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sabraeal · 1 month

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The Sword Between, Chapter 5

[Read on AO3]

Blue silk settles over her like an estranged acquaintance; two years ago it had fit like a second skin, but now it squeezes at the bust and requires far fewer petticoats to pad out her hips. The hem, however, settles perfectly— a finger’s breadth above the the floor, just as it always had. A terrible way to learn she hasn’t grown a single, vertical inch since seventeen. Makiri will be practically unlivable.

“Such a pretty color, my lady.” Ami’s hands smooth over the skirt, coaxing out the creases that linger at her waist. Haki is half-tempted to tell her not to bother; it’s a fabric that begs to be rumpled, the furrowing above her hips only serving as a reminder of how hands might sit there, silk wrinkled in their grip. Of how easily it might crumple beneath the slightest pressure, like petals plucked from a flower's stem.

The last time she had worn this dress, she'd been more concerned about whether her prince might find her singing voice pretty, or hear rumors of her fair face and be tempted to sneak north simply for a glimpse of it than what an enterprising young man and a willing young lady might get up to in Wilant's dark corners. But Lowen had been her age now-- older, if she does not mistake her figures, though not by much-- and more than ready to contemplate such arrangements. Had he thought of it even as he knelt before her, head bowed in deference, swearing to protect her body with his own? Had he gazed up at her with that that placid mask of his, still as a lake's surface, and felt the first ripples of--?

“His Highness will surely think it suits.”

Haki's secretive smile sours to a pout. “I look young.”

Feels young is more like it, fingering the fall of lace at her décolletage. She’d been little more than a child the last time she donned this particular frock, and it’d been a season out style even then, the seamstresses of the city unable to keep up with the rush to raise bust lines and drop hemlines and overhaul sleeves altogether. But she had been proud of this one, so unlike the other gowns father had gotten for her— practically modern and made with silk bought off Tanbarunian traders instead of salvaged from one of Mother’s old gowns. A fairy tale of a dress, a dream, and...

And she’d put it away with all the others when the first prince had made clear he was in no rush to settle down with a lady wife. Yet here she was now, trotting it out to spin another story for a child even younger than she. There was poetry in that, perhaps, even if it was only the sad kind.

“Boys like His Highness do prefer a youthful lady,” Ami muses, gaze meeting hers in the mirror. “At least, if he’s naught but sixteen, as your father’s man says.”

Haki hardly misses the stress on that— your father’s man. As if she could not lay the same word's at Ami's feet-- her father's maid, paid to make sure all of her most embarrassing escapades ended up in the duke's ear.

“A pity there’s no time to have me done up in ringlets.” Fine hairs flyaway from the loose braids behind her ears; she smooths them down. “It would have made for a much more convincing ingénue.”

Ami is not the sort to smirk or sneer, but there is a twitch at the corner of her lips, a wryness that not even her scrupulous good manners can smother. “You are hardly old enough to need tricks for that, my lady. Sir Lowen is right” —as much as she is loath to admit it now, her sigh says— “it would be little hardship to fall in love with you in this dress.”

She doubts that this prince will be moved to devotion by a frock near three years out of date or by the older woman wearing it, but she must admit-- there is some charm left to it. The blue brings out the palest shades of her eyes and complements the most honeyed tones in her hair; a far cry from the humble damsel awaiting her rescue, but a fairy tale princess nonetheless.

“One can hope,” she breathes, hand splayed over the fabric at her belly. “Or at least fair enough to inspire some foolishness.”

Ami hums; a melody that swings between agreement and agitation with every note. “Certainly more reasonable men have made themselves fools for you.”

It’s a pointed remark, for all that she can’t think of a single one. The men who frequent Wilant are friends of her father, old enough to have children her own age. Few of them spare her a glance, save if they have a son her age, though those have been few and far between since her betrothal. There are soldiers of course— guardsmen who care more about Makiri’s skill than her conversation— and servants, but none that—

“Is there anything else I’ll be needing to take care of, my lady?” Ami asks, solicitously smoothing out the lace at her shoulder. And yet her gaze fixes elsewhere in the mirror, somewhere over Haki’s shoulder. The door to the sitting room, as if she’s waiting for someone to walk through. A ridiculous worry with Lowen guarding the door. “Anything that needs an extra cleaning?”

Her gaze cuts towards where the dressing screen sits, toile covered in scenes of young ladies picnicking and small dogs running over picturesque stone ruins. There’s not a stain on it, as cream-and-teal as it was the day she’d had it brought it, hoping that it might help keep the heat in around her—

Her bed. A pertinent question for a maid to ask after she had been sent away for the night, assured that there would be another set of hands to help her charge undress. Who had only seen a rumpled mess of sheets when she arrived in the morning, fire lit by an expert’s hands. And now with whatever she had seen in the hall…

Well, if she had thought her reflection young before, her flush makes it positively childish now. “N-no. There’s no need to—”

It’s mortifying to try to put the night into words. How close she had trod to impropriety, only to be rebuffed. How sure she was of his interest even so, only for yet another prince to put himself between them. Oh, if that Bergatt boy put himself before her right now and asked if she would like to see the end of the Wisteria reign, she could hardly be responsible for the answer she might give.

A practiced breath draws her upright, shoulders square as her father had taught her— you are my daughter, he would grunt, holding them straight in his hands, there are few to whom you must bow, and none to whom you must bend. It is not a sweet young princess that looks back at her in the mirror, but a lady of the North, ready to defend her walls.

“There is nothing with which you must concern yourself with,” she says with all the ice her blood can summon. “I think you will find your hands full already, trying to find more dresses that will please His Highness during his stay.”

“As you say, my lady.” Ami bows her head, as a servant ought, but it does little to conceal her smile— or her relief. “Though I’m sure there will be quite a few, if I look among some of your older wardrobe.”

It takes a concerted effort not to grimace. She too had been a more whimsical girl once, as taken with fairy stories as she was with the old lays, dreaming of knights and their ladies. Of princes disguised and true love’s kiss. “They will need to be retrimmed.”

“Of course.” There’s a fondness as Ami lays her hand on a trunk, a wistfulness Haki cannot quite understand. “I’ll see to it.”

“Good.” She steps down from the mirror with a sigh, her dress rustling after her like leaves in the underbrush. “I’ll need all the help I can get.”

Lowen is on his feet when she sweeps into the parlor. Odd; for all his much vaunted skill in the ring— a beast with a blade in his hand, Makiri had always told her, like he’s fighting for his life— her guardsman always seemed more apt to lounge than lunge outside it. And yet as he stands there, attention drawn to the angle of her entrance, his weight shifts in a way that implies movement rather than repose.

“Come.” It would be simple to brush too close as she passes him, to let their eyes meet in a gaze so heavy it might well be a caress, but she bustles past instead, careful to keep even the barest hint of ruffle from slipping over his boots. “My father calls.”

It is not until her toes cross the carpet’s edge that she realizes their are no footfalls behind her, that Lowen has not fallen into step, using that rangy stride of his to eat up the distance between them. No, when she glances over her shoulder, he is still where she last left him, hands curled to fists at his side.

“Sir.” There is a layer of reproach as she speaks, covering the concern beneath it. “He is waiting.”

His fingers twitch, the barest flinch. “Are you certain?”

Haki does not turn to him— that would be a concession too far, a confession with a dearer cost than she can afford— but her shoulder does lower. “That Father waits?”

“No.” Lowen hardly allows a thought to stray across his face, let alone wears his heart on his sleeve, but there is something that lurk beneath the gaze he fixes on her, a castigation and a plea all in one. “That it is wise to bring me.”

A princess does not allow her mouth to thin, does not let her eyebrows angle to imply impatience; a good thing, then, that Haki is not one yet.

“Sir, if there is anything that I am certain of, it is that.” She shifts— not a ceding of ground, but a firming of resolve. A planting of her feet, gaining better leverage to yank on his leash. “Come. You would not have your lady go to battle without her knight.”

Still, he remains unmoved. Not even the barest sway to show he’s heard her.

“Is that what this is?” he says after a long moment. “A battle?”

Her mouth works for a moment, uncertain. “What else can it be? If my father were to bend any more…”

Then the North would be broken. On one side would be the ones who still clung to Father’s prudence, who would see profit in playing Wistal’s games, and on the other—

Well, it had been said once that the stones between Wilant and Oriold would never wash clean. That even now, when the snows melt, the side of the roads run red. The lords of the North may play at civility now, nodding at the southern court’s fashion of love and courtly graces, but that only hides the histories written with bloodied hands.

Lowen breathes, eyes fluttering shut as he takes it in, but when they open—

There is steel there. A resolve that does not waver. “Then let us go to battle, my lady.”

She is too aware of Lowen as they make their way through Wilant’s halls; aware of how his gaze lingers on her, tracing the fall of lace along her collar and dragging down the silken curve of her waist. Aware of the space between them, just enough for an arm to reach across and grab, for the inches to disappear between them and to finally finish the conversation Ami had so unfortunately interrupted.

It’s tempting to turn, to catch his eyes and invite the sort of resolution it would bring. But even though his stare burns hot enough to catch her alight, he does not speak. Not a single word to draw her attention, not a single brush of skin against skin to call her to him. Although her legs tremble effort with the effort to keep putting one slipper in front of the other and her neck aches from keeping it angled straight ahead, he does not stop her, not once.

It is too important, she realizes. For all that she wants to clutch at Lowen’s shoulders and ask just what thought churn behind that stare of his, it is a distraction she can ill afford. Her father’s plans are balanced on a blade’s edge, and it is her who decides which way their fortunes tip.

She will not disappoint him.

It is still Arleon guards on the door to the great hall, and they move aside before she even utters, “My father is expecting me.”

A single step inside is enough to know why: the prince’s party has already arrived. Still covered in the dust from the road by the looks of it, harried and eager to be shown to the privacy of their chambers. By the wary angle of the royal guards’ shoulders, Father and Makiri have resorted to thin excuses to keep them here. Waiting for her.

With a steeling breath, she nods to the footman at the door. “Lady Haki,” he announces, the slightest tremble in his voice. He’s not used to such esteemed visitors, it seems. “First daughter of his lordship, the Duke Arleon.”

If she thought she might have trouble picking out the prince from among all this white and blue and broad shoulders, she is saved the trouble; his party drops to show the deference due to a duke’s daughter, leaving only a single one of them on his feet.

The queen consort had sent her a gift once, during the months in which her father and the king dickered over the finer points of her betrothal of the first prince— a miniature, done fully in oils, of Izana himself. Long engagements may be prudent, she had written in her elegant hand, letters looping across the page, but they often are lonely. Let this satisfy both your company and your curiosity.

He could not have been more than fifteen, maybe sixteen when he had sat for the portrait, but even so, there was a gravity to that narrow face, a piercing quality to the deepness in his eyes. A regal tilt to his pointed chin, a knowing that lingered in this corners of his mouth; strangely serious for a prince who would become more known for parties than policy. Not yet a man, but she could see the one he would make once the last of childhood was stripped from his cheeks.

What they have sent her now is hardly more than a child.

His brother’s portrait might have hinted at manhood, but this boy— his face is still round, baby fat still clinging stubbornly to his bones. Perhaps there is a threat of a heavy jaw lingering there, a promise of something masculine and square opposed to Izana’s more feminine angles, but it is impossible to tell beneath those full cheeks, flushed and flawless as a doll’s. His hair is cut the same way of his brother’s, but instead of falling with a stately sort of grace across his forehead, it is a dandelion’s tuft, baby-fine and untamed.

“Ah, Your Highness.” Father’s gaze holds hers for a long moment before it drops to the would-be heir, meeting his wide eyes with no hint of his displeasure. “You have yet to meet the reason for all our celebration, I assume. Haki” — his hand sweeps out, beckoning— “come. Greet our honored guest.”

She doesn’t not so much walk as float down the runner of the Great Hall, skirts swaying as if it is only clouds that ruffle their hem, not carpet. It takes hours of practice to turn that which is earthly to the ethereal, but Haki had long shouldered every ache and tumble in the name of causing her prodigal husband to swallow his tongue at the altar.

There is something far less satisfying about inspiring the same reaction in his brother. “It is an honor that you have come for so humble an occasion, Your Highness.”

“Of course.” His voice is reedy, not quite finished changing even if she can hear the man in it. It breaks at her flawless curtsy, flustered. “I mean, the honor is mine. It is hardly every day that we can celebrate such a fine young lady becoming a woman.”

It’s the sort of thing a fond uncle might say, not a boy four years her junior, but Haki smiles nonetheless, hoping it does not sit as stiff as it feels. “You are too kind, sir.”

“Not at all,” he insists with a graciousness that would seem more natural on a man three times his age. “It is its own sort of accomplishment. To be, er…”

“Twenty.” When Makiri smiles it is all teeth, a wolf scenting blood on the snow. “That’s how old my sister is. Old enough to get married now, according to your southerners, isn’t it?”

The prince is too earnest— and his skin far too pale— to cover the flush that blooms up his neck, painting him pink from collar to brow. “T-that is true. But, erm…” His gaze casts about, trying to find a safe place to perch. “Ah, b-but I haven’t yet introduced my party. Sirs…?”

One of the men rises— dark hair shorn short enough that she can see a neck as brown as a laborer’s, far from the lily white of the noble son knelt beside him. He unfurls to a startling height with the same lassitude as the castle’s cats, as if he was only ever on his knees because it pleased him to do so. There’s a cant to his mouth that only supports the implication, but when she raises her eyes to meet his eyes—

She flinches. There’s a scar there— a gouge, badly healed, that stretches from cheek to cheek.

“Sir Zakura Shidnote, my lords— and lady.” He nods at her, mouth tilting toward a smirk. “Lately of the Royal Knight’s Circle. And this is Sir Michel” — his hand cuts toward the noble son getting to his feet, a boy just about Makiri’s age, though he carries it better— “one of the more promising squires from our last bout of new blood.”

“I’m a knight, really,” the young man insists, pushing back the hair that’s flopped over his eyes. “Though I am, ah…new, my lord.”

“Just earned your accolades, is it?” Father may not be a man of smiles, but his eyes crinkle at the corners, warm. “My son—”

“Earned them two year ago,” Makiri interjects acidly, brows bent in his most surly scowl. As if that would help him look any older than his scant years.

Practically a veteran, she almost says, but there is not enough wide-eyed sincerity in her to cover the bite. As much as she might like to tease, she hardly needs to be reminded: they are not among friends.

“Just so.” Father squints the way he does at their accounts, tallying up the men before him. “Did you not have another man in your party?”

“Ah, yes, Sir Mitsuhide.” The prince's mouth pulls thin before he recollects himself, grimace turning to boyish grin. “My apologies, I had hoped for all of us to be here to greet you, but time was short, and there was an issue with our…baggage. We left him to sort it out with your staff.”

Father’s mouth turns stern. “Then should it not be I who apologies to you, Your Highness? If there was some issue, then surely—”

“Ah, no no! This was, er…our fault,” His Highness insists, oddly guilty. “I’m afraid my mother insisted on one last gift, even after all the carriages had been packed tight! It changed…quite a lot of our travel plans.”

“I see,” Father murmurs, though it’s quite clear he does not. He is not a man of last-minute anythings, let alone travel plans.

“But he will be here for the formal reception, of course!” The prince smiles, bright. “He wouldn’t miss it— he’s a northerner, trained at your very own Sereg.”

“Sereg.” Now her brother straightens in his seat, an excited sheen in his eyes. “So he’s skilled, then?”

“Some,” Sir Zakura drawls, a corner of his mouth creeping up his cheek. “Enough that the king requested him by name.”

“By name…?” Now it is her father who leans in, brow furrowed. “You cannot mean— Mitsuhide Lowen?”

The prince nods, pleased. “The very same.”

“I’ll be damned.” Father settles back in his seat. “I nearly asked him here, before His Majesty snapped him up. He was one of Sereg’s finest swords. ”

Sir Zakura smirks. “And now he is one of Wistal’s.”

“Lowen?” Haki keeps her voice low, pitched for only her and her shadow to hear. It's a curious coincidence, considering how closely her knight has always played his card to the chest. “Is there any relation to…?”

Her chin tilts, hoping to catch his eye-- or at least the angle of his mouth, but--

But when she slants her eyes to his usual place at her shoulder, there is nothing behind her but empty air.

#hakizana #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #1000 followers #my fic #canon divergence #lionheart au #mad king kain #ans #i wish we got to have more zen in this chapter #he's got some interesting scenes coming up that i can't wait for #but he's got to be on his best behavior right now #debating if i should have an izana interlude next chapter #or keep forging ahead solely in haki's POV #i think i will have to eventually dip into his POV #since there's clearly....STUFF that's happening for him #the question is WHEN

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randowwriter · 6 months

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To Drop The Act Of Indifference

Here's a late fill to Day Three of ANS Rare Pair Week 2022! It's HakIzana, though I was trying to fill a different day's prompt with HisaKiki, and this idea wouldn't leave me alone. I hope you enjoy, and I really hope Haki is in character and that HakIzana ended up right.

#sctwilightvampwolfgal #hakizana #Haki Arleon #izana wisteria #ANS Rare Pair Week 2022 #ANS Rare Pair Week #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #akagami no shirayuki

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sabishi-tomo · 2 years

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Friendship ask! 3, 5, 7, 12, 13 for Izana and Haki

Thank you for the ask, anon! Full list of friendship asks here.

Like the last ask, I'm going to assume the questions are about Haki and Izana as their relationship stands in the manga currently, and not about a hypothetical situation where it is platonic only.

3. A random headcanon I have of them

Haki gets on really well with Zen, so she can bridge the gap between Zen and Izana. Sometimes she scolds Izana when he's being too strict on Zen.

5. A scene I wish we had of them

We don't know much about how Haki and Izana's engagement came about. Was it purely political? Was there liking from either side? Did Izana seriously consider other potential brides? Izana's future wife will be Queen so it is something that would take careful consideration, and likely also approval from his mother and from other advisors. Maybe we'll find out more in the future, especially as it seems like we might see their wedding soon.

Funnily enough, I think Zen realized Haki might be his future sister-in-law about the same time as the readers did. Look at Zen's puzzled look below (Ch 52). Izana isn't very forthcoming with his private affairs though, so maybe we will never learn his personal feelings on the matter, beyond hints that have been interspersed here and there.

7. What makes me like their friendship

As Izana is the King, there's not many who can talk back to him. But I feel that Haki can hold her own against him, and even help him learn a thing or two in the process. There is a note of deference and formality that Haki speaks to Izana with, since he has always outranked her, but Izana speaks to her as an equal, and I like that.

12. A word to describe them

Regal

13. What I think would have happened if they never met

Practically speaking, I think this scenario would be impossible since both of them are from prominent noble families in Clarines. For them not to meet, one of them would have to leave the country or be dead.

Had it happened though, as King, Izana would still need to select a bride. We don't know much about his other potential matches, especially those that would be politically beneficial to Clarines. There's Kiki, but she has no interest in being Queen. A princess of a foreign country, perhaps? There are other potential matches among Clarines' noble families, I'm sure, we just haven't been exposed to them in canon.

For Haki, I imagine her life would be like what it was before she moved to Wistal, overseeing academic research at Lyrias and helping her brother with other governing matters in the North.

#izana wisteria #haki arleon #hakizana #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair

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ans-arcade · 2 years

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Our First Family Dinner Together

Focused on a future in-law relationship actually, with a splash of ZenYuki and HakIzana. <3 https://www.fanfiction.net/s/14145743/1/Our-First-Family-Dinner-Together

(Submitted by sctwilightvampwolfgal on fanfiction.net)

#submission #sctwilightvampwolfgal #Haki Arleon #Izana Wisteria #Shirayuki #Zen Wisteria #In-Laws #brothers #biological family #ZenYuki #HakIzana #ANS Family Week 2022 #ANS Family Week #akagami no shirayukihime #akagami no shirayuki #snow white with the red hair #fanfic

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hakiarleon · 1 year

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gee zen, sensei lets you have TWO doting siblings?

#they each have favourites from his partners #i think haki would find obi hilarious #and izana has been canonically warming up to shirayuki #tho i do still want canon izana obi interactions it would be so funny #i have almost the entirety of this extra chapter screenshotted go figure #can we pleaseee get to the wedding arc already im being deprived of haki content #haki arleon #izana wisteria #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #zen wisteria #queued #pics or it didnt happen #i feel so bad for whoever reads this post like oh cute hakizana and zen sibling moment and the tags blast them with obizenyuki #for thw record i am sorry. just a little bit. maybe

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akagami-no-rae · 11 months

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Hello hello! For the AnS drawing suggestions..maybe smt like zenyuki just hanging out on the hakizana wedding? 👉👈 Love your artstyle btw! <3

Dancing outside the wedding reception where they won’t draw attention

#akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #zenyuki #my art #ans #earlier that day zen was crazy busy but promised to make time for Shirayuki later #she didn’t think much of it #maybe they’d meet up with the others late into the night but then obi lured her outside where zen was waiting #as much as he wants to proclaim his devotion to shirayuki his brother’s wedding day isn’t the day

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onedivinemisfit · 1 year

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Hakizana behind the scenes 2016, free to color lineart~

AnS (c) Akizuki Sorata Art: Me

Transparent png below read more

#akagami no shirayukihime #ans #snow white with the red hair #hakizana #haki arleon #izana wisteria #izana wistalia #myart #free lineart #free to color

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ggukshrimp · 6 months

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I NEED MORE HAKIZANA CONTENT 😭😭

Can anyone recommend me good AU's, Fanfictions, and stuff to read about them 🥺

#haki arleon #haki x izana #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #anime #manga #izana wisteria #zen wisteria #hime shirayuki

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bubblesthemonsterartist · 2 years

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There's so much going on in this chapter that I can't even do a proper spoiler post, so let me just shitpost my favorites:

Nosy academics wondering if they should apply anyway, the job market is so tight . . .

I don't know how you're making that elven hairstyle work, sir, but I salute you

Obi making a lot of THIS FACE while Makiri and Zen go back and forth about table runners for the Hakizana wedding

SHE GO FAST, ZYORMMMMMMM

Shirayuki looking flawless nbd ✨

Zen'll have the pheasant with gooseberry sauce, thank you

Shirayuki: you've got something on your face right... there.

#akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #spoilers #chapter 130 spoilers #next chapter is october 24 #also this is just me having fun there's actually very srs politics happening

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sabraeal · 1 year

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The Only Adult in the Room, Chapter 3

[Read on AO3]

Written for @meibemeibelline in honor of her BIRTHDAY 🎉🎉 Mei was one of our youngest members of fandom way back when we started hosting events, and now she is a full fledged adult with a college degree, making me feel old every day 🤣 This ended up being less Cute Children and more Izana Is Tortured By His Crush than I thought it would be, but I have a feeling you won’t have a problem with that...

When Mother had explained to him his duties at the daycare-- ones she had referred to quite vaguely as giving Garak-san an extra set of hands-- Izana had thought he understood the breadth of his commitment. Be on hand for when the children needed tending. Keep a watchful eye. Make sure no one got lost on the way to and from-- and sometimes, in-- the potty. Hold Ryuu when Garak needed more range of movement than a baby carrier could allow.

Bleaching baby toys, however, never quite made the list.

“That’s because you’re a rich kid.” Shidnote snaps his nitrile glove-- latex allergies develop with exposure, Garak had told them, grinning as she added, be a terrible time for you boys to start-- loud enough to make Izana wince. “Your parents just bought you guys new toys. The grandmas in my complex do this like every other month or something. Humans got gross mouths, you know, and babies love to put them on stuff.”

The water’s warm when Izana plunges his hands into it, enough to make them sweat. Born with palms that Lowen-sensei deemed ‘perfect for pastry’ upon their first meeting, the sensation for clamminess is a discovery he could have done without. “A strange position for you to take, considering how often you like to talk about finding another one to put on yours.”

“The point is that making out is hot enough that you don’t think about what germs you’re passing. Also, sometimes you touch a boob.” He doesn’t see so much as feel Shidnote’s gaze slip to the corner of his eyes, one corner of his mouth hooked with a humor Izana doubts he’ll share. “Speaking of, what are you going to do about Haki-chan?”

“Arleon?” Izana sits back on his heels, gloves dripping over the tub. “What are you talking about?”

“You like her, right?” It’s less a question than a comment, like a single discussion makes Shidnote an authority on the matter. “So the next step is to tell her. You know, confess your love, and then she’s like take care of me, and you’re like, I--”

“I don’t like her.” His blood pressure rises every time she enters homeroom, smiling her fake smile and standing all pigeon-toed as she asks if she’s done something right at the board, as if she didn’t rank ten points higher than most of the boys in their class. “Where did you even get that idea?”

The truth only seems to amuse Shidnote; he sits back and had a good chortle before he sees fit to remind him, “You nearly blew a gasket at me mentioning her rack.”

“That?” It’s awkward to use a brush for most of these toys; he takes his to a rubber duck and nearly loses his eye trying to hold onto it. “I didn’t realize that I needed to have ulterior motives to ask that you don’t reduce our classmate to a single physical feature.”

“Oh, you’re right,” Shidenote agrees with absolutely no conviction. “She has an ass too. Can’t believe I forgot about that.”

Izana did not make a career out of dangling hooks at his last school to not know when he’s being baited. It’s a flashy lure to be sure, one that demands a response rather than being ignored; the sort either very earnest or very stupid fish find their cheeks impaled on. How fortunate he’s never been either. “That’s not what I meant.”

If Shidnote’s disappointed by the lack of nibbles on his line, his grin certainly doesn’t show it. “Of course not. You’re a man of culture. You’re thinking about how she’s got legs for days.”

The thing is-- he’s not. It might be typical of a boy his age to ponder the more classically attractive attributes of the female student body, but the pastime has never much appealed to Izana, not even when it was made plain that the attention would be welcome, if not actively encouraged. He’s got larger concerns than cup-size, a future poised to fly or fall depending on how he plays these next few years--

But all that’s forgotten as black tights flicker across the back of his eyes, his eidetic memory no longer displaying stock statistics but stockings stretched from the hem of a skirt to the bared ankles of school shoes.

A stacking ring slips out of his hands with a splash, sending warm, bleach-scented water spattering all over his uniform slacks. It’s a measurement he’s only seen since Arleon’s locker sits above his. It’s not like he’s tried to notice. “I meant that she’s a classmate. She deserves to be spoken of like a person, not a pin-up.”

Izana does not blush; his skin might be pale enough for it, but his body has learned the price of betrayal far too well to risk it. It hardly seems to matter when Shidnote smirks anyway, far too knowing for his own health. “Oh are pin-ups not people?”

“You know I didn’t mean--”

“Oh, forget it,” Shidnote huffs, waving him off. “I’m fucking with you. Someone needs to if you think you’re above wanting to get a handful of Haki-chan.”

Izana lets his mouth pull as thin as his patience. “I’ve told you, I don’t think of my classmates in that way.”

“Really?” Shidnote scoffs. “You trying to tell me that if you had the chance to touch her tits, you’d turn your nose up at it?”

This is the problem with the boys his age; they think of every encounter with the opposite sex as taking an opportunity instead of creating one. A caper instead of a compromise. As if by virtue of being born female precluded them from ever wanting to be touched.

With a sigh, he scrubs a giraffe a hair harder than he means. “I don’t go around looking for opportunities to take advantage--”

“Fine, fine. How about if she let you? No.” Shidnote grins, too proud of himself. “If she asked you to.”

“I--”

“No, hold up.” One gloved hand flies up, water splattering in an arc over the grass. “If she begged you.”

Izana doesn’t snort-- Father would have a fit of apoplexy if he knew his own son was even entertaining the idea-- but he does say, “That hardly seems likely.”

“Aw, c’mon, Wisteria.” Shidnote claps him on the shoulder, soaking it through. At least his shirt is the one piece of clothing that’s supposed to be bleached. “Girls like you, even if you don’t appreciate it.”

What he would appreciate is some silence, something most of the female demographic in his class doesn’t seem to grasp, nor Shidnote. “I wasn’t aware that we were discussing girls as a whole.”

“We’re talking about Haki-chan, who is a girl, and isn’t immune to your charms.” That last part seemed a reach, even for Shidnote, but telling him so would only encourage him. “Are you trying to say that if she came up to you, shirt half-unbuttoned, and told you you could touch...?”

It’s terrible how attentive certain parts of him become at that picture, entirely unbidden.

“I’m not refuting that she’s physically attractive--” he’s not supposed to choke on his words like this, not Izana Wisteria-- “I’m only saying--”

“I’m not asking for an objective analysis on whether Haki-chan is considered hot,” Shidnote laughs, stealing a stacking ring from his bucket. “I’m asking whether touching her would melt your ice a little or what.”

Patience is critical for any conversation, whether it be in the boardroom or over a couple buckets filled with water and bleach. To create a pause so seamless as to be natural veers close to an art, and to infuse it with weight the way Father does might as well be a masterpiece.

But Izana does not pause here, he hesitates. Words stick to his mouth, crowding and jostling until finally he spits out, “I’m respectful, not dead.”

Shidnote grins.

“But that doesn’t mean I like her,” he informs him, nearly tripping over his own tongue in his hurry. “She’s intolerable.”

Shidnote shrugs, too pleased with himself. “That’s the great thing about dating: you don’t have to talk.”

Izana doesn’t even bother to glare; there’s no use when Shidnote isn’t even acquainted with shame. “Unlike some people, I don’t make all my long-term decisions with my lower head.”

“What about some short term ones, then?” Shidnote sits back on his heels, tugging at his gloves. Each time they slip out from under his fingers, making a wet slap as they settle back against his skin. “Field Day’s coming up. Not a bad time to impress Haki-chan.”

Izana may not flush, but his collar itches, which might be worse. “I’m not trying to impress anyone.”

Shidnote’s whistle grates, but he’s pretty sure that’s by design. “That’s right, His Highness doesn’t really do physical activity.”

“I’m fourth dan in kendo,” he reminds him, for whatever good it might do. “But I’m not familiar with organized sports, I suppose.”

“Well, you’re tall.” Shidnote squints at him, like it was possible to get his measure while they both sat here, soaked in their uniforms. “That’ll give you some advantage in a race. You could probably do a leg of the relay. Maybe the 500 meter? Or do you run weird?”

“I don’t--” Izana tamps down on his annoyance, taking a deep breath before he continues, “I am at least proficient in cross country, though I can’t say I’m overly interested in running laps in June.”

“Yeah.” Dropping back on his hands, Shidnote let out a huff. “It’s going to be hot as hell. Don’t know why we can’t do it in the fall like everyone else.”

The answer-- at least as imparted by Mother over dinner last night-- is the school trip. Group rates were apparently much cheaper in October, long after the flush of summer had faded, and to do both would place the trip either be right before or right after it. Which would either impinge on the setting up or taking down of Sports Day, and with a school that touted its focus on academic achievement and personal responsibility...

“Money,” Izana tells him. “It’s cheaper to do it now.”

Shidnote snorts. “But everyone here is rich!”

He shrugs. There’s no use telling him how he’s espoused the same argument at the dinner table, only to have mother ask him to pass the rice.

“Hey, you know, our three-legged race is coed.” Shidnote winks, his sense of justice long forgotten. “Maybe you and Haki-chan--”

“Those are decided by random draw,” Izana reminds him, rubbing at his cheek. He must be in direct sunlight if they’re feeling this hot. “You can’t possibly be insinuating that I should rig the selection.”

“No, but listen: consider how easy it would be to trip.”

There’s no conceivable way he would debase himself like that in front of the whole school, but Shidnote seems far less concerned with his pride, and more with, “Then Haki-chan could get all tangled up in those long legs of yours, and you’d both go down, her under you, and then you’re on top, and it’s a complete accident but your hand is right there, and--”

“Don’t.”

Shidnote’s grin stretches to dangerous proportions. “Just think about it!”

“Why would I when you’re already thinking about it enough for the both of us,” he mutters, setting the last of his toys out on the towel to dry. “You read entirely too much hentai.”

“Fine,” Shidnote sighs. “What if you did the relay, she sees you win big, and then asks if you’d like to go behind the bleach--”

“What’s a relay?”

They both startle, Izana nearly upending his bleach water as two cat’s eyes blink at him from over Shidnote’s shoulder. “Obi, he breathes, shaking his head, “I didn’t see you there.”

“Stupid,” Shidnote breathes, shaking his fist as he uses the other hand to pry his brother off his back. “Make noise when you walk.”

Obi blinks, the afternoon sun making his eyes shine bright as coins. “But you’re always telling me to shut up.”

“Don’t try to make this my--”

“A relay is a race,” Izana informs him, before the situation can spiral too much further out of control. A constant threat when it comes to the Shidnote brothers. “A team race, where you pass a baton between members.”

“Oh.” Obi stares up at him from where his brother has him pinned. “I’m really good at racing.”

“You’re really good at running,” Shidnote huffs, poking his chest. “It’s different. And this doesn’t involve you. Big kid stuff only.”

“Awww,” he whines, reaching a pitch only dogs can hear. “But I wanna--”

“No.”

“Why big kids only?”

Izana doesn’t startle this time-- where one child wanders, the gaggle is soon to follow-- but Shidnote muffles a curse, leaving him to face Kiki Seiran’s disappointment all on his own.

“Obi runs circles around you all the time,” she informs Shidnote with no little judgment, somehow looking down her nose at him at less than a meter tall. “He’d be an asset in any race.”

“Asset?” Shidnote chokes.

Izana resists the urge to rub his temples; there’s no point in trying to ease his headache when it’s only going to get worse. “Shidnote-kun and I were just discussing Field Day, which is an event for...big kids.”

“Field Day?” Zen doesn’t toddle anymore, but when he traipses up beside Kiki, that’s when Izana realizes-- he moves like a kid. His face scrunches up in confusion, matching her curious tilt. They might as well be twins for how much they look alike. “What’s that?”

“It’s when everyone in the gakuen goes outside and plays games together.” He’s suddenly aware of the five sets of glittering eyes watching him, enthusiasm completely undeterred. “Ah, as I said, it’s just for our class. We have to pick which events we’re going to represent our class in.”

“But we’re in the school, aren’t we?” Obi squeaks, squirming out from his brother’s hold. “We get to do it too right?”

“It’s for big kids, he said,” Shidnote snaps. “Not babies.”

“B-but.” Shirayuki plops herself into his lap, looking up at him with her impossibly determined eyes. “I play too.”

Izana may be an adult, but oh, it’s hard to say no to her eyes. “Ah, Shirayuki-chan, I don’t think--”

“What a great idea!” Garak says, strolling over with a grin. “A Field Day would be the perfect way to entertain the kids.”

Izana knows extra work when he hears it. “But, Garak-san--”

“Why don’t you make it your special project,” she says, smile all teeth. “I’ll let your mother know you’re working on it.”

#hakizana #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #gakuen babysitter AU #high school babysitters au #modern au #my fic #ans #there were so many times this chapter i had to remind myself these chapters should be short #but now i have stuff for both kiddo field day and gakuen field day #SO THAT'S A WIN I SUPPOSE #for if i ever have to come back to this!

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claudeng80 · 3 years

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Hakizana/Kinktober/4. Role Reversal

The first anniversary of Queen Haki’s reign is marked with a grand ball. The castle glows with lamps, scattering light in all directions into the stony streets of Wirant. She can only imagine the line at the front door must run out into the street, given the number of men of marriageable age who have been presented to her tonight and the further crowds thronging the ballroom and banquet room with hungry eyes.

The hand of her father is probably behind it all, with his enthusiasm to parade her options before her, but just because she’s not married doesn’t mean she’s in any hurry to change that state. The nobles will respect her crown before she goes introducing the wild card of a consort into the mix.

“Should I ask for a second set, Majesty?” Touka Bergatt surveys the crowd as they pause on the dance floor, catching their breath before plunging back into the wilderness of the crowd. It’s been a restful few dances- he might have been an acceptable consort, had she need of tightening ties with the local nobles. The Bergatts have ruled over the environs of Wirant for generations, loyal to the throne without question so long as Clarines’ memory stretches. But with matters quiet so close to home, she has better use for him as a dear and trusted friend.

“A tempting offer,” she answers. Certainly he won’t step on her feet or try to recite poetry in the middle of a waltz, which puts him in the top category of partners, but duty speaks louder than comfort, as always. “But there are too many southern lords here to placate. I’d rather not hear about your exploits on the dueling field on my behalf. Again.”

That sends his sharp features into a twist- clearly he thought she didn’t know about that- but the sour look only lasts a moment. “You could dance with the Yurisian envoy instead, give them something to really complain about.”

“I suspect Lady Kihal is an accomplished dancer, but she is not comfortable with the waltz. It would be unfair to subject her to that kind of scrutiny.” She’s already wearing a Yurisian gift, a matching tiara and collar of walnut stone that chimes against her skin, a musical accompaniment for her alone. To show too much favor, even to a close ally, would upset the balance of public opinion.

“How about Duke Wisteria, then? He’s certainly pretty enough to make a stir,” Touka offers next.

“Are you planning out my entire dance card, then? Should I appoint you master of ceremonies for the next ball?” Wisteria is a fribble, pretty as Touka says but with little substance. His father sat in Wistal like a lump, never investing in the well-being or advancement of his people at all. This Izana has shown occasional flashes of promise, but what he’s best known for is his clothing. He’s in fine form tonight, standing out like an albino peacock in white and pale blue. Honestly, it’s blinding.

“Come on, you know it will inspire the younger lords into competition, if they think you favor the fancy one. It’ll be a boon for the tailors’ guild, and always fun to watch.”

Haki stifles a giggle as the music ends, stepping back to curtsey the end of the set. “I will think on your suggestions, Lord Bergatt,” she says loud enough for the neighbors to hear. “But you must take your own advice as well.”

The musicians set down their instruments, stirring to drink deeply and breathe the fresh air. Haki takes the same break, gliding through the ballroom dispensing greetings without being pulled into any particular circle.

Of course, she can’t help but notice the cluster of men who follow her steps. “Like dolphins in a ship wake,” Envoy Kihal laughs, but even she doesn’t try to draw Haki into conversation. “No, no, if you stop they’ll catch up. I’ll see if I can thin the pack a bit,” she offers, and plants herself in Lord Eisetsu’s path. He’s one of the more tolerable of the bunch, although with the added mystery of an absolutely miserable countenance. He looks like he’d rather be anywhere else but at court. Haki would bet her favorite set of rubies that parents are to blame.

“Would your Majesty care for a drink?” Izana Wisteria somehow possesses the knack of making her stop without actually obstructing her passage. In his right hand, he extends an untouched glass of white wine - her favorite. Apparently his eye for details extends to her preferences.

Fortunately for him, she is actually thirsty. “That is thoughtful of you, Duke Wisteria.” A drink of wine finds her much more amenable to conversation, and at least the other suitors keep their distance from him. “You are not dancing this evening? The music is not to your liking?”

“You are expecting me to say something about how the right partner has not yet been available, then ask you to dance. However, I am more a fighter than a dancer. I prefer to watch from the sidelines, your Majesty.”

Haki blinks, once, and takes another sip of her drink before replying. “I see you have saved me the trouble of an entire discussion.” She certainly was not angling for a dance partner, whatever he might say, but it’s too late to deny that now. A fighter indeed, with that clever parry and riposte. “Will you walk with me, then? Standing still is hard on the feet, and now that you have already dismissed the common topics of a ball, perhaps we may speak of things with substance.”

“Gladly, your Majesty.” He matches her pace carefully, the picture of elegance in his house’s white trimmed with blue. It’s even brighter up close, when she can tell just how tall he truly is. Handsome, too, when he smiles- the Wisterias are certainly decorative. His younger brother might be a good prospect for one of her ladies in a few years, if he’s as elegant as the duke. “If we can no longer speak of wine or dancing, then what is left to discuss? Would you speak of hunting?”

“I am no fan of the sport, myself, and would have nothing to contribute. Riding is very enjoyable, but I prefer to actually get somewhere rather than going in circles for some poor animal to be inexpertly killed. Better to leave hunting to those who make it their trade.” That’s odd, she’s never expounded on that before. Not that she’s often asked to hunt- the queen makes the invitation, one does not invite the queen- but until she opened her mouth even she did not know her dislike was so pointed.

“Books, then? We are living in a good time for fiction, with so many printers setting up in Lilias.”

Haki narrows her eyes, trying to parse this statement for the purpose. He could mock her for reading novels, or for not. “A good time indeed. We should give thanks we are not in Tanbarun, with their taste for interminable epic poetry.”

He laughs, at that, light and fast as a stream running over rocks. It’s a hard laugh to resist. She’s received Tanbarunian poetry as gifts, but Wistal trades deeply across the border. “It has its uses, but it’s hard to resist a good novel for pure enjoyment.” The tall balcony windows loom to their side, and Izana Wisteria’s feet pause. “If we are not to talk of poetry, then perhaps astronomy? We can pause on the balcony, and your Majesty can point out the stars to me.”

His arm slips around her as they pass through the door, and his body blocks the chill wind from her skin so she lets it pass. He smells of lemon and something grassy and green, a pleasant scent.

The stars, unfortunately, are nowhere to be found. Izana squints at the sky, his frown every bit as attractive as his smile. “The light of the ballroom must be outshining them. There is a darker place, just around the corner, where we will be able to see the light.”

He points, and he’s correct. A narrower section of the balcony runs around the corner away from the windows. The cool air is so refreshing after the ballroom, as is the lack of scrutiny by every single guest - knowing that around that corner will be only the two of them is a dangerous temptation.

The quiet is irresistible. It will only be a minute, and nobody will know.

“There,” Izana says, when they’re settled in the shadow and a moment has acclimated their eyes to the dark. “See, that arc of blue stars just there. They call that the Crown, and it is a very auspicious constellation.”

She can’t see it. Leaning closer, to try to sight along his arm, she says, “Astronomy and astrology in the same sentence? I don’t know what to make of you. Do you believe in a world of immutable rules, or one of fate?”

With one hand he tilts her chin, fingers ever so soft on her cheek, and there at last she sees a crown of stars, glowing so white and bright that she could believe them blue as walnut stones. “Neither,” Izana whispers, still so close to her ear that she can feel his breath on her cheek. “It is a world of opportunities. One who grasps them can claw their way to success.”

“And what if one lets an opportunity pass?” She turns, knowing what she will see. Izana’s pale skin glows in the starlight, the smile on his lips conspiratorial and soft.

“I would not know, my Queen.” Soft as a breath, his lips brush hers, pulling away as slow as a paintbrush from a page. It’s not enough.

His lips are firmer against hers when she pursues him, when she turns her body towards him and rests a hand on his chest. His arm encircles her, pulls her close, and she’s breathless. It’s not her first kiss- even a crown princess plays kissing games, when they mean nothing- but it is the first that she falls into like a bottomless lake, the first that turns her upside down and sends chills traveling across her skin-

A sharp gasp intrudes on her bliss like a dagger, and as she pushes back from Duke Wisteria she finds that some of those chills come from the way her skirt is hiked up, how his hand is hidden within the folds. Likewise his shirt is unbuttoned to the waist, hanging open and exposing his chest to their audience.

A knight she doesn’t know the name of, with a slash of a scar across his face, places his hand over the eyes of his partner. This looks like- it looks like she’s been caught ravaging one of her nobles ten steps from her own party. The reputation she’s worked so hard to build teeters on an edge-

“Make me your consort, and this all goes away,” Izana murmurs in her ear. Her traitorous body quivers at the touch. “Say yes, and we can finish what we started.”

She wants that, wants what he promises almost as badly as she wants to forget this ever happened. Seduced so easily- She nods, only a slight movement of her head but enough to ignite a smile on Duke Wisteria’s face that she can never forgive.

“The queen has graciously accepted my proposal,” he exults.

And he is right, in time Clarines will have its consort. She steps away from him, righting her skirts. The engagement will be formalized.

But none but her will set the wedding date.

October challenge

#ficoctober21 #fanfic #hakizana #cue the chess game of enemies to lovers

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