raison d’etre
First, courtesy of subsiding_leaf, a really cool clock.
I’ve actually been writing a fair amount lately, and thought I’d try to archive some of it here for reference. Since it seems a better idea than having them scattered all over tarnation as they currently are.
From the saiun_challenge community:
The Unseen Hand - pseudo-canon fic
Haunted - from my Demon Hunter AU
Sestina: to thaw the frost of years - pseudo-canon fic
New Eyes - from my Cyberpunk AU
A Wildfire Starts from a Single Spark - from majochan's and my O Si Sic Omnia AU, with a timeline provided for convenience
Gallery Opening - random modern-day fantasy AU
Then, from the recent fic battle held by the Saiunkoku_fic community:
I’m pretending I didn’t write this. No ratings warnings, since I did a tasteful ftb before it could become zombie pr0n. Be grateful, even zombies don’t like zombie pr0n. For prompt #82. A twisted type of pseudo-canon.
The only remaining Prince came as he was bid, secretly, to stand before the Emperor. He shivered, just barely, under the brush of the chill breeze of early spring, and the Emperor's thinned lips tightened. But the Prince did not flinch under his father's assessing gaze, and he was unmarked. That no scar of any sort marred the smoothness of his skin or wrote another's mark over muscle and whipcord tendon was a silent testament-- this one had some worth, well-hidden though it might be.
"When I am gone, he will come for you. I will not have him take you unprepared."
The golden eyes narrowed, and suddenly he was looking through time at a mirror. "I've been bedded."
The Emperor snorted, scornful, and rose. "Who said anything about bedding? Come."
Each step he took was slow, deliberate, controlled. His body was failing, but his will was purest steel. The room beyond was splendid but bare, impersonal, with all the marks of humanity and personality long since eradicated. The Prince's eyes flickered over the unpadded chairs, the empty walls, the map inlaid in stone in the floor, the uncushioned couch.
"Tomorrow, or the next day, it will be my death bed," the Emperor said. "And perhaps, some day, it will be yours."
He gestured imperiously, and the Prince did as he was bid and removed each successive robe from his shoulders. Age had only hardened him, but his sword arm hung withered and useless at his side. The curse scrawled dark over the puckered flesh and exposed lines of bone, with coiling tendrils creeping across his chest under the skin to claim his heart. Aside from his father's brand and despite years of battle, it was the only imprint he bore.
The Prince made no effort to hide his stare, and the Emperor laughed without humor. "Yes, I bear another's mark."
"What is it?" the Prince asked.
"Each of my sons I have saved, but only once. You wasted my largess early, drowning yourself in a fish pond. Your second eldest brother waited until he was nearly grown. With this arm I took his curse."
"It's killing you."
"And soon, it will succeed." The Emperor raised the withered limb and flexed the skin-and-bone claw of his hand between them. "Does it disgust you?"
The Prince took the putrefying arm in his hands without hesitation and raised its rotten flesh to his lips. "This arm," he said, "is the part of you I love."
"Lie down," the Emperor commanded.
He was not gentle, but never once during the long night did the Emperor-in-waiting cry out.
I am 100% pretending I didn’t write this one. At least it’s vague . . . but still isn’t work-safe, you’ve been warned. It’s also full of angst muffins. for prompt #122, pseudo-canon what-if Worst Case Scenario
Perhaps it amused the new leaders to grant her request. Or maybe it was because she'd "bent her proud Kou knees," as Seiga had once said, sneeringly, and begged. But she had no pride, not any more, not where he was concerned.
The jail cells were still dank and dripping, though their newly fitted bars and doors hadn't yet acquired the crumbling rust that had once characterized the place. That she had personally pushed for and then overseen the refitting seemed a terribly cruel irony now. Bile rose in her throat when she thought of how, before the improvements, prisoners had so easily escaped. But now it was too late, too late.
The guard clanged the butt of his halberd against the bars as an announcement, and the sound echoed, magnified by the unrelieved stone. "Visitor for Your Majesty," he said, and Shuurei was shaken a little to hear his voice polite, even somewhat respectful. He unlocked the cell door without a moment's hesitation.
The cell's occupant sat up against one dripping wall-- not by choice, she realized immediately, because his hands were suspended above his head, manacled to chains that were too short for comfort. Ryuuki still wore his robes, but they had not fared well during his stay in the dungeons, no more than he had. His arms exposed where the sleeves had fallen were bruised, and he was too thin under the folds. His face was hidden in the dim torchlight, the shadow thrown by his bangs hiding it from view. "Thank you, Gui," he said, and his voice was hoarse and raw, but still genuine, still so very him.
So much so that it was impossible to hold herself back. As soon as the door was opened she ran in and dropped to her knees beside him, heedless of the bare stone floor, forgetting even the departing guard as she reached with one trembling hand for his face. Under her touch his head came up, the glazed golden eyes met hers and went wide. "Shuurei?"
She smiled at him even as her vision momentarily swam, as her throat tightened so much that it was hard to force the words through. "It's me."
Suddenly he was animated, his shoulders rising from the wall, his feet trying to force him to stand, his weight hanging from the rattling chains. His expression was horrified. "Shuurei, no, no! Why are you here? Ensei was supposed to get you out, he swore to me he'd get you out!"
She stopped his struggle with an arresting hand on his knee, turned his frantic face towards her again. "And I swore that I would be with you until the end. Did you think I would break that vow?"
"You can get away from here," he said, hoarsely. "You have to get away, you have to be safe. Leave me, leave me now. Gui will help you, there's still time. Please, please Shuurei. I need you to get away, I don't want you to see . . . I don't want you to see me die, Shuurei, please--"
"Hush," she said, "hush."
Tears were running down his face. "Shuurei, please go, please. He swore to me, he swore-- Shuurei, I'm so sorry, if only I had--"
"Hush," she said, and kissed him. Kissed him because it was too late-- she should have done it before, she should have done it a thousand times before. A thousand kisses in one kiss, which became two, three. He was missing a tooth one one side, he had fought-- how he had fought. Salt was on her lips, as if she had drunk an ocean of tears, and they were drowning together.
He moaned when she pulled back, and the chains rattled. She followed his arms up and rubbed life into his limp hands again, moved the long and elegant fingers with their split and uncared-for nails. His wrists were raw where the merciless iron had rubbed against them, and she tore the cloth from her waist to pad them.
Again she touched his face, ran her hands down to the neck of his robe. He was watching her, so intently, and his pupils were huge and black in the dim light. "Please," he said, desperately, helplessly, as if he no longer knew what to ask for. "Please."
"We don't need words," she told him, "not anymore."
She pushed fabric aside to run her hands down his washboard ribs, wondering how the skin could still be so soft over them, so responsive to her touch. And there the jutting bone of his hip, and his breath hitched-- each and every one of his breaths was precious to her now, so infinitely precious. She swallowed them, and pressed herself against the rise and fall of his chest. Shoulder blades, the dipped line of his spine, the length of his back-- he was pushing back against her, mouth demanding, using the chains at his wrists for what little leverage they gave, using the wall behind him. His robes hung loosely open over his shoulders, his bare feet moved restlessly over the cold stone floor. But he was warming now, and her as well. She hiked her skirts up out of the way and straddled his lap, and even though there was no time, no time she paused there, as close to him as she could possibly come.
"I love you," she whispered in his ear, "I love you."
He sucked hard at her neck and she didn't care, bit down and she loved it because it hurt. She managed somehow to open her robe one-handed, the other too busy between them, and rose to her knees so that he could reach more of her skin. Only to come down again, hard, at the shock of cold air-- and again, and again, rubbing against him, frantic with the need that had been denied too long, that would be denied forever--
He cried again afterwards, and she held him, and didn't think about what she was saying. "I love you," she said.
And she promised him that everything would be all right.
No warnings for this one, thank the gods. In terms of Saiunkoku fanfiction, Shuuei is probably pr0n-ed out and could use the break. For prompt #144 - pseudo-canon what-if fic
He was in the middle of a sparring bout with his lieutenant when a flash of blue off to the side caught his attention. And then he had to look because surely it couldn't be-- that couldn't be Shusui standing at His Majesty's side on the edge of the practice grounds?
In the next second his sword went flying in a classic disarm that hadn't worked on him in years, and his sparring partner's sword connected with his side hard enough to drive the air from his lungs.
Even all the way across the practice ground, even doubled over gasping for air, he could still see her roll her flawless eyes.
His Emperor was a kind man, but his schemes had a way of going awry. That, and Shuuei had never once managed to look impressive in front of Shusui anyway.
He made a careful but hurried visit to the garrison bath house before he went looking for her, and finally found her walking down one of the outdoor corridors leading to the residential buildings. He paused, hidden behind a column, covertly watching her as she paused to examine some late-blooming peonies and trying to figure out how best to approach her.
"I know you're there, Ran-shogun," she said, and her words had the same edge that he remembered from when she'd spoken to him in the past.
He had always known she was no ordinary woman; now he knew just how extraordinary she was. Foolish of him to forget it. He detangled the branch that had somehow developed a hold on his damp hair and came to stand beside her. "I am no longer a member of the Ran family," he said.
"Names, families-- all they bring is trouble," Hyou Shusui murmured. "And what should I call you, then, if not that?"
A half-hundred flippant, smooth, charming answers sprang to mind, but not a single one he wanted to give to this woman. "Shuuei," he said finally, plainly, inelegantly. "Just Shuuei would be good."
"'Just Shuuei'-shogun, then," she said, glanced at his face, and quickly looked away. "Shuuei," she said, more softly, relenting.
He smiled, and not the easy smile with which he tumbled women into and out of his bed, but the smile that he had found when all he'd been was stripped from him, the one he'd first discovered watching a ghost dancing the shape of his heart beneath the moon. "Welcome back," he said, and, "Shusui."
Heh, and this one needs warnings for causing possible diabetic shock. Part of my HEA what-if fic series and sequel to this fic. For prompt #131b
“-but Aniue, that’s not fair!”
The outer door cut off the rest of Kou Reishin’s aggrieved protest regarding his place in the current world order. A moment later Shusui held aside the hanging that separated the inner, and Shouka entered, followed by Seiran.
Ryuuki was still sitting at Shuurei’s side, holding their son in his arms. The newborn was already sleeping peacefully, completely oblivious to his status as an entire country’s center of attention.
“Shuurei? How are you?” Shouka asked, his gentle voice even softer than usual.
She gave him a wan smile. “I’m fine, Father. Come and meet your grandson.”
He was across the room in less than a moment, and Ryuuki rose to meet him, angling the boy carefully for Shouka’s inspection.
“Five and five,” Shouka said, touching the tiny, loose fists. “Ten fingers. His toes?”
“Ten,” Ryuuki confirmed proudly.
Shuurei cleared her throat, and they all looked up. Seiran had hung back by the doorway, his eyes wide, his face unreadable. It was about as close to helpless as any of them had ever seen him.
Shuurei smiled softly, Ryuuki straightened, and Shouka spoke. “Seiran,” he said simply, a word that was not exactly a command. Seiran’s attempt to cross the room was less graceless than Ryuuki’s had been, but it could not have been called smooth. His arms came up more by half-remembered instinct than any conscious action on his part, accepting the infant Ryuuki gently placed in his arms.
“I had a brother who I loved very much,” Ryuuki said, huskily. “He was the most important person to me. After hearing all my stories, Shuurei thought that he was very similar to someone she loved, as well. So we decided that, if our child was a boy, we would name him Seien.”
Seiran’s eyes were wide, startled. And then, impossibly, they filled with tears, tears that spilled over to run down his cheeks. “I am,” he choked, tried again, “I am honored. I'm honored to meet you, Prince . . . Prince Seien.”
Ryuuki took Shuurei’s hand, smiling, and she held it against her cheek. Shouka laid a gentle hand on Seiran’s shoulder and brought him forward to sit on the bed, the precious baby still in his arms. “I don’t know what to say,” Seiran said, helplessly, brushing a finger down the infant’s face, curling the sleep-limp fingers gently around his thumb.
“He has ten toes too, you know,” Ryuuki informed him helpfully.
Shuurei laughed, tiredly. “We could just enjoy the peace and quiet. Judging from the way Sei-chan was yelling at first, it’s going to become a precious commodity very soon.”
“That, and the fact that we only have a few minutes before Reishin breaks down the outer door, sleeping baby or no,” Shouka said wryly.
From my Demon Hunter AU, a short fragment. The only part of that AU that’s been officially posted is here. Kanshou talks too much, really. For prompt #37
“Ryuuki did what?!”
Yeah, I know. Corniest line ever, Kanshou grumbled. You’d think he could have come up with something better. “Choke on this?” I mean, what does that even mean?
“No, no, not that,” Seien said impatiently. “He jumped into the thing’s mouth?”
Hey, I told him not to, but it’s not like he ever listens to me. There was a distinct impression that, if the sword had still possessed eyes, he would have rolled them. Practically made my hilt curl when he did it. I mean, that flip was technically perfect, but who knew that snake demon had some shark in its pedigree? I’ve never seen so many teeth, and I’ve gone up against mandrakes, back in the day.
“Was he hurt?” Seien demanded, horror evident in his tone.
Huh? Oh, no, he made it over all six rows no problem. Of course, then the snake demon closed its mouth, and all the teeth started to move. As if they were on wheels or something. I thought I was going to spend the next couple of decades being passed by a massive lizard, for sure, but it turned out the kid actually had a sound idea, hare-brained as it seemed at the time. Couldn’t get through the scales on the outside, but of course there was nothing inside, was there? Cut the head clean off with a nice Full Moon Eclipse, a perfect circular slice, just like I’d taught him, There was unmistakable pride in the sword’s gruff tone. Made a pretty impressive picture coming out, with me and Bakuya dripping gore and all . . . or at least we did until Ryuuki got a lung-full of the fumes from the ruptured brain pan and puked up his lunch.
Seien’s fingers tangled in his overgrown bangs, rubbing at his scalp. “Please tell me that this kind of encounter hasn’t typified everyday life for you three.”
Oh, no, of course not. Most of demon hunting is just exterminating the everyday vermin, but that doesn’t make for very good stories. Well, mostly. I mean, this is Ryuuki we’re talking about. Kanshou was resigned, now. He’s put a century worth of rust on my blade just during these last few years.
Seien folded his oily cleaning cloth with a practiced flip and wiped his fingers on a towel obviously used to such treatment. “What’s he doing now, anyway?”
The boy? Kanshou snorted. Why don’t you check for yourself?
Seien slid Kanshou back into his sheath. “My vision only works when I’m sleeping, unless you’re not telling me something.”
Don’t be stupid, Kanshou returned. And don’t become so dependant on your Sight that you forget how to do things the normal way. You want to know how your brother’s doing, go knock on his door and ask him.
“Or I can ask you, and you can ask your other, better half,” Seien shot back. “Ryuuki said you and Bakuya are always in contact with each other. It’s rather adorably sweet, to hear him tell it.”
You just finished cleaning me, and now you’re trying to blunt my edge? Kanshou growled. Happens Bakuya just told me that the boy is sleeping . . . but that doesn’t mean a damn thing! Anyway, that kid’s one to talk about a man’s relationship to his wife, the way he is . . .
Seien fastened the sword at his side, suddenly thoughtful. “He really loves Shuurei, does he?”
Head over heels, over the moon . . . pick a cliché, that’s him, Kanshou muttered. He’s been driving me nuts with the whole thing . . . as if I’m qualified to give advice on romance, or love poetry for that matter! Bakuya thinks it’s cute. The tone he took with That Word very clearly showed what the warrior-turned-sword thought of the matter. It’s embarrassing is what it is.
“Hmm,” Seien said, smiling absently. “I wonder how it will turn out? The two of them . . .”
Stop that, the sword said. You make me damned fidgety when you use that tone, and I don’t even know you that well yet.
“I think I need to have a talk with my wife,” he said, patting the hilt in mock-comfort.
Yeah, do whatever you need to, just leave me out of it. Kanshou said. I don’t want to know a thing about it. Dealing with that kid’s exploits has been more than enough for me, I’m looking forward to my vacation. So don’t you spoil it on me.
“But then what will you have to complain about? I wouldn’t dream of depriving you,” Seien’s fingers suddenly tightened around the ornamental crosstree of the sword. “But there was one more thing I wanted to ask you about. Tell me the story of the Stone Valley Bane.”
The sword actually paused for a moment. Well. Um. Surely you’ve heard the story, every singer and tale-teller who’s been west in recent years knows it--
“Yes, I know the story,” Seien said, his voice suddenly silky. “And now I want you to tell me what really happened.”
Well, look, the sword hedged, it’s a bit of a long tale to tell, and there’s a lot to it. I’m done in with all this talking, why don’t you ask your brother?
“Because right now I’m asking you. Why won’t you tell me, why won’t Ryuuki talk to me about it?”
Well . . . see, it’s just . . . it’s hard to talk about, all right? Wasn’t much of a good time, was a damned hell-cursed bad time in fact. And we almost lost him, you know? In spite of everything, we almost lost him in the worst way imaginable. It’s private. It’s Ryuuki’s business to tell it or not, if and how he wants.
“And I’m his brother,” Seien said. “And I need to know.”
Phew. Not bad considering that I wrote a lot of this, and especially the stuff for the fic battle, while I was too busy to even think coherently most of the time.
I’ve actually been writing a fair amount lately, and thought I’d try to archive some of it here for reference. Since it seems a better idea than having them scattered all over tarnation as they currently are.
From the saiun_challenge community:
The Unseen Hand - pseudo-canon fic
Haunted - from my Demon Hunter AU
Sestina: to thaw the frost of years - pseudo-canon fic
New Eyes - from my Cyberpunk AU
A Wildfire Starts from a Single Spark - from majochan's and my O Si Sic Omnia AU, with a timeline provided for convenience
Gallery Opening - random modern-day fantasy AU
Then, from the recent fic battle held by the Saiunkoku_fic community:
I’m pretending I didn’t write this. No ratings warnings, since I did a tasteful ftb before it could become zombie pr0n. Be grateful, even zombies don’t like zombie pr0n. For prompt #82. A twisted type of pseudo-canon.
The only remaining Prince came as he was bid, secretly, to stand before the Emperor. He shivered, just barely, under the brush of the chill breeze of early spring, and the Emperor's thinned lips tightened. But the Prince did not flinch under his father's assessing gaze, and he was unmarked. That no scar of any sort marred the smoothness of his skin or wrote another's mark over muscle and whipcord tendon was a silent testament-- this one had some worth, well-hidden though it might be.
"When I am gone, he will come for you. I will not have him take you unprepared."
The golden eyes narrowed, and suddenly he was looking through time at a mirror. "I've been bedded."
The Emperor snorted, scornful, and rose. "Who said anything about bedding? Come."
Each step he took was slow, deliberate, controlled. His body was failing, but his will was purest steel. The room beyond was splendid but bare, impersonal, with all the marks of humanity and personality long since eradicated. The Prince's eyes flickered over the unpadded chairs, the empty walls, the map inlaid in stone in the floor, the uncushioned couch.
"Tomorrow, or the next day, it will be my death bed," the Emperor said. "And perhaps, some day, it will be yours."
He gestured imperiously, and the Prince did as he was bid and removed each successive robe from his shoulders. Age had only hardened him, but his sword arm hung withered and useless at his side. The curse scrawled dark over the puckered flesh and exposed lines of bone, with coiling tendrils creeping across his chest under the skin to claim his heart. Aside from his father's brand and despite years of battle, it was the only imprint he bore.
The Prince made no effort to hide his stare, and the Emperor laughed without humor. "Yes, I bear another's mark."
"What is it?" the Prince asked.
"Each of my sons I have saved, but only once. You wasted my largess early, drowning yourself in a fish pond. Your second eldest brother waited until he was nearly grown. With this arm I took his curse."
"It's killing you."
"And soon, it will succeed." The Emperor raised the withered limb and flexed the skin-and-bone claw of his hand between them. "Does it disgust you?"
The Prince took the putrefying arm in his hands without hesitation and raised its rotten flesh to his lips. "This arm," he said, "is the part of you I love."
"Lie down," the Emperor commanded.
He was not gentle, but never once during the long night did the Emperor-in-waiting cry out.
I am 100% pretending I didn’t write this one. At least it’s vague . . . but still isn’t work-safe, you’ve been warned. It’s also full of angst muffins. for prompt #122, pseudo-canon what-if Worst Case Scenario
Perhaps it amused the new leaders to grant her request. Or maybe it was because she'd "bent her proud Kou knees," as Seiga had once said, sneeringly, and begged. But she had no pride, not any more, not where he was concerned.
The jail cells were still dank and dripping, though their newly fitted bars and doors hadn't yet acquired the crumbling rust that had once characterized the place. That she had personally pushed for and then overseen the refitting seemed a terribly cruel irony now. Bile rose in her throat when she thought of how, before the improvements, prisoners had so easily escaped. But now it was too late, too late.
The guard clanged the butt of his halberd against the bars as an announcement, and the sound echoed, magnified by the unrelieved stone. "Visitor for Your Majesty," he said, and Shuurei was shaken a little to hear his voice polite, even somewhat respectful. He unlocked the cell door without a moment's hesitation.
The cell's occupant sat up against one dripping wall-- not by choice, she realized immediately, because his hands were suspended above his head, manacled to chains that were too short for comfort. Ryuuki still wore his robes, but they had not fared well during his stay in the dungeons, no more than he had. His arms exposed where the sleeves had fallen were bruised, and he was too thin under the folds. His face was hidden in the dim torchlight, the shadow thrown by his bangs hiding it from view. "Thank you, Gui," he said, and his voice was hoarse and raw, but still genuine, still so very him.
So much so that it was impossible to hold herself back. As soon as the door was opened she ran in and dropped to her knees beside him, heedless of the bare stone floor, forgetting even the departing guard as she reached with one trembling hand for his face. Under her touch his head came up, the glazed golden eyes met hers and went wide. "Shuurei?"
She smiled at him even as her vision momentarily swam, as her throat tightened so much that it was hard to force the words through. "It's me."
Suddenly he was animated, his shoulders rising from the wall, his feet trying to force him to stand, his weight hanging from the rattling chains. His expression was horrified. "Shuurei, no, no! Why are you here? Ensei was supposed to get you out, he swore to me he'd get you out!"
She stopped his struggle with an arresting hand on his knee, turned his frantic face towards her again. "And I swore that I would be with you until the end. Did you think I would break that vow?"
"You can get away from here," he said, hoarsely. "You have to get away, you have to be safe. Leave me, leave me now. Gui will help you, there's still time. Please, please Shuurei. I need you to get away, I don't want you to see . . . I don't want you to see me die, Shuurei, please--"
"Hush," she said, "hush."
Tears were running down his face. "Shuurei, please go, please. He swore to me, he swore-- Shuurei, I'm so sorry, if only I had--"
"Hush," she said, and kissed him. Kissed him because it was too late-- she should have done it before, she should have done it a thousand times before. A thousand kisses in one kiss, which became two, three. He was missing a tooth one one side, he had fought-- how he had fought. Salt was on her lips, as if she had drunk an ocean of tears, and they were drowning together.
He moaned when she pulled back, and the chains rattled. She followed his arms up and rubbed life into his limp hands again, moved the long and elegant fingers with their split and uncared-for nails. His wrists were raw where the merciless iron had rubbed against them, and she tore the cloth from her waist to pad them.
Again she touched his face, ran her hands down to the neck of his robe. He was watching her, so intently, and his pupils were huge and black in the dim light. "Please," he said, desperately, helplessly, as if he no longer knew what to ask for. "Please."
"We don't need words," she told him, "not anymore."
She pushed fabric aside to run her hands down his washboard ribs, wondering how the skin could still be so soft over them, so responsive to her touch. And there the jutting bone of his hip, and his breath hitched-- each and every one of his breaths was precious to her now, so infinitely precious. She swallowed them, and pressed herself against the rise and fall of his chest. Shoulder blades, the dipped line of his spine, the length of his back-- he was pushing back against her, mouth demanding, using the chains at his wrists for what little leverage they gave, using the wall behind him. His robes hung loosely open over his shoulders, his bare feet moved restlessly over the cold stone floor. But he was warming now, and her as well. She hiked her skirts up out of the way and straddled his lap, and even though there was no time, no time she paused there, as close to him as she could possibly come.
"I love you," she whispered in his ear, "I love you."
He sucked hard at her neck and she didn't care, bit down and she loved it because it hurt. She managed somehow to open her robe one-handed, the other too busy between them, and rose to her knees so that he could reach more of her skin. Only to come down again, hard, at the shock of cold air-- and again, and again, rubbing against him, frantic with the need that had been denied too long, that would be denied forever--
He cried again afterwards, and she held him, and didn't think about what she was saying. "I love you," she said.
And she promised him that everything would be all right.
No warnings for this one, thank the gods. In terms of Saiunkoku fanfiction, Shuuei is probably pr0n-ed out and could use the break. For prompt #144 - pseudo-canon what-if fic
He was in the middle of a sparring bout with his lieutenant when a flash of blue off to the side caught his attention. And then he had to look because surely it couldn't be-- that couldn't be Shusui standing at His Majesty's side on the edge of the practice grounds?
In the next second his sword went flying in a classic disarm that hadn't worked on him in years, and his sparring partner's sword connected with his side hard enough to drive the air from his lungs.
Even all the way across the practice ground, even doubled over gasping for air, he could still see her roll her flawless eyes.
His Emperor was a kind man, but his schemes had a way of going awry. That, and Shuuei had never once managed to look impressive in front of Shusui anyway.
He made a careful but hurried visit to the garrison bath house before he went looking for her, and finally found her walking down one of the outdoor corridors leading to the residential buildings. He paused, hidden behind a column, covertly watching her as she paused to examine some late-blooming peonies and trying to figure out how best to approach her.
"I know you're there, Ran-shogun," she said, and her words had the same edge that he remembered from when she'd spoken to him in the past.
He had always known she was no ordinary woman; now he knew just how extraordinary she was. Foolish of him to forget it. He detangled the branch that had somehow developed a hold on his damp hair and came to stand beside her. "I am no longer a member of the Ran family," he said.
"Names, families-- all they bring is trouble," Hyou Shusui murmured. "And what should I call you, then, if not that?"
A half-hundred flippant, smooth, charming answers sprang to mind, but not a single one he wanted to give to this woman. "Shuuei," he said finally, plainly, inelegantly. "Just Shuuei would be good."
"'Just Shuuei'-shogun, then," she said, glanced at his face, and quickly looked away. "Shuuei," she said, more softly, relenting.
He smiled, and not the easy smile with which he tumbled women into and out of his bed, but the smile that he had found when all he'd been was stripped from him, the one he'd first discovered watching a ghost dancing the shape of his heart beneath the moon. "Welcome back," he said, and, "Shusui."
Heh, and this one needs warnings for causing possible diabetic shock. Part of my HEA what-if fic series and sequel to this fic. For prompt #131b
“-but Aniue, that’s not fair!”
The outer door cut off the rest of Kou Reishin’s aggrieved protest regarding his place in the current world order. A moment later Shusui held aside the hanging that separated the inner, and Shouka entered, followed by Seiran.
Ryuuki was still sitting at Shuurei’s side, holding their son in his arms. The newborn was already sleeping peacefully, completely oblivious to his status as an entire country’s center of attention.
“Shuurei? How are you?” Shouka asked, his gentle voice even softer than usual.
She gave him a wan smile. “I’m fine, Father. Come and meet your grandson.”
He was across the room in less than a moment, and Ryuuki rose to meet him, angling the boy carefully for Shouka’s inspection.
“Five and five,” Shouka said, touching the tiny, loose fists. “Ten fingers. His toes?”
“Ten,” Ryuuki confirmed proudly.
Shuurei cleared her throat, and they all looked up. Seiran had hung back by the doorway, his eyes wide, his face unreadable. It was about as close to helpless as any of them had ever seen him.
Shuurei smiled softly, Ryuuki straightened, and Shouka spoke. “Seiran,” he said simply, a word that was not exactly a command. Seiran’s attempt to cross the room was less graceless than Ryuuki’s had been, but it could not have been called smooth. His arms came up more by half-remembered instinct than any conscious action on his part, accepting the infant Ryuuki gently placed in his arms.
“I had a brother who I loved very much,” Ryuuki said, huskily. “He was the most important person to me. After hearing all my stories, Shuurei thought that he was very similar to someone she loved, as well. So we decided that, if our child was a boy, we would name him Seien.”
Seiran’s eyes were wide, startled. And then, impossibly, they filled with tears, tears that spilled over to run down his cheeks. “I am,” he choked, tried again, “I am honored. I'm honored to meet you, Prince . . . Prince Seien.”
Ryuuki took Shuurei’s hand, smiling, and she held it against her cheek. Shouka laid a gentle hand on Seiran’s shoulder and brought him forward to sit on the bed, the precious baby still in his arms. “I don’t know what to say,” Seiran said, helplessly, brushing a finger down the infant’s face, curling the sleep-limp fingers gently around his thumb.
“He has ten toes too, you know,” Ryuuki informed him helpfully.
Shuurei laughed, tiredly. “We could just enjoy the peace and quiet. Judging from the way Sei-chan was yelling at first, it’s going to become a precious commodity very soon.”
“That, and the fact that we only have a few minutes before Reishin breaks down the outer door, sleeping baby or no,” Shouka said wryly.
From my Demon Hunter AU, a short fragment. The only part of that AU that’s been officially posted is here. Kanshou talks too much, really. For prompt #37
“Ryuuki did what?!”
Yeah, I know. Corniest line ever, Kanshou grumbled. You’d think he could have come up with something better. “Choke on this?” I mean, what does that even mean?
“No, no, not that,” Seien said impatiently. “He jumped into the thing’s mouth?”
Hey, I told him not to, but it’s not like he ever listens to me. There was a distinct impression that, if the sword had still possessed eyes, he would have rolled them. Practically made my hilt curl when he did it. I mean, that flip was technically perfect, but who knew that snake demon had some shark in its pedigree? I’ve never seen so many teeth, and I’ve gone up against mandrakes, back in the day.
“Was he hurt?” Seien demanded, horror evident in his tone.
Huh? Oh, no, he made it over all six rows no problem. Of course, then the snake demon closed its mouth, and all the teeth started to move. As if they were on wheels or something. I thought I was going to spend the next couple of decades being passed by a massive lizard, for sure, but it turned out the kid actually had a sound idea, hare-brained as it seemed at the time. Couldn’t get through the scales on the outside, but of course there was nothing inside, was there? Cut the head clean off with a nice Full Moon Eclipse, a perfect circular slice, just like I’d taught him, There was unmistakable pride in the sword’s gruff tone. Made a pretty impressive picture coming out, with me and Bakuya dripping gore and all . . . or at least we did until Ryuuki got a lung-full of the fumes from the ruptured brain pan and puked up his lunch.
Seien’s fingers tangled in his overgrown bangs, rubbing at his scalp. “Please tell me that this kind of encounter hasn’t typified everyday life for you three.”
Oh, no, of course not. Most of demon hunting is just exterminating the everyday vermin, but that doesn’t make for very good stories. Well, mostly. I mean, this is Ryuuki we’re talking about. Kanshou was resigned, now. He’s put a century worth of rust on my blade just during these last few years.
Seien folded his oily cleaning cloth with a practiced flip and wiped his fingers on a towel obviously used to such treatment. “What’s he doing now, anyway?”
The boy? Kanshou snorted. Why don’t you check for yourself?
Seien slid Kanshou back into his sheath. “My vision only works when I’m sleeping, unless you’re not telling me something.”
Don’t be stupid, Kanshou returned. And don’t become so dependant on your Sight that you forget how to do things the normal way. You want to know how your brother’s doing, go knock on his door and ask him.
“Or I can ask you, and you can ask your other, better half,” Seien shot back. “Ryuuki said you and Bakuya are always in contact with each other. It’s rather adorably sweet, to hear him tell it.”
You just finished cleaning me, and now you’re trying to blunt my edge? Kanshou growled. Happens Bakuya just told me that the boy is sleeping . . . but that doesn’t mean a damn thing! Anyway, that kid’s one to talk about a man’s relationship to his wife, the way he is . . .
Seien fastened the sword at his side, suddenly thoughtful. “He really loves Shuurei, does he?”
Head over heels, over the moon . . . pick a cliché, that’s him, Kanshou muttered. He’s been driving me nuts with the whole thing . . . as if I’m qualified to give advice on romance, or love poetry for that matter! Bakuya thinks it’s cute. The tone he took with That Word very clearly showed what the warrior-turned-sword thought of the matter. It’s embarrassing is what it is.
“Hmm,” Seien said, smiling absently. “I wonder how it will turn out? The two of them . . .”
Stop that, the sword said. You make me damned fidgety when you use that tone, and I don’t even know you that well yet.
“I think I need to have a talk with my wife,” he said, patting the hilt in mock-comfort.
Yeah, do whatever you need to, just leave me out of it. Kanshou said. I don’t want to know a thing about it. Dealing with that kid’s exploits has been more than enough for me, I’m looking forward to my vacation. So don’t you spoil it on me.
“But then what will you have to complain about? I wouldn’t dream of depriving you,” Seien’s fingers suddenly tightened around the ornamental crosstree of the sword. “But there was one more thing I wanted to ask you about. Tell me the story of the Stone Valley Bane.”
The sword actually paused for a moment. Well. Um. Surely you’ve heard the story, every singer and tale-teller who’s been west in recent years knows it--
“Yes, I know the story,” Seien said, his voice suddenly silky. “And now I want you to tell me what really happened.”
Well, look, the sword hedged, it’s a bit of a long tale to tell, and there’s a lot to it. I’m done in with all this talking, why don’t you ask your brother?
“Because right now I’m asking you. Why won’t you tell me, why won’t Ryuuki talk to me about it?”
Well . . . see, it’s just . . . it’s hard to talk about, all right? Wasn’t much of a good time, was a damned hell-cursed bad time in fact. And we almost lost him, you know? In spite of everything, we almost lost him in the worst way imaginable. It’s private. It’s Ryuuki’s business to tell it or not, if and how he wants.
“And I’m his brother,” Seien said. “And I need to know.”
Phew. Not bad considering that I wrote a lot of this, and especially the stuff for the fic battle, while I was too busy to even think coherently most of the time.