons, and rushed for the exit himself. 

“Youuu...” groaned the guard, trying to stumble to his feet even with thoroughly bruised balls. “Stop...in the name of...his majesty...”

Michael paused in his flight long enough to spare a glance back at the pathetic heap sprawled out on the marble floor. Just a power-tripping teenager, desperate to prove himself – desperate enough to march around with that terrible beard, even. Michael could almost find it in his heart to feel sorry for him.

“On the honor of the Platinum Knights…on the Heldalf family name...I won’t let you escape...” 

Well, the rest of the day was an utter wash, but he could at least make a stylish exit. Michael flicked his Shepherd cloak back, and planted his feet wide.

“The Shepherd Michael has evaded your capture today, good sir Heldalf, but—”

Maotelus let out a whoop, and smashed his empty liquor bottle over Heldalf’s head; knocking him out cold. He threw up the horns with his fingers, then slowly, ponderously fell backward like a felled tree; collapsing to the marble floor and falling instantly asleep. Humming idly to herself and leaving behind a trail of origami creatures as she went, Lailah finally wandered back over to Michael’s side.

“How was your visit?” she asked, deliberately ignoring her indisposed master on the ground. “I do hope it was worth the long walk.”

“The architecture of the Shrinechurch is as fascinating as I’d imagined,” said Michael. “Plus I stole a ton of stuff from the library.”

“How splendid,” Lailah said warmly. “But it’s good that we finished up so quickly. I’m afraid our schedule is quite...booked.”

Lailah snorted, and wheezed a donkey laugh as she reveled in her wordplay. Michael eagerly joined in, slapping his knee and cackling. 

“Booked! ‘Cause I—I got a whole ton of books and we’re busy!” Michael finally managed to get out between gasps for breath. “Wait, wait. I got one too. Lailah, you know, I read a book on Mount Killaraus the other day.”

“Oh?” Lailah replied eagerly, clasping her hands in anticipation. “How was it?”

“It was a real...cliff-hanger.”

The sounds of their laughter, and the sounds of their continued puns, echoed off the high ceilings of the cathedral.

 --

 “...and having to listen to those awful jokes for three hours straight was what first set me on the path to malevolence. The end.”

“Why did you just tell us that story?” Mikleo asked, tiredly.

Maotelus hiccupped and took another drink from the champagne bottle.

“I’unno,” he replied.

Mikleo rubbed his face with his hands and lowered his forehead to the tabletop. Sorey winced, and touched his back gingerly to confirm he hadn’t just laid down and died on the spot.

“Your other half is the one who asked me to speak at this shindig,” Maotelus pointed out. “Now if you’ll excuse me, there’s a dessert buffet that needs some purifying.”

With that, he waddled off with the champagne bottle clutched between both hands; looking like an overgrown, overdressed toddler clutching a bottle of milk. He disappeared into the crowd of guests at the reception. Sorey let the peaceful moment stretch on for a moment before he spoke.

“If it makes you feel any better,” Sorey said. “That’s nowhere near the worst story he’s told me.”

[mez-zo]

A tiny peek at the current state of my entry for @zinestiria~ Just a bit more work until it’s finished! : >