snowwhite-andtheknight

[snowwhite-andtheknight]

Pennies From Heaven

[Read on AO3]

Obiyuki AU Bingo 2025: Mystery Part of Go For Broke

The death of Kain Wisteria hits the broadsheets the same way his flicks hit the theaters: hard, fast, and practically inescapable the first few weeks after it opens. Beloved Silver Screen Actor-Turned-Big Five Director Dies at Home Surrounded By Family. Famed Film Mogul Dies in Hollywood Estate; Will Tinselstown Ever Be the Same Without Its Best Auteur? Wisteria Son Gives Heart-Wrenching Statement About Father’s Legacy; Can the Heir-Apparent Reach the Heights of His Father’s—

“That’s quite enough of that drivel.” The Professor takes his joe the way the boys used to take their bombshells back in the bunker: blonde and sweet, peeling the cap of his creamer back from the cup with a practiced pull. “It’s bad enough that I suffer hearing it from every street corner, I refuse to hear it before my morning coffee.”

“Can’t swing a dead cat without hitting something about the Wisterias these days.” The paper flutters under Santa Monica's sweet sway, but Obi's quick, dropping his hat before the sheets can tumble after its siren call. That's the danger of a place like this: even the breezes try to fleece you. “You’d think half the town laid down got in the coffin with him, the way everyone’s been carrying on.”

“Oh, wouldn’t he just have loved that,” Forzeno mutters— not his usual stage whisper, but lower. Quiet enough Obi nearly misses it over the hustle and bustle of breakfast and the traffic of the boulevard. “Now, cut the chatter. Any more about Kain Wisteria and his lot and you’ll put me off my breakfast. This is the only decent place to get a poached egg in this whole godforsaken city, and I plan to enjoy every bit of it.”

“Aw, ease up, Professor.” Obi slouches back in his seat, nursing his own cup— black, the only way they served it in the mess— and wishing he had the scratch to give it some legs. Might make the rest of the morning go down easier, anyways. “You know I wouldn’t let you waste a cent of that hard-earned egghead dough. You leave anything behind, and I’ll be sure to leave that plate cleaner than when they put it down on the table—”

“Listen here, knucklehead, I already told you— I’m not paying for your food. Not with my money, and certainly not with university grants.” The old egg beater fixes him with his best wasn’t-born-yesterday glare, shoulders practically pickets as he digs into his fancy feast. “I agreed to this little outing with the understanding that it was a much belated show of gratitude for my consultation on your last case. Pro bono, might I add.”

Agreed was some real rose-colored glassed talk; it’d taken more than his usual cajoling to get the old goat to consider putting down his rocks— and the promise of the best breakfast in the city to convince him out the door. Forzeno wasn’t an easy man to know, and an even hard one to get close to— but he was a good one for a fella to have in his back pocket, especially in Obi’s line of work.

“Gotta admit, it was a nice change of pace from the usual cheating spouse song-and-dance.” One that involved fake gems and some pretty regional gravel— and a payday that would keep the lights on, even if his showers were still cold. “A couple more like that and maybe I’ll be able to show a bit more gratitude to my favorite egghead.”

Fork and knife still over the Professor’s fine china, as steady at the stare the man fixes on him, serious as angina. “Perhaps you should consider a career with steadier pay.”

Obi lets his brows really flirt with his hairline, getting Forzeno’s dander up before he even says, “What? Like taking hits? I guess I was always an ace with—”

“As in law enforcement,” he snaps wearily, sawing through his poached egg with more gusto than the medium demands. “Last I heard, they were taking soldiers fresh off the boat and putting them into blues. You’re practically over qualified.”

Maybe, if all they cared about was an able body and a history of saying ‘yes, sir.’ But Obi didn’t need to hoof it down to the station to know they’d turn a face like his away at the door. “I’d never survive walking a beat. Get myself clipped day one sticking my nose in where it didn’t belong.”

Forzeno grunts, taking a long moment to chew before he adds, “It might not be as exciting as the life of a Private Eye, but it’s regular work. And a damn sight better at writing checks that can be cashed.”

“Now now, Professor, my work’s regular enough.” There’s no shortage of jilted spouses in this town, after all. “And I can’t go take down my shingle now when things are just starting to get good. This dame might have been a B-Lister, but she’s got to have connections, the kind that don’t want the police or the paps all up in their business.”

“And that’s what you want to do with your life?” The Professor settles back in his seat, nonplussed. “Get your hands dirty for a bunch of glittering fools?”

“As long as they got the cash to keep the lights on and the water running. And who knows, maybe I’ll even get to look into a case like this one.” He knocks his knuckles right over Wisteria’s piercing gaze. “Millionaire dying at home in bed? That just has conspiracy written all over—”

“Don’t.”

The sternness startles him, eyes jolting up to meet Forzeno’s thousand yard stare. “Professor…?”

Air hisses between the old goat’s teeth, silenced only by another application of poached egg. “You don’t want to get involved in that world. It might seem all bright and shiny, but that only casts deeper shadows. And once you start looking too deep into them…”

Obi slants him a cocky smirk. “They start looking back?”

Lata huffs, shaking his head. “No. They’re usually carrying .45’s.”

*

For all the pissing and moaning about gratitude and commensurate compensation, Forzeno ponies up for brunch. Practically insists on it once Obi opens his wallet and he counts more lint than coins, shoving a cruller from the case into his hands for good measure.

“You better not tell Eason about this,” he warns, dire inflection and all, like he was one of Wisteria’s villains, ready to chew the scenery. “Or next time I really will stick you with the bill.”

Obi has to admit: he considers it. Not much else to do as he walks two flights up to his office; elevator as broken as the day he signed the papers. Probably part of why he could afford the place to begin with— and why they let him let it out. Not like many people in this part of town were racing to have a guy with his face hanging around the neighborhood.

It’d be funny at least— Suzu twisting all six-foot plus of himself in knots trying to get a cup of joe off the old codger. The kid already got himself into tangles just trying to get five minutes in the elevator with Forzeno; if he knew that a free lunch might be involved, well— God knows Obi’d need something to smile about while he waited around for his next break.

Not that it’ll take long. That’s the good thing about this town: everyone’s looking for the next best thing. And as long as they keep making broads younger and leggier, there’d be unsatisfied husbands looking to make mistresses out of them.

That puts a spring in his step, tackling the last few stairs with enough pep to put Gene Kelly to shame. He might be missing some of that fancy footwork when he shuffles up to his shingle, PRIVATE EYE printed neat on the door, but he puts a real shine on every note of, there’s none so classy as this fair lassie, oh, oh, Holy Moses what a chassis—

Only for the door to swing open right under his hands. Doesn't even get to squeeze the key in the lock first; just a jiggle to get the teeth to match and suddenly he’s staring at the same worn carpet he has every day for the last two years. Real convenient, but—

Not how he’d left it.

His hand’s just barely brushes the lapel on his coat when a dark figure stands, all black tiger-striped with technicolor, limned by the light straining through the blinds. “You’re the private investigator? Obi?”

There’s a handful of reasons some mook might take it upon himself to break into his office, but all the ones that don’t end with a lead slug in his chest or taking medically unrecommended amount of of iron to his shins wouldn’t have left him with the lights off, waiting for Obi to waltz through that door singing showtunes.

Well, all of them except for one.

“That’s the name on the door.” He saunters past the man— light build, average height, posture that says performer rather than professional killer— sinking into the leather chain behind his desk. Not a hit then. Maybe just one of his hundred unhappy customers, looking for the man who sent his marriage into a tailspin. Never ceases to surprise him that so many men don’t own a mirror. “You got business with me?”

“No. Well, not yet anyway. I mean to make some, though.” The fella hesitates, that smooth, Sinatra voice of his faltering. “Do you mind turning on a light? It’s ridiculous to talk to you like this.”

Obi flicks up his hands, real friendly-like. “Hey, Highness, you got here first. Was just trying to be polite.”

“Yes, I appreciate it, but really—”

There’s a lamp on his desk, a limping metal hunk of junk that’s more liability than light, but Obi reaches behind him, plastic and cord catching between his fingers before he pulls, and—

And there is it, all lit up with the bright light of day: the sort of face that could sell toothpaste. That did, up until a few months ago, when they’d plastered a poster for that new Robin Hood movie over it, trading one Wisteria's smile for another. The better one, he’d joked, getting a real glare from the dame that ran Shidan’s office.

But Obi got to admit, seeing it up close: this one ain’t half bad either. “Well, mister, didn’t expect to see your name on my dance card. What can I do you for?”

He slouches back, feet kicked up just in time to miss the desk entirely as Zen Wisteria tells him, entirely straight-faced, “I want to hire you.”

Good thing his heels are back on the ground, otherwise he’s not sure how he’d stay in the chair. “Me? I’m flattered, chief, but you could have any dick in this city on your payroll, and you’re gonna come choose me?”

“You helped out a friend recently.” Huh, looks like Little Miss Starlet really wasn’t exaggerating her qualifications. “She told me you were discreet and decently priced.”

There’d be a bit of a price hike from someone in this fella’s tax bracket, but Obi knows better than to say it, not when he follows it all up with, “And no one else will help me.”

There’s a little thrum in his chest, a plucked-chord that resonates all the way up to his teeth. The same one he gets every time some bombshell waltzes in his door, all strutting hips and sashays, and breaks down right in that chair, telling him about the long nights of worrying and the missing pin money and the perfume that wafts from her husband’s collar when she takes them out to wash. That little note of pity that plays at him when he realizes that good people only come to him when they’re out of options.

“All right,” he says, hooking his hands behind his head. This time, his feet don’t miss the lip of his desk. “What’s the problem? Missing money? A no-good dame? Toothpaste not paying like it used to?”

“I want you to look into the death of my father.”

The A-bomb dropped with more subtlety than this. “Your pops? Didn’t he die in his sleep. What’d the coroner say…? Complications from pneumonia.”

Meaning: he’d drowned in his own bed, with not a drop of water in sight. Obi’d seen it before, in that hospital in Saint-Die. Lost good friends from it. A hard death, but better than some.

“That’s the official explanation,” Wisteria agrees, mouth tight. “And Sh— his nurse agreed. But…”

It’s a long moment, one, then two, before Obi prods, “But…?”

Those Wisteria eyes are just as blue as they ever were on film. Bluer, maybe. “My father was murdered.”

[snowwhite-andtheknight]

Obiyuki AU Bingo, July: Week 2 Round Up

Fanfiction

Merry & Bright, Chapter 12: Dreaming of a Place I Love by @sabraeal

Playlists

Sunlight Through the Garden Wall by @batgirlsay

[snowwhite-andtheknight]

Sunlight Through the Garden Wall

A Florist AU Playlist for Obiyuki AU Bingo 2025 July by @snowwhite-andtheknight

Realized when I was making the post that this playlist is like a forest/flower themed version of the winter sun playlist. In addition to the florist AU theme, these songs also have a chill summer vibe!

Sunlight Through the Garden Wall Lying in the Sun- The Beths Give Me the Sun- Nada Surf Goldie- Matt Pond PA Gold- JOSEPH Flowers Bloom- High Highs Warm Blood- The Beths Summer Interlude- Matt Pond PA The Forest is the Path- Snow Patrol Tell Me There’s a Garden- JOSEPH

Summary lyrics are cited after the cut:

Lying in the Sun- The Beths

I swear the stars are getting further and further apart The horizon gets closer and closer to where we are And I'm drawing in the deepest breath The water's way over my head I'm never coming up for air again

Summer is over And the water's getting colder When the knots you tied in my shoulders come undone It feels like I'm lying in the sun

Give Me the Sun- Nada Surf

I'm looking for something I can't say exactly what I will know it when I find it And it may be all I've got

We reasoned with these feelings And they turned into a cage Oh, I'm done, give me the sun, no dysfunction

I know that there was peace I know that there was fun I take my private dreams And I lie them in the sun

Goldie- Matt Pond PA

The window shapes across your face Sunlit squares, our lives were briefly framed

Sometimes silence is so strong It makes it hard to be alone With doubts and demons in my fields The future feels like fire to me Like falling in a burning ring

Goldie isn't here She left before the sun appeared An epitaph in my head Composed by distant stars

Gold- JOSEPH

The trees and light are swaying me As I drive through their forest home Wind picks up and kissing me

Be still my ever beating heart Don't stop, just hold on

Breezes made of pine and campfire smoke Offer an invitation to rest on blankets of mossy forest floor

Flowers Bloom- High Highs

When the flowers bloom Living in the spring time

When you reach the wall And give in to what you see

Warm Blood- The Beths

Nothing makes me feel like this Nothing but you

My head is hanging from the roof I'm floating all about the room Because of you

I wanna bask in the rays of the way I feel right now Warming up my blood

You are a raincoat, you are a zeppelin flight You are a bonfire burning a three dog night You are an isle of calm on a stormy sea You really get me

Summer Interlude- Matt Pond PA (Instrumental)

The Forest is the Path- Snow Patrol

I'm only lost if you don't look for me I'm trying to fall without a sound I'm not afraid to wander endlessly I just don't know how to be found

Every song sounds like an earthquake Every word cuts through this endless forest like a path

I'll put my hеart in it You can't belong and not believe So this is what it is to love someone You wear your heart up on their sleeve

Tell Me There’s a Garden- JOSEPH

We buried a seed underneath the ground We waited to see if the rain would come down

Tell me it's a good start I'm a good heart And this might turn us back around Tell me that the rain will fall That this garden wall Will see us grow up out the ground

We watched as the seasons came and passed Autumn, winter, and spring: still the drought outlasted us

Tell me it was a good start I'm still a good heart Though I couldn't grow us a flower I can't make the rain fall Or the trees tall

Tell me there's a garden where my flowers will grow Maybe then all my starting will keep going Oh I hope so

[snowwhite-andtheknight]

Merry & Bright, Chapter 12: Dreaming Tonight of a Place I Love

[Read on AO3]

Obiyuki AU Bingo 2025: Holiday

It’s been a full two hours since Gayle ushered her into the kitchen and under her wing— at least so long as Shirayuki reckons time by the retro-style diner clock, and not the black cat ticking away next to it, eyes shiftily scanning the room with the same as swing its tail. That one tells her it’s only been an hour and twenty, which seems a little slim when there’s already a cake cooling on the counter— the kind Gayle insists is the everyday sort— and a large bowl of what will be dinner rolls rising beside it. That’s not even counting the cookie dough chilling in the fridge or the sauce bubbling on the stove, or the roast left to fall apart in the crock pot so they wouldn’t have ‘too much going on all at once.’

“Oh, don’t trust Felix.” Gayle lifts a corner of the kitchen towel and pokes at the dough beneath, frowning. “He’s a lazy old boy. My grandmother bought him with her first paycheck— blew nearly the whole thing, if you can believe it, just because she could— and when he started wearing down the way these things do, she couldn’t bear to let him go. Called him ‘part of the family.’”

One of his eyes gets stuck, staring right at the fridge until enough seconds click-click past to work it free. “He certainly has a, er, personality.”

“Age has given him more than a few quirks, bless his heart,” she huffs, shaking her head. “Though I’m sure Bob would say the same thing about me. Kept that dang thing, after all! But I just couldn’t bear to give it up, not after Grandma went through all the trouble of putting him in the will. She told me, you know— if she gave him to anyone else he’d end up in the dumpster. Or worse, eBay. But me, well…”

There’s an uncountable amount of frames out on the mantelpiece, so many squared off corners that it could describe a new shape. So many faces that each one is obscured by the next; every one of them a hopeless case she turned into a senior picture, smiles bright enough to give those big Christmas light displays a run for their money. “She knew you’d take care of it.”

Gayle snorts, giving the sauce a hearty stir. “Got a man that opens up his belly every few years and gives him a good clean. Replaces a part or two while he’s at it; costs the same as a constipated cat at the vet, but well…he gets Felix running like a kitten. For a few months at least, and then he remembers his age. Just like me!”

Her laugh crackles and pops as she passes, just the way Oma’s did, but between the record skips, Shirayuki can hear the giggle of a girl half her age. “And Lord knows it’s better than the year Bob decided he’d teach himself how to do it, and we had to replace the whole shebang down to the last cog. That man of mine might be a jack of all trades, but the good lord save me when he gets it into his head to be handy. Now, where’d that notebook get off to?”

Gayle paces around the counter, pulling on the same set of reading glasses she’d had on last night, cooing over their pictures of Ryuu. “I know I wrote down how to make my pie crust. Not that I couldn’t tell you how to make it with my eyes shut, but I’d hate to be standing over you when there’s a half dozen other things that best need doing. Especially since you already know your way around a kitchen.”

“Barely!” Shirayuki laughs, wiping away the sweat beading at her hairline. It clings to the back of her wrist, sticky, until she rubs it off on a kitchen towel. “My Opa was the one who cooked, really. I just learned some things to help out.”

A set of wrinkled hands brackets her shoulders— not as gnarled as Oma’s, or as familiar, but just as warm when they squeeze. “And what a help you are! I don’t think I’ve ever had a better set of spare hands.”

Warmth washes over her, just the way it used to when the radio on the kitchen sill blared out the first verse of one of Oma’s favorites— oh you can’t hurry love, or maybe, I’ve got sunshine on a cloudy day, or best yet, hey where did we go, days when the rains came— and her voice gleefully lifted over Opa’s bustling. “Sounds like you could use more than just one assistant, then!”

Gayle’s smile takes a distinctly sly tilt, “Why, are you volunteering…?”

“Ah, no!” Heat flares bright on her cheeks, and ah, what she wouldn’t give to have skin like Obi’s— the kind that didn’t just tattle on her every thought. “I meant…I’m surprised you don’t have more people helping out. This is a lot for just the two of us.”

A laugh huffs right out of Gayle’s chest. “Oh, don’t you worry your pretty head about it, honey. I could handle twice this all on my own.”

“But—”

“It’s sweet of you to get your back up for a brassy old girl like myself, but there’s no need for it.” Gayle pats her shoulder, slipping past to pull some milk from the fridge. “If you two hadn’t been coming up, we would have had a whole crew here bright and early. But with Christmas on the weekend and everyone having work and the kids still in school— well, it was just simpler to let you two handle it.”

They should have come anyway, Shirayuki wants to say, the words crowding right at the tip of her tongue, but—

There are some people who aren’t going to be all kumbaya, let’s forget anything ever happened. Kelly Ann’s voice grates low in her chest, like an animal nursing a wound. Don’t think it’s going to be easy.

The fosters knew they were coming. All of them. And if they’re not here—

Well, best case scenario, they’re giving Obi a wide berth. Or, considering the way he’d been waiting for them on Bob and Gayle’s front stoop, squared up for a fight, Todd. Either way, it’s songbirds in a storm, silent as the winds start to pick up.

But that’s not what she needs to be thinking about, not when Gayle is squinting over at her, like if she puts on her glasses she might be able to make out just what’s going on behind her eyes. “It’s just…I don’t think I’ve ever cooked this much in my life! Are you sure it isn’t too much…?”

“Oh honey, tonight we’ll be full up to the rafters and still have to squeeze more folks in!” Gayle laughs, slinging her arm right around her shoulders. “It might feel like a lot now, but give it a year or two and you’ll be feeding armies like it’s Tuesday. All my kids learn to cook for a crowd, and there’s no reason to think you’ll be any— oh no, honey.”

It’s silly for her eyes to sting like this, for hot tears to well right at the corners of her eyes— big, fat ones, slipping down onto the counter with cartoonish splats— but now that she’s started she can’t stop. “I’m sorry!”

“No, no, don’t you worry about a thing.” Gayle ushers her over to one one of those wooden chairs clustered around the breakfast nook, a worried little divot digging itself between her brows. “You don’t have to explain anything. We’ve all got our tender places.”

“This isn’t” — she gasps around a fresh set of sobs— “I’m all right. I don’t know—”

“Sometimes we don’t even know we got them.” Gayle crouches down, knees creaking with all the experience seventy years can bring to bear, fixing her with a look that’s both gentle and somehow stern. “You don’t got to be alright, honey. We’re used to a few jagged edges around here. You’ll fit right on in if you have a few of your own.”

It’s sweet, how she says it; perfect, and yet— worse. All the warmth in her chest just stokes whatever’s putting out these tears, vision blurring until Gayle is nothing more than an auburn smudge over white title. “I’m fine. I am! It’s just…just…”

Obi may be the first home she found since she stepped out of the courthouse, the B&B’s left firmly in Mrs Kruger’s hands, but this, here— she belongs. The same way she used to slot between Oma and Opa when she was a little girl, squirming for space but loving the squeeze.

“I’m happy,” she insists, every word a weight on her shoulders, one she can’t wipe away. “I am. It just…”

Makes me miss them more, she can’t say. If two days here makes me want to belong here so badly, maybe I never loved them enough to stay.

“Honey, the way Obi talks about you, I should thank you for personally hanging the stars in the sky.” Gayle may be a blur to her eyes, but when she squeezes her shoulders, firm and gentle at the same time, she’s real. Solid. “And from what I’ve seen of you here, I know that smile of yours could outshine most of them. But you can be the happiest girl in the world and still miss the things you’ve lost.”

“But…”

“Baby, I’ve been in this business a long time.” Gayle grabs a tissue without even looking at the box and folds it in her hands. “I’ve seen kids show up with all their earthly possessions in a single trash bag, and I’ve seen ‘em show up with full luggage sets. And you know what they got in common? They’re all missing something. Their friends, their parents, their grandma’s banana pancakes— maybe even just the way things used to be. And there’s no shame in that, none at all. None of us get out of this life without some nicks and bruises.”

Auntie Shannon can’t come. Laila had said it so easily, nose scrunched, like she’d heard it so often it’d become fact instead of tragedy. She’s too busy being’ an angel.

Shirayuki sniffs, whole body trembling with the effort, and for a solid breath, no more tears fall. “T-thank you.”

“There’s nothing that needs thanking. Now,” Gayle huffs, getting to her feet. “Let’s get you a piece of cake.”

She blinks, watching as Gayle fetches a knife out of drawer, letting it hover over the pan like she can’t quite decide how much sugar this occasion calls for. “Oh, thank you, but really, I’m not—”

Hungry, she means to say. But the cake’s already there in front of her, out-of-season blueberries dotting every bite. “Go on. Just a bite or two, and you’ll be feeling right as rain.”

Her breath hitches, stuck on another protest— but there’s no point. It’d be rude to refuse now, and if there’s one thing Shirayuki won’t do, it’s disappoint Gayle. She takes one forkful, eyeing the sugared top skeptically, and wraps her mouth around it.

“Oh.” It’s more of a reflex than a reaction, sugar and butter and blueberry melting over her tongue the same way as fluffy pancakes on a Sunday morning. Like she’s still small enough to sit in a chair and not touch the ground, feet swinging and chin on the table as she reads through the next chapter book she’d picked up at the library. “That’s…”

‘Good’ would be underselling it. ‘Comforting’ would skimp on the taste. ‘Delicious’ wouldn’t quite cover the way memory blooms in her, warm and welcoming and safe.

“Perfect,” she says instead, and oh, it’s still not enough. But Gayle smiles anyway.

“See?” she laughs, brushing Shirayuki’s hair back from her face. “You never know who’ll need a slice of cake.”

*

Shirayuki has to admit: it would be nice if all it took was a little cake to fix her. Some sugar sprinkled with a little nostalgia and suddenly she springs back into action, none the worse for wear. But as much as Gayle’s home cooking buoys her spirits, it can’t do anything for the way tears still sting at the corner of her eyes, or the sticky trails plastered over her cheeks. She’s probably red and puffy too, eyes bloodshot and hair frizzy, the very picture of pathetic, and it’s good it’s just her and Gayle because—

“Mom?” There’s a little girl's giggle that chases the word, door opening and closing so quick she barely has time to parse how close the jingling keys are before Kelly Ann swerves into the room, a crease settled between the stern line of her brow. “There you are. I couldn’t find—”

The cursory glance she sends her way suddenly blinks itself into a stare, that little crease rumpling its way into full concern. “Mom! What were you doing?”

“I didn’t do anything,” Gayle blusters, hands riding high on her hips, but it’s no use; Kelly Ann’s already bustled past her, dropping her set of grocery bags on the counter before coming to crouch in front of her.

“You all right?” Kelly Ann catches her by the chin, turning her this way and that, just the way Oma did when she gave herself a black eye falling off the playground slide. “Toddy didn’t come early, did he? I’ll slug him myself if that idiot said anything—”

“I-I’m fine.” An assertion that might be more convincing if she didn’t croak it out of her chest. Clearing her throat, she adds, “Really. I just…thought I had dealt with some stuff, and, um…”

“You’d really just pushed it under the rug.” Kelly Ann sits back her heels with a sigh, never quite taking her eyes from her. “Yeah, I know all about that.”

“You know how it is with the holidays,” Gayle says, setting the chilled cookie dough on the counter. “You could be happy as a lark, but it doesn’t stop you from missin’ the people that you wish were there.”

There’s a sharp sting at the corner of her eyes, enough to make her sniff and— “Mom.”

“Oh my.” Gayle snaps up another tissue, passing it to Kelly Ann before it finally sits, crumpled up, in Shirayuki’s. “I didn’t mean to!”

Kelly Ann rolls her eyes— not dismissive, but rather, you should know better— and Shirayuki gasps out, “It’s not your fault! I—”

“Mimi!” Laila tears around the jamb, sock feet skidding on the tile just the way Kelly Ann had been scolding her over yesterday. “Are the cookies ready yet? Can I want to eat—”

She breaks off, staring at Shirayuki with the same intensity as her mother. Her body turns toward Gayle, thumb jerking back toward the nook as she asks, “Is she okay?”

“Yeah.” Kelly Ann gets to her feet with a grunt. “She’s fine.”

Gayle crouches down, running a hand over the soft puff of Laila’s hair. “Shirayuki’s just missing her family, sweetness.”

“Oh.” Laila’s nose scrunches, just like her mother’s. “That’s silly. We’re more than enough family for anyone. That’s what Dad says, anyway.”

Kelly Ann’s voice lashes out like a whip crack. “Laila.”

The girl only shrugs. “What?”

“That’s not true,” Shirayuki blurts out wetly, collecting concerned glances from every corner of the kitchen. “You’re all just right size.”

*

It’s when he’s curving track around the village post office that Obi makes his first mistake: he lets his guard down.

In his defense, he’s baited into it. Bob might have ambushed him with that whole where-are-we-on-the-serious-scale question, but he lets the conversation lull down to a few infrequent grunts, directing him only when his meticulous village map gets vague about the details— don’t want to box myself in, he’d huff, this isn’t like building rockets. That leaves him threading wires thinner than cocktail straws through some holes in the table, trying to get the little train crossing rail to rise up at the right time, when Bob swings out with:

“So how’d the two of you meet?”

“What?” Obi squawks, nearly dropping the whole thing off the table. “Didn’t we—? I mean, Doc already told you all that, didn’t she?”

“Well, sure,” Bob huffs, busy clamping those narrow wires in his large hands. “But not in any detail. She said you didn’t like each other much when you first met. Sounds like a whole bunch of story to me.”

He fixes him with a steady look, the kind he always had when he asked Obi about why he was late for dinner, or why Gayle got a call about him skipping second period. Curious, but skeptical. The kind that said, you better not have been too mean to that sweet girl.

Well, he had been. Mean enough to get expelled, if he hadn’t had a dean in one corner and Zen in the other, refusing to nail him to the wall like he deserved. “I don’t think you—”

A creak at the top of the stairs is their only warning before too-familiar steps pound their way down, Kelly Ann calling out, “Hey, Obi, you might want to check on your—”

She hauls up short halfway down, wide eyes scanning over the basement before she lets out a pained, “Dad. What the hell is all this?”

Bob draws all formerly five-and-eleven inches of himself up, shoulders square and chin lifted like a man about to be hung for love and country, and says over his sea of boxes, "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about."

[snowwhite-andtheknight]

Obiyuki AU Bingo, July: Week 1 Round Up

Fanfiction

sketched into your stars by @another-miracle i'll tie a string around your finger, Chapter 3 by @breezy-beez After Midnight on AOL by @claudeng80

[snowwhite-andtheknight]

After Midnight on AOL

Do you ever feel you become the worst version of yourself? Obi types, the glare of his laptop screen the only illumination in his midnight living room. Torou snorts once, back in the bedroom, before turning over and dropping back into the sleep of the unbothered. Obi is far too bothered to sleep, not tonight.

He wasn’t even supposed to be there; Izana’s name was the one on the invitation. Izana was supposed to go suck up to noted author Garrack Gazelt so that next time she came to the city she’d come hold workshops at Wisteria instead of some little hole in the wall pharmacy. Obi may be an accomplished suckup, as Zakura wastes no opportunity to remind him, but he clearly did not know the right buzzwords for Gazelt.

So the night was both a professional failure and a social one. Someone gets on your nerves and instead of backing down, you charge in with knives out and guns blazing. It doesn’t even have to be anything important, certainly not worth that kind of commitment, but your mouth just takes over and you zing them.

YuraShigure is going to judge him for this, Obi knows, and he’s going to deserve every bit of it. Torou abandoned him to go flirt with some blonde who reminded him unpleasantly of his boss, and over the snack table (raw vegetables only, of course) there was the cute little wellness lady from the aforementioned hole in the wall. To be fair, he did not make the best first impression, her hostility might have been earned, but but in less than thirty seconds she got under his skin and instead of being the bigger person, once again he let the monster out.

It’s really too bad. She does have such a friendly smile. He presses the send button, looking as always to his pen pal for some kind of absolution he doesn’t deserve.

***

“Zing them?” Shirayuki echoes the words out loud just to hear the shape of them, then quiets again to make sure she hasn’t disturbed Zen. There’s no sound in the apartment beyond the whir of her laptop fan and the faint tinkling of Zen’s white noise machine, set as always to the supposed sound of an untouched rainforest. The water noises make her have to get up and go to the bathroom twice a night, which more often than not turns into a quick check of her email as well, but he sleeps like the dead. I wish I did know, she types. I get just as annoyed as anyone else, but I just go blank and then spend the rest of the day trying to think of what I could have said. 

It’s why she’s still awake, really. She didn’t want to make this personal, Wisteria opening up a new location practically on top of the little shop that’s been everything to her since she graduated and decided life in a white coat behind a glass window was not for her. She didn’t want to think they were targeting her. It wasn’t about her at all. But she’s not the one who walked into their shop and asked questions about ingredients and sniffed scents with a smile, then made threats like some kind of health-industry mobster.

That guy is really just a terrible person. Terrible in her store and then terrible at Garrack’s book signing. Zen wasn’t even there to back her up - he’s not good at being mean either, but he does have a very effective glare - because he has very little interest in herbal medicine and got distracted and wandered off to network or something. She really just wants someone to tell her it’s going to be okay. 7-ki isn’t going to understand this, if he’s someone who can actually talk back, but it wears on her how profoundly useless she was. It’s very frustrating, she adds. I’m an intelligent, highly-educated professional and I just come off looking like a doormat.

***

Wouldn’t it be nice if I could just give you all of my zingers? Then you could be mean to everyone you wanted to, and I wouldn’t be mean to anyone I didn’t want to, and we’d both be happy. Obi should go to bed. He’s going to need so much coffee in the morning, but he had to wait just a little longer to see if she would write back. She may only know 7-ki, the him he’d really rather be, but YuraShigure listens like nobody he knows. She sees him.

He’s only thinking like this because it’s so late at night, but he would never have this conversation with Torou. She would zing him twice as hard, slam the door on the way out to spin class, pretend she’d forgotten he’d ever said something she didn’t like, then pull it out again when he’s at his weakest just to twist the knife.

It’s only because it’s after midnight. His fingers move without thinking. Do you think we should meet?

***

“Meet?” In the distance Zen murmurs a complaint, but subsides into his rainforest without fully waking up.

How many times has she typed out those exact words before deleting them in an embarrassed rush? She’s shared fears with him that nobody else in her life knows about. Her employees deserve her confidence and Zen needs her support, not her worry. There’s nobody else but 7-ki, and she doesn’t know what she would do if she disappointed him too.

The crack of the laptop lid slamming down is sharp in the silence.

[snowwhite-andtheknight]

sketched into your stars, an Obiyuki fic

A/N: Wrote this as a love letter of sorts to Sorata. The AU here was inspired by this fic: Indelible.

—

What beauty it is to die a man marked by love than to live a life unblemished by indifference.

—

Obi’s mum has his name written on her arm.

When Obi reached the tender age of ten, she told him, whilst handing him a coal-stained piece of wood to paint each letter of his name onto the skin of her left arm, “This is your soul mark. So I’ll always know you’re well and alive and thinking of me.”

She nudged him and he laughed, offering his arm to her as well. He watched as the word he has never used (obviously he wouldn’t call his mother by her maiden name) formed on his dirt-crusted skin. The strokes seemed to glow once finished. His mother had run her hand through his hair then; Obi remembers her smile.

A year later, Obi watches as her soul mark on him fades with every beat of her heart. He watches as his name glows stark black against her pale skin, apparent even through his tears. When her name finally vanishes from his arm a few days later, his own still tattooed on a dead woman’s body, Obi swears he will never be so callous with his name ever again.

—

The first thing Obi notices is the very blank canvases of her arms. So much like his, his fingers twitch to wrap around them to check if they are empty through and through. Obi has borne names before - attempts to mark, to own, to say, “you’d better remember who you belong to, boy” - but they always fade eventually. Surely someone as sweet as her had some names to bear, people who care for her?

But each time he encounters Miss, Obi fixates on every point except the white skin of her arms. He searches for other things instead - a smile hidden behind a cloth mask, a twitch of brow when he flies a little too close to her irritation, a bell sunk to the bottom of a lake. When she fucking jumps out a window, her arms are the last thing on his mind.

It is only later when her arms burn into his side on horseback that he glances down. Miss is quiet and her face is flushed. Her arms remain bare, though. As Obi lifts his gaze to Master, he thinks it’s only a matter of time.

-

True enough, Master and Miss emerge from the woods, smiles wide, faces flushed, and the inside of their wrists proudly marked with the loop of letters forming each other’s names.

Obi is glad, that is, until the next day when he sees Miss’ left wrist hidden by a wrapping of silk, framed by an intricate string of beads. He turns and sees Master approach, donning a pair of fingerless gloves, the left one stretching to the middle of his forearm. The Wisteria crest haunts the back of his hands and Obi frowns.

”It’s easier this way,” Miss tells him later, a secret smile playing at the corner of her lips. And Obi understands, he does. But his chest aches alongside the downturn of his mouth - for the girl whose arms are bare, for the prince with the Kingdom burnished on his back, for the pair whom Obi has inadvertently given a piece of his soul to.

-

The fiasco in Tanbarun was spent waiting with bated breath, and with Master checking his wrist every hour. Obi does not remember most of it, having survived three days without sleep. The moment he sees her again, dress torn, hair in disarray, cut on face screaming out his failure — Obi does not dare to seek relief. He throws himself into recompense, removing himself from her presence whilst seeking revenge on the ones who had stolen her, twice over, from under his watch.

The sun sets eventually upon the battle long over and Obi hides in the shadows of the trees around the Mountain Lion village. He jumps from branch to branch in the guise of patrolling the surrounding area. He bides his time, awaiting the cover of night to take the final leap away from a trust broken beyond repair.

His name sounds through the woods like the clang of a warning bell.

Obi lands in front of Miss, no hesitation.

Miss runs up to him, panting. “You didn’t seem yourself on the way here. You had me a bit worried.”

He stares at Miss, willing her to see the guilt he is drenched in. An oblivious smile paints her face. Obi clears his throat.

“Forgive me,” he says. “I was supposed to be your bodyguard. Your escort.”

Miss starts. ”But-“

A hand over mouth. “It doesn’t matter what you say, I won’t hear it.”

Then Obi voices his greatest failure.

”I was supposed to protect you.”

A beat. Then another. Obi removes his hand.

Miss lifts her head.

“So it doesn’t matter what I have to say?”

”That’s right.”

“Fine.”

Obi prepares for her final dismissal.

Instead, Miss gaze sharpens with something determined. Her voice is steel when she commands him. “Next time I visit Tanbarun, I want you to be my bodyguard again.”

Taken aback, Obi offers a well-thought out, “Huh?”

”I told you,” Miss continues, a smile stretched across her lips, so open and so bright in the dying sunlight. “We’d see the town together next time, right?”

Then so quietly, she offers, “…and maybe one day, we can exchange names too? So we don’t lose each other?”

“Shira-“

Obi breaks off in a gasp, slapping his hand over his mouth.

He scarcely has time to get his feet under him again when Miss bows. “Please, I’m looking forward to it.”

Miss pays no heed to Obi’s world tilting a few degrees to the left, and continues to keep her head bowed. Obi scrambles for calm, forcing his arm down. He stares at Miss’ arms again, one wrist wrapped in silk, the other persistently bare. His chest aches at her plea, one undeservedly poised to a man who has had too little to lose, what more a name. Still, still-

“I’ll hold you to that, Miss,” Obi says, choosing to step into an unknown. The ground is shaky at best, but Miss’ relieved smile sinks into his soul, and Obi feels another part of him surrendering once again.

—

“Listen Obi.” Master’s voice cuts through the air. “When you’re meant to be somewhere but then you go missing, that doesn’t sit well with people - including me.”

Master faces him and immediately Obi is arrested by clear, unquestionable blue. “Learn that lesson soon or next time I won’t come looking for you.”

”…I’m sorry.” The words tumble out of Obi’s mouth, the ground suddenly giving way under his feet. His fists unclench, hanging limply over his knees. Master turns away once more with a sound of acknowledgment but the fire in Obi’s chest burns bright- so bright. He grips his wrist, thumb rubbing against the skin on his forearm. Obi inhales, chest expanding, and looks up.

“Master-“

“Obi!” Miss blows into the room, arms full of supplies.

Obi releases his arm in surprise. “Miss?”

”Your shoulder.” Miss walks over, setting her supplies down on the stair next to him. “Show me where you got hurt.”

Immediately on the defensive, Obi places his hand over his injured shoulder. “Huh? It’s just a scratch- okay, okay, the shirt’s coming off, you can stop staring at me like that now.”

Gingerly, Obi removes his shirt and sits up. Master leaves the room, citing his need to check on the others. Miss sets to work preparing the dressing and Obi’s leg begins to bounce in the silence.

“Miss,” Obi breaks first. “Are you mad?”

Miss sighs. “No, I’m more relieved than anything.”

It doesn’t sound like the full answer. “So you’re disappointed then..?”

A huff escapes Miss’ mouth next. She presses the cloth into his shoulder and Obi hisses at the sting. “I can’t exactly say, ‘don’t worry me like that’, especially after all the stunts I’ve pulled…”

Miss works silently after that, focused on dressing his mistake and covering the wound. Obi hones in on every dab, every press of cloth, every pass of breath over his skin. It begins as a flame threatening to spark an inferno in his chest.

Then Miss calls his name, nothing more than a murmur, clear as a bell. Obi’s jaw clenches. He wants this. This freefall into a trust he holds for these people, his people - he aches for this- and isn’t that just the scariest thing?

Miss questions him about the scar on his chest, a distant memory. Obi stutters through a non-answer, his consciousness still ringing from the pinpoint of his name passing her lips. Miss looks up at him in exasperation before placing a final bandage over his injury. As she retreats, Obi takes hold of her hand.

“If you’d been dressing the wound back then, it probably wouldn’t have left such a nasty scar.”

Miss looks down once more, eyes softening in forgone pity. Obi’s scar itches but he persists in squeezing her hand once, an allowance of sorts. He catches her eye. And with all the sincerity a man like him can muster, he releases a contract.

“I’m sorry I didn’t return as promised. It won’t happen again.”

A breath, then pointing to his shoulder, “Miss, as a reminder, would you write your name here? Just so I don’t get lost and know where to return to?”

Obi flashes a cheeky grin, hoping it buoys the gravity of the request, cushions the weight of novel words leaving his mouth. But Miss doesn’t take the bait and chooses to bask in it instead, seeming to float with happiness as she acknowledges what this means for him. Obi coughs and looks away, a slight flush making its way onto his cheeks.

“Of course!” Miss replies, ethereal smile on face and all.

Days later, Miss hunts him down and drags him to the pharmacy. She sits him on a stool and orders him to take off his shirt, using a tone not unlike the one she used at the inn. Obi watches as she dips her pen into the ink pot, the loops seeping into his skin to take the form of a word he’s never let leave his mouth. When she’s finished, Miss beams up at him before handing the pen over.

Obi grips her hand and gently pushes it down. A moment passes, but Miss nods. A silent message received, and the pen is returned to the ink pot. They share a secret smile of sorts before Obi puts his shirt on once again.

—

The day Miss leaves for Lilias is bittersweet. Obi’s uniform chafes at the neck and he pulls on the collar for the umpteenth time.

“Stop that,” Mister admonishes. Obi purses his lips before leaning back on his hands, the warmth of the stone under his fingers seeping through.

Miss emerges through the doors, suitcases in tow. She approaches the four of them, smile wide. She explains His Majestic Bro-ness’ assignment in detail and Obi can’t help but latch onto one fact.

”Two years?!” Obi exclaims. “Honing your skills should take what, like a year, tops?”

He is still reeling when Miss catches them unawares. Looking at each of them, she says, “Umm - I was hoping to shake hands with each of you, if that’s okay.”

Beside him, Miss Kiki murmurs, “Handshakes?” She then steps up to Miss and engulfs her in a hug. Miss lets out an adorable squeak, her face turning red. As Miss Kiki lets go, her gaze falls to the large bag next to Miss.

“By any chance,” Miss Kiki says. “Do you have anything to write with in that big bag of yours? I would very much like to exchange names with you.”

Miss practically glows at the request before fishing out her trusty ink pot and pen and offers them to Miss Kiki. Miss offers up her forearm and Miss Kiki bends to write her name. Miss’ name is exchanged in return, written on the same location as hers.

Obi’s heart seems to be beating out of his chest. He leans on Mister, hoping desperately that he may somehow put a stop to this. Instead-

“No.” Mister betrays Obi. “I don’t go for handshakes either.”

Mister rolls up his sleeve and walks towards Miss, giving her a semi-blank canvas to write on. Miss smiles up at him with gratitude, and proceeds to leave her name on his skin. Mister then returns the favour before engulfing Miss’ tiny form in a giant bear hug.

Obi clutches at his shoulder.

The pair turn to him and Obi freezes. Miss approaches him, stepping into his space. The stare they share seems to span the length of an ocean.

Slowly, Obi lowers his arm and extends both of them out. Miss’ mouth opens and Obi is endeared. Carefully, he wraps an arm around her and grips lightly at the top of her back. Miss, in turn, snakes both arms around him and presses him close. Obi closes his eyes and leans his head briefly against hers.

The vestiges of what anchors him to this place, Miss releases them with her words, and Obi finds himself letting go. For now.

—

“Tell me, Obi,” Master says, hair gently blown by the ocean’s breeze. “Do you like me?”

”Yes,” Obi replies.

Master coughs slightly. “No hesitation, huh. Well, not that it’s a problem.”

Obi smirks. “I mean, you asked.”

A moment passes. The whipping of the Wisteria flag hung from its mast sounds through the quiet of the night, the stars its ever-constant backdrop. Master glances at him, eyes clear as day.

”What about Shirayuki?”

A pang slices through Obi’s chest. He stares at Master. Then turns back to the sea. Miss’ face comes alive in his mind’s eye. He takes a breath.

“Yes,” Obi tells him. “I like Miss too.”

To his credit, Master spends all but a moment looking shocked, and Obi can’t help but tease. “Did you not know?”

Immediately, the shock melts off Master’s face. Obi can almost hear Master questioning his intellect. Instead he says, “How could I have when I’ve never asked before?”

Master then begins listing Obi’s faults, like looking out for Miss properly, and explains why he’d just shot a cannonball through Obi’s poor soul, asking about his feelings. Not that Obi hadn’t planned on doing so - two years is a long time, after all.

At this, Master seems truly shocked and even comments on his upright-ness, to which Obi only blames the bunch of them all. They go back and forth a little - Master attempting to decipher Obi’s psyche and his inability to stay in one place, Obi attempting to dodge every understanding gaze Master shoots his way.

“If you’ve decided to stick with us,” Master says, handing him the other end of his proverbial leash. “Then let me make this clear-

“You know well how Shirayuki is. She needs someone around that she can count on. And that person can only be you.”

Master’s gaze almost shines in the starlight, the blues darkened by the night but as clear as day. He speaks Obi’s name and Obi clutches at his wrist.

”Going forward, I’m entrusting you with her.”

Obi’s knee touches the floor before any words leave his mouth. “For you and Miss, I would go anywhere.”

The waves crash against the ship and Obi looks up to Master’s satisfied face. Contrite, he offers his wrist. “Master,” he says. Master nods in understanding.

Later, the two share an intimate moment under the candlelight below deck, Obi’s wrist exposed, palm facing up, and Master berating him with every letter scribbled onto Obi’s skin. And Obi laughs and laughs.

—

For all the talk Obi did about longing for his Miss to Miss Kiki, returning to Lilias after the whole ordeal with Touka and the twins seems less like a victor’s welcome and more like a sigh of relief. Obi will soon accept a bed over some knight’s honour for protecting the Second to the Crown, so he avoids his Elder Bro-ness (and any of his associated posse) like a plague. This finds him lounging around the gates, an apparent image of nonchalance - save his hand digging into his right shoulder and his foot bouncing against the stone wall behind him.

A flash of red enters his vision and immediately his hand goes up. “Hey!” Obi waves. “Over here!”

Miss’ steps echo through the corridor despite the crowd. When her hands wrap around Obi’s wrists, Obi finds a different kind of mark searing his skin. His left wrist, bearing Master’s name, burns as she squeezes.

“Welcome back, Obi.”

Even without him looking into a mirror with his shirt off, Obi knows that the name inscribed on his shoulder is glowing. It pulses once, twice. And underneath, the muscle in his chest throbs in unison.

Obi’s hands go slack in her hold. Then immediately - stupidly - move to grab his Miss under the arms, picking her up and twirling her around. Hysteria leaves his mouth before being interrupted by exclamations of pain. Miss looks at him with concern when he finally puts her down, but Obi quickly redirects her attention to much more important matters - namely, Master.

A few days later, Obi, while Master catches up on his sleep, makes his long overdue visit to Miss as her patient. She checks on him, satisfied with the care he has put into his wound. The Olin Maris stone is subsequently returned to its rightful owner, but it is quickly passed back, Miss citing its usefulness to Obi.

“I didn’t have any idea whether you were okay,” Miss says after returning the Olin Maris to Obi’s neck. She touches her clothed wrist. “I have Zen’s, yes. But…”

Obi’s heart hurts at the thought of Miss ever needing to check on her wrists for his existence.

“You have Master’s name - mine shouldn’t matter… But-” Obi touches her name over his shirt. “I did think about coming back safely and I’m glad I was able to.”

He looks up at her, attempting a grin that seems too fragile for his face. “I’m home, Miss! I think that’s how it’s meant to go?”

Miss has a broken smile on her face that makes Obi want to wrap her up in his arms and squeeze. Instead, he relishes in her repeated words.

“Welcome home, Obi.”

—

In Lilias, the researchers are decidedly more liberal with whom they exchange names. The bonds forged between research papers, dim candlelights and furious scribbling are difficult to break beyond the high walls of the research city. More often than not, Obi finds collaborators taking delight in rolling up their sleeves, reaching over to conveniently placed writing instruments, and writing their names on each others’ arms.

Similarly, anyone who has survived the cold of the North together warrants a name exchange. This finds Obi caught in such exchanges at the tail end of a night shift or after a particularly hard beating courtesy of Makiri. Obi’s arms become littered with far more words than he has ever had the privilege to carry, a lesser burden than the ones he leaves on others. He takes refuge in the fact that they are usually covered up by layers and layers of thick wool, and that they will fade without anyone knowing better.

(At least that’s what he tells himself - when on more than one occasion, Obi sees his name standing out stark and dark on more than one comrades’ arms in the Lilias baths.)

This practice is not lost on his Miss, who excitedly stains her arms with ink, creating constellations on her skin as foreign to her as they are to him. She lovingly traces Yuzuri’s and Suzu’s names when she thinks no one is watching. Obi finds himself perching his chin in hand while she does so, chest warm at the thought of his Miss having people she loves love her in return.

(He pointedly ignores the silk wrapped around Miss’ wrist, and he doesn’t wonder whether the name underneath has lost any of its opacity. He doesn’t. The trickle of letters arriving that bear the official seal makes it difficult, though.)

Her other wrist, however, remains achingly empty. And whenever Obi is in the vicinity of one of such exchanges, Miss’ gaze somehow never fails to find his, a secret smile playing at her lips. Obi’s heart beats in his ears and he turns away, his hand digging into his right shoulder, lips pressed together.

The practice regains its weight the night Little Ryuu is challenged to a crossroads: to follow them on their traipse around the North, or to move to Wilant for research. He calls on both of them, climbs up a small hill to where they stand, waiting. And with stars in his eyes, he asks for their names to be written next to each other on the inside of his left forearm.

So he can see their names whenever he pulls his sleeves up to attend to patients, Little Ryuu explains, or when he retrieves herbs from the greenhouse. A reminder of who he has grown to be, and who he wants to become. And, Little Ryuu insists, their names have to be one after the other, because they come together.

Obi isn’t someone meant for words like these, nor to have his name tattooed on a soul as pure as the boy in front of him. But Miss abruptly agrees for the both of them, tears in her eyes. Obi attempts a smile but covers it up by ruffling Little Ryuu’s hair before holding him close.

Little Ryuu holds out his pen and Obi and Miss look at each other, smiles wide.

“You first”, they both say, already rolling up their sleeves. Obi pretends not to see the tremble of Ryuu’s lips and grins through the affair. He knows this mark will last for a while.

—

Obi’s very real fear that Miss’ name will one day fade from his shoulder comes to fruition the day Lord Shinsu requests for him to return to his post by his Master’s side. Somewhere far, far away - far from herbs and mystery boxes and strange plants. Where Obi becomes out of sight, out of mind.

Oh, if only his younger self could see him now; scrambling to dig his roots even deeper instead of up and out. Belatedly, Obi takes this realization as a sign of growth, though, whilst jumping from rooftop to rooftop, the feeling of being left behind never does fade. His mind blinks back to labored breathing, stale air, a sickly pallor and his name persisting in its existence amongst a room full of death. Again, he is being cleaved against his will - but this time, things may change if Obi fights hard enough.

He lands behind Lord Shinsu, exchanges barbs with him briefly, before moving to the main event. Obi pulls up his big boy breeches, straightens out his uniform blacks. He throws out his ace of spades, digging deeper into the soil at his feet. Obi clings on to Master’s command, pulls at it any way he can, but in the face of Lord Shinsu’s unchanging expression, Obi feels like he’s dangling off a precipice, saved by the skin of his teeth, or rather, the mention of Master’s name once again.

Lord Shinsu then lays out his conditions and Obi has no choice but to agree. After all, if this is as far his Master’s name can get him, what more is he to expect from his own? Obi bows, sinking back to the security that he still belongs at his Miss’ side, as long as Master wills it.

“Good evening, Lord Shinsu!”

Obi’s head snaps up. In the glow of the firelight, Miss stands out against the night sky, the stars glittering above her. She stands in the distance, hands clasped, and she seems nervous?

He watches her take a breath. “Lord Shinsu, I come to you with a humble request.”

At this, Obi attempts to stop her, to tell her that it’s a done deal, there’s no need to fight anymore. Clarines’ favourite uncle gives him pause though, a palm up behind him. Obi grinds his teeth in frustration. Fresh from his most recent bout of submission, he clenches his fists and waits.

Some conversational martial arts later, the good lord finally allows Miss an opening to speak her truth. Unbeknownst to Obi, it is also the beginning of an end.

“Whilst under your service, Lord Shinsu,” Miss speaks to the floor. “And whilst Obi continues his service as my guard, kindly refrain from saying that to be my guard, anyone would suffice.”

What?

As stoic as ever, Lord Shinsu asks, “Is this with regard to what I said today?”

“Yes.” Miss continues to have her head bowed.

”Even if there’s someone better?” A pang goes through Obi at this. Because world on worlds, it is true; there are probably better guards in this man’s service. Guards who wouldn’t have let their charge be kidnapped right under their noses, for one.

Miss immediately obliterates that train of thought with an affirmative. Lord Shinsu then reiterates what Obi clung onto so desperately earlier.

”Is it because Sir Obi is the only one who serves as Prince Zen’s immediate knight?”

The dagger around his waist has never felt as heavy. This is a role, he tells himself. A role graced upon the undeserving. Obi’s fingers twitch at his side, itching to trace the name brandished on his wrist. To see that it hasn’t faded, that Master knows him, that this responsibility is because Master cares…right?

”Yes,” Miss replies, lifting her gaze. “In the same manner the title ‘Friend of the Crown’, bestowed by Prince Raj, was meant to act as a shield for me - the title of ‘Prince Zen’s Immediate Knight’ similarly exists as a reflection of His Highness’ feelings.”

Something settles in Obi’s chest. Good, Miss understands his role. He’s here on Master’s command. This is where he is called to be.

But Miss continues. “But for Sir Obi, to be able to accept a title as unique as this, it must have taken him a resolve equivalent to its weight.”

Obi’s mouth parts at this. Wait, Miss, he wants to say. But she isn’t finished.

”And I know,” Miss speaks, voice resolute. “It is with that same resolve that he has come to be by my side.”

The image slices through Obi; a snowy day with a dagger laid at his feet, the cold seeping through the cloth of his pants. Their chests heaving from the run through the forest, sunlight peeking through the branches. A question, Is it fine if I stay here?

Obi’s first instinct knocks him to sitting, hiding himself behind the banister out of sight. While his legs have surely lost their ability to keep his weight up, Obi persists in that incessant need to shield himself from this. That precipice he was dangling from earlier? It crumbles under his hands and Obi grasps at air, only to find his feet landing on a trust so unwavering, so solid. She sees him so thoroughly, has delved into his innermost fears and wants, as if she’s traced his name over and over, so familiar with its loops and syllables. He wants to crouch down and bask in it, he wants to crawl to her side into her embrace, he wants-

He wants to become worthy of this.

“Obi!” Miss’ voice rings through the night.

Immediately, there is a tightness behind his eyes he’s barred himself from for so long. The stones on the floor begin to blur.

“See you tomorrow!” She calls.

Obi presses his fingers against his eyelids. The corners of his mouth tips upwards. Tomorrow, she says. Like it is a simple unending concept; like it is given.

The wind passes through the tassels above him and Obi follows in its wake after the receding footsteps of his Miss. He stands, stumbles into a turn, and watches as Miss and Lord Shinsu make their way back to the residence. It’s fine. He’ll see her tomorrow, preferably when his insides feel less like they are threatening to spill out through his throat.

Suddenly, Miss turns. Obi’s eyes widen. Did Miss grow a pair of eyes behind her head when he wasn’t looking? Miss briefly returns to Lord Shinsu before taking wide steps back in Obi’s direction.

Obi’s legs follow suit, his eyes fixed on Miss’ approaching form. After descending the first flight of steps, they stop. He can’t go further- he can’t. There isn’t a stone left unturned in his being and that’s too much for Miss to see up close.

“Obi.”

“See you tomorrow, Miss,” Obi quickly rehashes her earlier sentiment, tests it out briefly on his tongue. It escapes as a poor mimicry of the pulse behind the statement.

Miss’ bewildered stare causes the edges of his smile - he is smiling, right? - to tremble.

“You should head back with Lord Shinsu.”

”What about you, Obi?”

Ah, caught red-handed. Nothing escapes his Miss. Why does he even try, really.

“…that’s right. I did promise to tell you when something comes up,” Obi mumbles.

He looks up. “I heard everything,” he says. “There’s something I want to say, but I’m not sure if I can put it clearly enough.”

Miss blinks, once, twice, the stars in her eyes. Her face then melts into the most heartwrenching of smiles.

“It’s okay.”

Obi’s chest throbs, the tightness behind his eyes returning. He tilts his head up, hoping to stave off the blurred edges of his vision. Above him, the stars twinkle with no shame, their existence bright, persisting, plastered on a blanket of black.

It is with that same damn resolve that Obi’s legs move. He stops, just a while’s away from his Miss. He hopes she meant it when she said he looks good in the firelight. Because if there’s anything that’ll be next to his Miss from now on till time eternal, it should at least be something pleasant to look at.

He points at his chest.

“This,” Obi murmurs, a silent prayer, an offering. “Here.”

Miss looks up in astonishment. Obi reaches out and tugs her to him, his hand pressed to the small of her back.

“Could you hold it for me?”

He presses into her warmth, closes his eyes. His Miss, who has held onto he who has no home; who laughs, cries, smiles, with him; who has taught him the beauty of holding on. Perhaps the resolve isn’t so much a resolve, but a pull unavoided, a vice Obi so willingly offers his wrists to, to be pulled along, tethered, with so much care. Who is he to resist? And now, he has surrendered all his cards, given every single part of himself to the girl in his arms, and he waits, with bated breath, for the answer he trusts her to give.

Both of Miss’ hands land on his back. She holds him as if he is precious, and for the first time, as if he isn’t going to disappear. She holds him like she is certain, that as much as she keeps him in her arms, Obi will keep her in his.

“Okay,” Miss says, voice suffusing joy. “I’ll just have to keep holding you like this, then!”

Obi’s chest expands, fills, with the tingling of Miss’ laughter in his ear. He holds her in earnest, just as she trusts him to. And responds with a laughter as free as her own.

Later, when they part, Obi gently grasps Miss' right wrist and cradles it over interlocked fingers. He brushes his thumb over the unblemished skin. A glance up, and Obi almost ducks his head at how Miss’ face lights up.

“Take care of my name, Miss,” Obi tells her. “It will likely never fade.”

Miss beams.

“I’m counting on it.”

—

Some fun(?) stuff about the AU that didn’t make it into the fic:

Wisteria men usually do not have any names written on their bodies for purity’s sake - only Clarines’ crest literally tattooed on their backs. Past kings (and queens) who have had names littered on their skin were frowned upon for being disloyal to the crown and at risk for treason. (Which is another reason Zen stares so intently when Shirayuki asks for Kiki’s and Mitsuhide’s names written on her arms)

Obi gets a lot of shit from Lilias’ soldiers in the bathhouses for having Shirayuki’s name written at such an ‘intimate’ place on his body. Obi usually just brushes it off and jokes that it’s “his mistress’ brand on him”.

Kiki and Mitsuhide have each other’s names written on the backs of their sword-dominant hand. They exchanged names when Kiki decided to stick with Zen.

(the most unrealistic part of this AU is Lilias’ researchers wanting their names anywhere other than as first author of their publications)

[snowwhite-andtheknight]

Summary:

Shirayuki lives her life as a pharmacist helping people in her small port town, until a bleeding pirate stumbles into her shop.

Posting this chapter for the ObiYuki AU Bingo July board! @snowwhite-andtheknight

Chapter 3

Keep reading

[snowwhite-andtheknight]

Obiyuki AU Bingo: July Community Board Update!

Here is our second community bingo board, now with its center square picked by June's PvP challenge winner, @sabraeal! We are now accepting fills for July's board starting now, July 1st through July 31st.

We are still accepting fills for June's board as well! Just make sure that you mark your posts as "june" so that we can appropriately count them!

Post Dates: Jul 1st - Jul 31st Tag: #obiyukibingo25 Medias: Fic, art, edits or playlists

[PLEASE READ ALL GUIDELINES BEFORE POSTING YOUR WORKS]

Guidelines:

All work must be your own (eg. no plagiarizing other sources, tracing, pose stealing, AI art/writing etc)

The main pairing is Obi x Shirayuki

Fics, art, edits, and playlists are all valid works for this challenge

(If you create other forms of works please contact the comm and we will be happy to work out eligibility)

Must follow the AU prompt

Must be tagged #obiyukibingo25 within the first five tags

With Tumblr’s tagging system on the fritz, please also @ the Obiyuki comm in your entry

No works entered through the submission box will be accepted for this challenge

Works must be posted to Tumblr to be eligible as fills! The post may redirect elsewhere (AO3, ffnet, deviant art, youtube, etc) but we need a Tumblr post to reblog our progress on the board!

Please label with your AU!

All NSFW content must be tagged and under a Read More!

You may post more than one entry per prompt, but it will only count for that square

If someone else fills a square, you are still welcome to submit a fill for that prompt– it won’t count towards a further bingo, but it will count toward your personal stats!

One entry, no matter how many AUs it is applicable for, may only count as one square

Fics must be over 500 words to count as a fill

Art does not have to be a full colored finished piece, but at least a finished sketch

Playlists must be over 8 songs.

Be nice

Play hard

Can I base my work off of other fanworks? (aka, make fanart of a fanfic, write fanfic based on fanart, make an edit of a fanfic or write a fanfic for a playlist, etc)

This is absolutely welcome! If your medium is the same (making a fanfic of a fanfic, or fanart inspired by fanart), please check with the creator of the original fanwork, but otherwise just credit the work that inspired you.

What works are considered valid entries?

Fic, art, edits & playlists. Please note, we are looking for transformative works; please do not simply palette swap characters from the AU source, or find & replace names in their plot. Reimagine what an AU would look like with AnS character in it!

[snowwhite-andtheknight]

Obiyuki AU Bingo, June Round Up!

Fanfiction

piece of a small town in a big city by @breezy-beez Pins and Ribbons by @breezy-beez Red as Blood, White as Snow by @breezy-beez Where you want to go by @ccprovolomies False Start by @claudeng80 Last Resort by @claudeng80 Desert & Reward, Chapter 23 by @sabraeal Get Up Eight, Chapter 13 by @sabraeal flamme’s seduction technique, patent pending by @voidthescribe the mane of the red death by @voidthescribe save a horse, let obi carry you by @voidthescribe

Fan Art

Mermaid by @aerie-skysinger scruffy-looking nerf herder by @valoaktree abbey road by @valoaktree

[snowwhite-andtheknight]

Announcing: Obiyuki Week 2025

Welcome back to our tenth annual Obiyuki Week!! Our theme this year is one of our favorite from years past:

Deadly & Heavenly: Vice & Virtue

Each day will consist of two main prompts along with a color prompt that can be used to inspire works or continue existing ones. This ship week is open to all human-made Obiyuki works, so even if a submission does not quite fit the day, please feel free to post and join in!

Day 1: Kindness/Envy

Kindness, a concern and consideration for others.

Envy, an insatiable desire; a sad or resentful covetousness towards the traits or possessions of someone else.

Color Theme: Green

Day 2: Charity/Avarice

Charity, the virtue of agape; universal and unconditional love.

Avarice, a sin of desire; an artificial, rapacious desire and pursuit of material possessions.

Color Theme: Gold

Day 3: Temperance/Gluttony

Temperance, control over excess; moderation or voluntary self-restraint.

Gluttony, the overindulgence or overconsumption of anything to the point of waste, selfishness, or placing one’s own impulses of interest above the well-being of others.

Color Theme: Violet

Day 4: Diligence/Sloth [Free Day]

Diligence, a belief that work is good in itself; a careful and persistent effort.

Sloth, a failure to do things one should do; an absence of interest or a habitual disinclination to exertion.

Color Theme: Black or White

[A free day for any obiyuki work you would like! If you are looking for a prompt for this day, you can use the prompt above!]

Day 5: Patience/Wrath

Patience, the ability to endure difficult circumstances, to tolerate provocation without responding in anger, or forbearance under strain; the level of endurance one can have before the rise of negativity.

Wrath, anger directed against an innocent person, unduly strong or long-lasting, or desiring excessive punishment or vengeance.

Color Theme: Red

Day 6: Chastity/Lust

Chastity, a purity of spirit; abstaining from impure conduct, usually of a sexual or romantic nature.

Lust, an intense longing; a need to possess that turns one into a slave of desire.

Color Theme: Pink

Day 7: Humility/Hubris

Humility, a liberation from the consciousness of self; a form of temperance that is neither having haughtiness nor indulging in self-deprecation

Hubris, a dangerously corrupt selfishness; the putting of one’s own desires and whims before the welfare of other people due to a surety of superiority.

Color Theme: Blue

Dates: September 21st-27th Tag: #obiyukiweek25 

[Guidelines beneath cut]

Guidelines:

All work must be your own (eg. no plagiarizing other sources, tracing, pose stealing etc)

Absolutely NO AI works are accepted for this challenge

The main pairing is Obi x Shirayuki

Must follow the day’s prompt, however loosely

Must be tagged #obiyukiweek25 within the first five tags

With Tumblr’s tagging system on the fritz, please also @ snowwhite-andtheknight in your entry

Please label with the day’s number!

All NSFW content must be tagged and under a Read More!

You may submit multiple entries for each day!

Be nice

Play hard

[snowwhite-andtheknight]

Where you want to go

@snowwhite-andtheknight: for the june board cheers au

It looks exactly as she remembers it. The grain on the ceiling, the overstuffed leather booths, the mismatched colorful tumblers and pilsner glasses mixed in with real sets picked up over the years. 

Photographs sit still on the walls like petrified wood in an ancient forest. Everything looks the same.

That must be why she’s struck statue still on the first step into the tavern. If she doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, doesn’t breathe, she can believe that she’s looking at a photograph and that she didn’t step forward through time. That would help with the shock of seeing a man who is distinctly - very distinctly - neither of Shirayuki’s grandparents. 

When she had returned home, she had expected it to be one of two things: abandoned and empty…or, turned into another chain restaurant everyone’s been raving about. As if a soulless gimmick bar can ever replace a true family owned tavern. The thought made her sneer the whole way over, in between bouts of dread that it really was brutally gutted like a market fish. 

In no way does the lanky, black-clad, winking and smirking…guy, or man, or whatever he is, fit into the image she had been working herself up over.

In fact, there are quite a few customers. The televisions are on. Waves of conversations swelled and ebb from every corner. All the photographs on the walls ade exactly where they always were, fitting across the wooden boards like a perfect puzzle. Bottles are lined neatly up behind the bar, looking like it was polished this morning. The same old towels hung on the same old hooks by the same old- well, the faucet doesn’t seem to leak anymore, but the sound still dripped constantly in her memory.  The marks of dragged chairs across the floor faintly shine against the floor grain.

Whoever buffed them out had done…a good job. It was a good job. It looked good.

She swallows a lump.

It is good, but she she hadn’t seen any of it. She had always been here but today she is a stranger posing as a regular.

“Miss, you want to take a seat or just stand there admiring the view?” A velvety voice she feels rather than hears glides over her, far too close with far too little warning. Unable even take a step back because she’s still spiraling while plastered to the steps. 

Oh. The man behind the bar is now leaning, towering, over her. 

And getting closer.

“Not that I mind, but someone’s trying to get through and you’re bein’ a bit of a traffic cone right now.”

He shifts her a step to the side while a woman huffed by to bee-line to the back of the room. (The billiards table, the darts boards, the office, the restrooms: straight down the hall.) Wait, no-

“A traffic cone? You would call a- a patron of this establishment a traffic cone? What’s the matter with you, you-“ what would Yuzuri say, “you rude jerk!” That was definitely not what Yuzuri would say. 

Just last week Yuzuri, was slamming her hand on the table at a guy who wouldn’t even treat her to coffee on a first date. She yelled “bite me, cheap-o!” and stormed out without sparing a backwards glance once.  She’d have a mouthful of fire at someone pulling moves like this guy. Or maybe not, since he was handsome, a fact which was useless when he was behind the bar, but somewhat pressing with his splayed hand on her bicep still. He's on two steps below her and even then she only comes to his eye level.

She’s about to give him a piece of her mind for keeping his hand there when he removed on his own while- while laughing of all things. 

“What’s the hold up over there?”

“The Little Miss thinks I’m a rude jerk, isn’t that something?”

The woman with a light auburn perm cackles high and mighty. "Does she now?" She finishes jotting something - perhaps someone's order, or a note about how silly she thinks Shirayuki is - and sticks the notepad back into her apron. "It's a little early to be saying that when she hasn't even seen you in action."

"Obi certainly has a way with women, doesn't he?" a new voice pipes in. Blond hair trickles around his large squared frames looking like the posterboy for academia. She'd seen plenty of his around the college before she left, but this one appears more mellow, at least.

Shirayuki scoffs so hard it'd make her Nana's brow fold even beyond the grave. This guy, this Obi, turns surprised as if he forgot she was there at all. "'A way with women?'" she echoes. What a joke. "I guess mocking strangers is certainly one way to do things, but that won't work on me, you got that? Now, you'd better step aside down there before I show you how my way works."

"Well well well, this one has a bit of an attitude doesn't she?" The waitress snickers while she shoots a glass down the length of the bar. Glossed wood. Real oak. Pop-pop made it from scratch. Never painted, and always finished with a shine.

Obi holds his hands up, takes a step back (which is more like two of her own steps), and shoots a loose, easy smile that has, she doesn't doubt, been used on a number of others. "Now, Torou, let's not be, uh, un-to-ward, "to our lovely patron. You seem new here, Little Miss, how about you take a seat down there and I'll buy you something to make up for our…transgression," he decides on, pointing a finger with a single curved scar arching from his nail, down where Nana's checkers partner Bonnie would sit. She'd sit there for two hours every afternoon, have a game with Nana, and head home with a promise to finally beat her tomorrow. Nana passed first though, so in the end Bonnie had won something. Not that Shirayuki saw her, or any of the original crowd again after what happened. After she left.

Shirayuki watches the blond man catch the drink with a satisfied "Ha!" before having a sip. The woman, Torou, has already returned to her conversation with the blond man. They smile and laugh and crinkle their eyes while they talk, fitting perfectly neatly with the rest of the merry air.

Same atmosphere, different crowd.

Professor Garrak had once told her that the strangest thing she found about being a teacher was that even while you get older, your students are always the same age. A teacher will be forty, fifty, sixty, while being surrounded by different waves of the same wide-eyed nineteen year olds. It puts a person almost at odds with the flow of time, to surround yourself, who is always changing, with an environment that is both always, and never exactly, the same. Shirayuki had never wanted to become a teacher, but as a wide-eyed nineteen year old, it had certainly shifted her perspective. If only a little. To look at the photo that Shirayuki herself took with the camera her father left behind years ago, and hold it up against the scene before her - it really was only a different version of the same exact thing. Same show, new cast. Same place, different time. Same people, different faces.

"I'll pass on that drink, thanks," she sighs. His face has dropped though, with something cloudy passing over his eyes. She doesn’t know why, or whether or not the twinge it gives her is justified, but the needle skips a second on her spinning heart before it’s back on track - her legs take her down the last step, breezing by Obi, flipping the latch to step behind the bar, and she stops in front of Torou, who suddenly has a whole lot of nothing to say.

“Mind if I try?” Shirayuki asks, mouth having a mind of its own.

“Try what?” Torou stumbles out, but Shirayuki is already reaching behind her for dark rum and ginger beer…ah, there it is, lime juice.

How lucky, everything is where it used to be. She can pretend to be this cool that much longer, like her hands aren’t shaking even through the years-old practiced movements.

Obi has taken a seat by the quiet man with the heavy glasses, looking miles away in Blank-ville from the slick bar tender he was when she walked in.

“Do you drink a dark ‘n stormy?”

“Anything you dish out, I can take, Little Miss,” he says, leaning back.

She nods and wipes her hands, even though it’s a little late to be breaking out in a sweat. What would her family say?

Go for it, if she’s honest with herself for once all night.

She sweeps her arm and flicks her wrist, the cool glass peeling reluctantly away and…

…straight into Obi’s waiting hand.

[snowwhite-andtheknight]

False Start (High School Football AU)

The rhythms of the drumline echo off the distant buildings, overlapping with the growl of the crowd into a distant thunder. Shirayuki waves her paper ticket at the booth, but the student stationed there doesn’t even look up from her phone. Apparently if one were to desire to sneak into a Wistal High home football game, near the end of the first quarter is the time to do it. Shirayuki spends the last few steps to the stadium outlining an editorial about responsibility and vigilance, then discards the idea as she scurries through the opening in the stands into the glare of the field lights.

Football is not her sport, really. She could write reams about tennis, but this school doesn’t even have a tennis team. She gets volleyball, but covering volleyball is all Suzu asked for this year. She has a suspicion the draw may be primarily that of tall women in tight shorts, but he’s actually enthused and she couldn’t take that from him. Ryuu claimed swimming, because it’s indoors, and Yuzuri used to play soccer, and that leaves the editor with the assignment nobody else is willing to take. If that alone weren’t enough, Yuzuri took one look at her and the quarterback and decided it was meant to be and nobody would come between Shirayuki and football games.

It’s a really good thing that Ryuu does not take orders from Yuzuri. He waves at her from a few rows up, then dumps a notebook in her lap the moment she sits down. “Are we winning?” she asks, half a joke. She’s only missed twenty minutes. That’s, what, the coin flip and three plays?

Ryuu points to the scoreboard, where Wistal is scoreless to the visitor team’s nine points. That’s quite a start. She peers out onto the field, where Mitsuhide is the first player she can pick out at first. He’s tall and he stands up very straight, but something about the way he’s fidgeting tells her he’s concerned about something. She finds Zen next, with his quarterback’s sleeves. He looks more annoyed than concerned, with the way his hands are moving. The team spreads out into one of their incomprehensible arrangements - someday she really should get Zen to explain them again but her motivation is low - and she checks the far side for Obi’s usual spot, but he’s not there. It looks like one of the freshmen in his spot, maybe Kai. “Obi’s not on the field?”

“He took a hit in the last play,” Ryuu says. “I was watching the ball, so I didn’t see it, but they carried him off on a stretcher.”

Shirayuki stands up, craning to get a better look at the bench where the lack of helmets makes identifying the players much easier. She can find Kiki instantly, blonde ponytail swishing like a matador’s cape in front of the other team, but there’s no sign of Obi’s dark bristle. “Like right before I got here?”

Ryuu nods, and she shoves the notebook back at him. “Just a few more minutes,” she begs, and doesn’t wait for him to answer. 

***

The last time Shirayuki was in the medical room, Zen had hit her with a football. She shouldn’t have been on the field during practice, no matter how much she really wanted to get a quote from Kiki, but throwing things at her was not the way to deal with the problem. She retaliated a little out of proportion and they got escorted to the clinic by a very disappointed Mitsuhide, where they both got their bloody noses iced and walked out friends.

So she definitely knows where to find an injured player. Even if she hadn’t, the sound of voices would have given her a pretty good clue; the voices and laughter that follow whenever Obi’s the center of attention are spilling out into the hallway.

Obi lights up the moment she walks through the door, looking far too cheerful for the amount of ice and bracing on his leg. “You missed my big play!”

“You couldn’t have waited another five minutes? I was only a little late!” Her stomach flips a bit at the thought. Actually watching him get hurt would be just about the only thing worse than not seeing it. She tries to swallow it down and act normal. “Is it your knee?”

Be’s half buried under a veritable mountain of ice. There’s really not much else it could be. “I wonder,” he says anyway. She could shake him when he gets like this, but he just grins at her. “Does this mean I’m the headline of the game today?”

“The headline-” Of course, she’s supposed to be here for journalistic purposes. Poor Ryuu is out there taking notes on the game for her, while she’s here indulging herself in fretting.

He does owe her for the poison ivy incident, even if he won’t admit it. “Ryuu can cover the game. I’m not leaving you here alone.”

There’s a thump from the back room, and Obi raises his voice. “Our illustrious medical team would be so sad to hear that they don’t count.”

“Shut it, loser,” comes a voice from the back, fondness undercutting the insult.

Shirayuki takes the opportunity she’s given, scooping his unattended hand and clasping it in her own.

***

Kiki’s the first member of the team to find them. “I saw Ryuu in the stands,” she says. “Make sure he knows I expect to see a full description of my foul in tomorrow’s article.”

Shirayuki whirls to face her, squeezing Obi’s hand tighter as he tries to slip away. “Oh no, did you get hurt too?”

There’s no knowing what dentist the Seirans frequent, but Kiki’s teeth are bright and straight as she throws her head back and laughs. “You should have seen the other guy. I finally got that unnecessary roughness call I’ve been courting all year.”

Obi holds up his free hand, and she slaps it smugly. “How about you? What’s been going on here?” Her eyes track from the soggy pile of sweating ice packs to Shirayuki’s hand still entwined with his, then raises her eyebrow when she meets Obi’s eyes.

“They’re waiting to see how it looks after the game,” Obi says. His hand goes stiff, finally managing to wriggle out of Shirayuki’s grip. “Nothing else.” 

“Well, game’s over,” she says. “Zen’ll be here any minute; he missed you both.”

“Did we win?” It’s not like it’s going to make up for shirking her duty, but Shirayuki can at least get the basic facts. She refuses to feel more than a little guilty.

Kiki’s mouth curves faintly, like she’s got a secret. “We did, thank you very much. With our best receiver out of the game, we had to resort to field goals more than usual, but I made sure it worked out for us.” Shirayuki pulls her phone out of her pocket; she can still feel the warmth of Obi’s hand in hers, but if he’s not going to hold it any longer, she can take notes. “You’re looking at the owner of the new school record for field goals in a season.”

“And also the most penalty yards for a kicker,” Obi murmurs. Kiki doesn’t answer that, just radiates satisfaction even more intensely.

The door swings open, this time for Zen. There’s a grass stain down the left side of his uniform, but his hair still looks combed. “Kiki? The tv reporter is looking for you.” He takes in the rest of the room, eyes sliding right across Obi to stop at the sight of his girlfriend. “Shirayuki? You were here?”

“Taking pity on the poor invalid,” Obi says, a little too quickly. “A real angel of mercy.”

The smile on his face takes any sting from what could have been mocking, but still an odd tension follows. Zen watches Obi, sweat-stiff hair unsticking from his forehead as he frowns. Kiki looks thoughtful, but at Shirayuki instead.

“I should go apologize to Ryuu,” Shirayuki says, breaking the standoff. She doesn’t know what messages Zen and Obi and Kiki are all trying to communicate with each other through frowns, but if nobody’s going to include her in the discussion, she has some groveling to do. There should be enough teammates in the room now to keep Obi from doing anything ill-advised.

“I’ll go with you,” Zen chirps, bouncing to Shirayuki’s side with far too much energy for someone who’s just played an entire football game. He slips his arm through hers without pressing too close; it’s usually a comfortable position but something about it doesn’t sit right tonight. Before she knows it she’s halfway out the door, Kiki on her heels. She looks back over her shoulder, but Obi waves after them with a smile.

Only in the last second before the door swings shut does she see the smile drop, and her stomach drops with it.

[snowwhite-andtheknight]

Get Up Eight, Chapter 13

[Read on AO3]

Obiyuki AU Bingo 2025: Historical

Wood creaks beneath the straw soles of her waraji, boards bending and rising, just like the footbridges back home. But those had just been a few hewn logs tossed over streams; a convenience that would be swept away with the rainy season, and this— this was the Great Sanjo Bridge. In just a few more steps, she would see it: Kyoto, its straw-thatched roofs bumping shoulders like men in summer crowds, kasa jostling so close together she would hardly be able to make out where one ended and the next began. Over this gentle rise her journey ended—and her freedom began.

There’s a part of her that longs to greet this new dawn with arms wide open, falling into its embrace like Orihime must into Hikoboshi. But she cannot bear to move faster; not when approaching at a less stately pace could cause her happiness to bolt, hopping off through the city streets as fast as any hare. And so she continues— one foot in front of the other, boards creaking and rolling as the Kamo River rushes beneath her, waters just as bright as they had been in the postcards pinned to Oba-san’s mirror, showing a world far better, far brighter than their own.

Hard to believe when the sky burns ink-blue today, so vivid the world almost flattens beneath it, as if she were one of those faceless travelers in a ukiyo-e. Even the Kamo’s currents seem to drag inked lines behind it, each detail carved into the day rather than worn. There’s a strangeness, an otherworldliness that stills her feet at the apex of the bridge’s arch, watching as a kago sprints past with its bearers, each one of of them no thicker than her finger, cut-out rather than conscious. A courier pauses at her other side, hitching the post higher on his back as his sandogasa tips, practically a circle on its single plane, as if—

As if it were a world of paper, and she was the only one that was real. Or at least one of the only two, since when she stares across the bridge, he stands there, alive in all three dimensions, British blues even deeper than the sky above it.

Found you, Raj mouths, the only real thing in sight, made of flesh and bone instead of ink and cardstock. His big iron-clad ship sits heavy in the harbor, belching out black smoke.

Her breath catches in her chest, eyes darting, searching for some escape. But there’s nothing but river to either side, hedged in by the peaks of Hiei and Ushio and Inariyama, no way to go but back—

Until a set of wood-clad arms lock her own behind her, British blues all pressed and starched to perfect corners as Sakaki murmurs, You’ll have to forgive me, ojou-san.

Her wail jolts her from his grip—

And straight off her futon, panting and shaking and sweating as she struggles against the tangle of covers and yukata that bind her. Raj’s laugh echoes in her ears, chasing her through the last lingering remnants of sleep and right into wakefulness, grasping fingers digging into her hair, her skin, her everything, until—

The shoji snaps open, the movement so smooth, so sharp that it doesn’t even rattle on its track.

“Ojou-san.” Obi’s eyes glint hard and cold as a blade’s edge as he frisks the room’s darker shadows, scrupulous as any dōshin even on his knees. “Are you—?”

Even bleary-eyed and half-dreaming, Shirayuki cannot miss the way that steely gaze softens as it falls on her. Or the way his brow furrows with question and concern, the hand reached out behind his back easing to his side. “You slept in the hallway again?”

His face flickers, sorting through a half dozen masks before settling on a smirk too rueful to be sly. “I don’t know if I’d call it sleeping…”

The sun may have pitched his skin closer to bronze than ivory, hiding his secrets with the same ease as his smiles, but his eyes give him away nonetheless. It’s faint, a smudge just where the slope of his nose gives way to his cheeks, but the cost of these sleepless nights clings to him: the barest thumbprint of a bruise resting where his brow casts its shadow. Her own itch to press there, to follow the swooping arch of the bone beneath—

But instead she only huffs, heaving herself up on trembling arms. “You need to rest too, you know. How are you supposed to get me to Kyoto when you’re dead on your feet?”

Obi turns his most unapologetic grin on her, teeth and trouble wrapped into a single expression, and yet— there’s weariness in how it settles, a carelessness in how it curves. “I’ll rest in Hakone. Or when you finally get rid of that monkey and his band of thieves. Whichever comes first.”

As if half the point of hiring on Mihaya and his men hadn’t been to allow Obi a few moments where he did not have to concern himself with her safety. “There’s no reason why you can’t stay in our room, at least. I pay for the both of us.”

A laugh saws out of his throat. “Oh, I think there’s plenty of reason for that, ojou-san.”

Shirayuki frowns. “What do you mean?”

There’s no weariness in the way he looks at her now, dark eyes raking over her with the same heat as a stoked stove. “The same reason any woman shouldn’t be alone with a man.”

It should scare her to see that hunger in a man’s eyes; terrify her, when she’s still running from the last. Barely more than a day’s ride and the shogun’s laws keep him from her— and mere slip of paper could put him past those barriers. Not to mention that foreign money he loved to wave around could put more useful men at his back than the gaijin he traveled with.

And yet for all the promise in Obi’s eyes, he has not risen from his knees. Raj may have tallied up every inch of skin her kimono could bare, counting it as greedily as he did his bank notes, but her ronin only waits, hands pressed to the worn cloth over his thighs. “I trust you.”

There’s a twitch of those narrow brows, a sharp rise and fall. “You’ve known me for three days, ojou-san.”

“Four.” So long as she counts the day they met, and the one this morning will turn into. “And I do even still. Trust you, I mean.”

The hunger in him falters, flickers, all that heat and flame banking, summarily snuffed out by shock. His eyes and mouth round, jaw working around words he can never quite voice, until—

Until it doesn’t, all that hope and confusion collapsing under the burden of his reality, turning into something flatter, something rueful. Something that scrapes at his laugh as it drags itself from his throat. “Ah, ojou-san. You really shouldn’t.”

But I do. That’s what she wants to say— what she means to say— but Obi rises, kimono brushing against the tatami, putting his back to her and she— she tries to stand. Scrambles to do it, shoving upright to move her knees beneath her when—

“Haaah.” White spikes into her vision, blinding, sending her tipping, spiraling—

Right into Obi’s arms. “Ojou-san, what…?”

Her fingers clench in the worn fabric of his kimono, Miyoko-san’s smooth stitches tickling her palms. “I…my…!”

She gestures, a wild thrust of her hand toward where her legs tangle in the covers, throbbing from heel to hip. His brows knot as he stares at the mess of flesh and fabric, trying divine when bedding ends and body begins— and then his breath catches, hissing out of him as he tugs at one corner of the blanket. A whimper slips out of her, not like a fine young lady at all but rather a fox caught in a trap, sniveling and snuffing as he unwinds the cloth from where it’s caught around her.

He moves with the utmost care, each twist and turn of his fingers so gentle, so delicate that she regrets each cry that leaps from her, each tear that slips from the corner of her eyes to rain on his shoulder.

“Ah, ojou-san…” A hiss that slips through his teeth, less thought and more reflex, half forgotten the moment it’s spoken. “This…?”

There’s no need for her to look, not when each beat of her heart echoes below her ankles, and yet— yet she swallows, willing herself to watch as he pulls the tabi from her feet. White cloth cedes to white cotton, bandages spiraling from the bulging bone of her ankle all the way to her toes, wrapped with Obi’s delicate care, better than she could have done herself, and yet— yet red flesh flares at the edged, her swollen feet straining against its confines. Every inch of them burns, aching from the simple act of being freed— no, of even being touched, however indirectly.

Even his gaze weighs too heavily on them, sending heat spiraling up from her heels, a groan slipping out from between her panting breaths. “It’s not where I was hoping they would be.”

He blinks, attention snapping from ankles to eyes. “You can’t walk like this.”

It’s not a question. “Well, I’m not sure. Maybe if we wrapped them again, I could—?”

“Ojou-san, if I so much as breathed on you, you would faint.” A sigh heaves out from between his lips, delicately guiding her legs until she can sit almost unsupported. “Take a day to rest. I don’t know how much better it could be tomorrow, but it can’t possibly be any worse than today.”

Shirayuki shakes her head, room spinning from the effort. “We don’t have time to rest. My cousin is waiting in Kyoto.”

“And he’s going to disappear if you don’t cross that bridge in time?” Obi snorts, shaking his head. “If you’re going to be stubborn about this, ojou-san, the least you can do is let me carry you.”

“It’s nearly five ri to Hakone!” And most of it a steep climb, she’s been warned. The sort even Kurama’s tengu might shy from, even with cobbled roads and their single-toothed geta. “I’m already too much of a burden, I can’t possibly let myself weigh on you any more!”

The cicadas drone their first songs of summer, so loud she wonders if a pair of them have taken up residence in the hatago’s eaves. Beyond that is the bustle of Odawara’s streets; a hundred feet all shuffling past, fading into the ebb and flow of the conversation of passerby, with the occasional shout of a vendor trying to entice custom to their stall. And yet, in this room it is silent.

There’s no quick rejoinder, no sly hum and wry remark; not even a laugh to break up the harsh pant of her breath, or the wordless way Obi stands, the whole of him unfurling with the dignity of a kimono displayed on a rack.  “O-Obi—?”

“I think,” he says, entirely too thoughtful, “it’s time we take this up with the monkey.”

*

For all his complaints— the snapping and the sniping and his impassioned vow to ‘cut his own throat before he plays nice with that band of bastards, if only to deny them the satisfaction of doing it themselves’— Obi’s happy to set her right in front of the jaws of the man he considers her most dangerous predator and nod when he declares, “We’ll rent a kago.”

There’s more to it, of course; she protests the cost, the time, the extra burden she’ll cause them climbing up Hakone’s steep slope. The men who usually bear the litter grunt and grumble about having it bought out from under them, insisting that two of them would have to accompany them, if only to make sure that the sling made it safely back down the mountain. But both concerns are waved off— “My men will thank you for the distraction, jou-chan. They’ve been needing something to keep them busy since our last job,” Mihaya assures her with the same sincerity Obi brings to the bearers when he says, “We’ll be back this way in only a few weeks. This can’t be the only sling on a stick in the whole city, can it?”

No matter how she digs in her heels— or how loud the litter bearers argue over mon— it all ends in the same way: with her slung between two ends of a pole, riding the entire hike to Hakone on their shoulders.

“Doing all right there, jou-chan?” Mihaya stoops down to her sedan chair with a slanted smile, surveying her accommodations. “Comfortable, I hope?”

Hardly, though she’d never be so ingracious as to admit it. Her chair may be padded, wrapped in a cloth clean enough to pass Mihaya’s muster, but Obi and the other bearers are hardly a practiced team. Even with cobbles far more even than on any other length of road they’d traveled, each step up Hakone’s steep incline sets her teeth to clacking and her feet to aching.

“As much as I can be.” It’s not a lie, but they certainly live close enough to borrow a few coals. “Though I have to admit, I’d rather be walking.”

Mihaya might keep his pleasant young master smile, but the good humor leeches right out of it. “And we’d rather you didn’t. I’d hate for your esteemed husband to think we haven’t been taking care of you.”

Her stomach lurches, the sway of the kago hardly helping with the sickness that nips at the heels of her lies. Husband, she’d told Mihaya. Cousin, she’s told Obi. But there’s no one waiting over the Kamo,  no one to care if she arrives barefoot and bloody, worse than when she’d started. “But you don’t have to—”

“The monkey’s got reason to be worried, ojou-san.” Obi grunts out a laugh from beneath the weight of his pole. “When men receive damaged goods, they take the price out of the messenger’s hide.”

Mihaya's smile snaps to a sneer, aimed squarely over his shoulder. “I’d never be so crass as to call a young lady damaged goods, especially not one so fine as our jou-chan here. But” — he shrugs, offering her a grin so charming it would get a pinch from any grandmother— “I would hate to get on the bad side of a man who could afford her as a wife.”

The words are kind— playful, even, as if this sort of flattery was her due, but something about it leaves a sour taste in her mouth, the kind that clings and refuses to be spat out. The idea that she was a price to aspire to afford, a good that could be traded for things like power and security— “You won’t have to worry about that.”

His mouth pulls wide, like a yokai’s in a ukiyo-e. “You’re too kind, jou-chan.”

There it is, that sour taste again, acrid where it washes over her tongue. “Not at all.”

It must be something in her tone— a bitterness she can’t quite keep from seeping into her words, the way an itamae’s scent did his sushi— since Mihaya startles, his eyes cutting down to where she sways. “Is something wrong?”

“Ah, no! I just…” She can feel Obi’s stare boring into the back of her, even through the bamboo of the chair. “I must be a little hungry.”

“Hungry, hm?” Mihaya glances up the slope, squinting as if it could help him see past all the trees and stone. “I hear there’s a tea house right up the road. A real popular one. Been around since they opened the road, passed down in the family since before the Tokugawa were shoguns.”

And if things kept on like they were, they might even see the end of them, too. “It’s kind of you to offer, Mihaya-dono, but we’re going slow enough as it is, aren’t we? I’d hate to slow us down even more just for tea.”

“Don’t worry about all that.” He laughs, as carefree as any young master at one of the finer chaya in Yokohama. “The climb may be steep, but it won’t take us too long to get to the sekisho. I’m sure the men would appreciate the break.”

Humility demands another refusal— twice more, and then she can brace herself for the long ride up the mountainside— but her skin breaks out in an itch, like a half dozen set of eyes are watching her, and—

And there are. All of Mihaya’s men, casting her speculative looks. Hopeful ones.

“Well.” Her hands fold in her lap, demure and resigned. “I suppose a small break wouldn't hurt.”

*

The chaya squats along the roadside, thatch roof so thick it nearly blends into the trees that reach over to shade it, as if it had grown out of the mountainside itself, shoji and all. There’s a moment as the kago comes to rest, bearers shaking out their shoulders and grunting from the relief, where she wonders if it would not be some tanuki and his wife that came to greet them— or perhaps a kitsune with her kits, all of them wielding pleasant faces and kindly manners even as their tails twitched, excited for a meal of unwary travelers.

But the man that steps out is merely that— a man, apron tied around his waist and towel thrown over his shoulder, eyes narrowed at the rough looking men that mill outside. But skepticism bleeds to surprise when he sees her, lifted from the kago as if she were some delicate lady, feet bound so daintily that they could not bear the harsh reality of the ground. He drops to the ground, knees tucked under a bow too deep for just some simple girl from a sake house, but before she can get the words out, before she can explain just how deeply mistaken he is—

Obi laughs. Not loud— just a rumble through his chest, shaking her shoulder where it rests against him. “Finally. Some people around here are finally treating you with the respect you deserve, ojou-san.”

“That’s not…” True, that’s what she means to say, but he huffs, adjusting his arms where they sit beneath her knees and across her back, and the heat of his hand at her hip chases away any of the thoughts that haunt her.

“Do you have any more…private tables?” Mihaya asks, voice muted as she steps through the doors, dripping disdain. “My mistress is not to be stared at by common eyes.”

“Of course.” It’s a woman who answers— wife or sister, Shirayuki couldn’t begin to guess. But as her eyes adjust to the darkness— and the smoke— she can make out the tables on the tatami, as well as the coal hearths burning in the corner, another man bent over it, arranging mochi over the flame. “This chaya has served armies— daimyo, even! An ojou-sama will have no complaints.”

*

Shirayuki hardly has the high expectations or discerning palate of an ojou-sama, but the proprietress’s promise bears true: there is not a single complaint to be made about the chaya— and certainly nothing poor to say about the thick tea they set in front of her, steaming in its pale cup.

A sigh slips from her with her first sip, sweetness coating her tongue. “I didn’t think anyone would still be making amazake this time of year.”

Mihaya’s cup may obscure his smile, but the corners of it peek up over the rim, every inch of them satisfied. “It’s a specialty of this tea house. The recipe gets passed down like the chaya— completely untouched. To hear the man tell it, it tastes the same now as it did the first day at that roadside stall.”

From the other side of the screen, Obi snorts, sound barely obscured by the paper. “Really? Guy looks good for being over two hundred.”

Only the quick clench of her teeth keeps the tea in her mouth instead of sprayed across the table.

Mihaya frowns. “Something wrong, jou-chan?”

“Ah, no,” she rasps, clearing her throat. “I was just wondering if it was the same for the mochi too?”

It’s the savory kind, soaked in sauce and grilled over the coals; perfectly matched to the natural sweetness of the tea. “No. I believe that came later.”

Her troubles slip from her shoulders with her next sip, the sweetness so familiar she might well be back in the sake house, watching snow flutter past the window lattice as Ji-san puttered behind her, readying the shop for the night’s guests. “It’s good, though— the amazake, I mean. I haven’t had it since…”

Since Ji-san passed. He’d shown her how, scraping the lees from their barrels pressing them to a paste, but last winter had been spent on a knife’s edge, wondering when the dōshin might notice that her grandfather’s trips always stepped on the heels of the last, never staying longer than a night before heading out to meet some other man about their rice. She’d never turned Endo-san when he stumbled up to their door, looking for the good old remedy Ji-san would whip up for rueful custom come morning, but—

“The sakura began to bloom?” It’s a sweet image for the headman to offer; falling petals that herald the coming warmth, a time most began to turn to more earthy tastes. And yet Shirayuki startles, too aware that a fine young ojou-san would not need to keep a hangover remedy to hand. “Pity we’re too late in the season. It would have been lovely to watch them fall over Ashinoko.”

Ashinoko. She’d seen a print of it once, in one of the shops where Oba-san liked to browse. Blue waters surrounded by mottled mountain peaks. “That’s near here, isn’t it?”

He nods, slow and sagely, the way Kino’s tutors had whenever he’d posed them a question. “On the other side of the pass. We’ll see it soon, once we wind around to meet the last stretch. On a good day you’ll even see Mount Fuji in the distance.”

It’s strange; she had lived in the shadow of the mountain her whole life, its snowy peak waxing and waning with the seasons. But with every step south she takes, it becomes farther away, smaller, a sight she has to search out rather than take as a given.

“We've made good time.” Mihaya smiles as she startles, pouring her another cup of tea. “Even if we drag our feet up the rest of the mountain, we’ll reach the sekisho before the sun goes down. Any thoughts about what you’ll do when you get there?”

Shirayuki blinks. “Find a hatago for the night, I suppose. I would have liked to push on to Mishima, but, well, after this climb, it seems like far too much to ask of your men.”

“My men could handle anything you asked them, jou-chan,” he assures her, smile tight. “But Hakone is a good place to rest, especially for those who the road has not treated kindly.”

Her feet are hidden behind their table, not underneath her but sprawled out to one side, where they won’t cause her pain. And yet she can tell that is where his gaze lowers, pointed as he says, “Perhaps you might consider a ryokan, ojou-sama. The healing waters might be good for your feet.”

It’s impossible not to picture it— the heat of the springs loosening the tightness in her legs, cleansing the terrible splits in her soles— but the bag at her feet gets lighter every day, no matter how much it weighs on her. Kino gave her more than what the burned out old sake house was worth, but even still, it wouldn’t last forever. With only her and Obi, she’d still be left with a tidy sum when she crossed the bridge to Kyoto; enough to pay for a few weeks of meals and lodging as she got her feet beneath her. But with a whole host of men, well— a few coins now might be the difference between a roof over her head or a night spent on Kyoto’s streets. “We don’t have the time. My…husband is waiting.”

“Ah, right.” He takes a long, measured sip, rice grains sifting around his cup before he says, “I guess I better go let my men know the plan. I know a few of them were looking forward to an extended leave.”

“Oh, I—” her eyelashes flutter with the same nervous beat of her heart— “I don’t mean to disappoint.”

“Not at all, jou-chan.” His smiles is entirely too tight when he says, “Who could blame a husband for being impatient to have a lady so fine as you.”

[snowwhite-andtheknight]

Obiyuki AU Bingo: June & July Community Boards

Both our community boards are live! June's board is currently posting Now through 6/30, and posting for July's board will start posting on 7/1-- which is also when the center square will be revealed, as the winner of our optional PvP challenge in June will be picking the AU used in that space!

Reminder: the PvP challenge can be joined at any time, and your previously filled squares will be added to your point count! Also, if you would like to keep up to date with where the boards are at-- or just hang out with other obiyuki fandom members-- you can come join our Obiyuki Discord!

Post Dates: June: Jun 1st- 30th July: Jul 1st - Jul 31st Tag: #obiyukibingo25 Medias: Fic, art, edits or playlists

[PLEASE READ ALL GUIDELINES BEFORE POSTING YOUR WORKS]

Guidelines:

All work must be your own (eg. no plagiarizing other sources, tracing, pose stealing, AI art/writing etc)

The main pairing is Obi x Shirayuki

Fics, art, edits, and playlists are all valid works for this challenge

(If you create other forms of works please contact the comm and we will be happy to work out eligibility)

Must follow the AU prompt

Must be tagged #obiyukibingo25 within the first five tags

With Tumblr’s tagging system on the fritz, please also @ the Obiyuki comm in your entry

No works entered through the submission box will be accepted for this challenge

Works must be posted to Tumblr to be eligible as fills! The post may redirect elsewhere (AO3, ffnet, deviant art, youtube, etc) but we need a Tumblr post to reblog our progress on the board!

Please label with your AU!

All NSFW content must be tagged and under a Read More!

You may post more than one entry per prompt, but it will only count for that square

If someone else fills a square, you are still welcome to submit a fill for that prompt– it won’t count towards a further bingo, but it will count toward your personal stats!

One entry, no matter how many AUs it is applicable for, may only count as one square

Fics must be over 500 words to count as a fill

Art does not have to be a full colored finished piece, but at least a finished sketch

Playlists must be over 8 songs.

Be nice

Play hard

Can I base my work off of other fanworks? (aka, make fanart of a fanfic, write fanfic based on fanart, make an edit of a fanfic or write a fanfic for a playlist, etc)

This is absolutely welcome! If your medium is the same (making a fanfic of a fanfic, or fanart inspired by fanart), please check with the creator of the original fanwork, but otherwise just credit the work that inspired you.

What works are considered valid entries?

Fic, art, edits & playlists. Please note, we are looking for transformative works; please do not simply palette swap characters from the AU source, or find & replace names in their plot. Reimagine what an AU would look like with AnS character in it!

[snowwhite-andtheknight]

Obiyuki AU Bingo: June & July Community Boards

Both our community boards are live! June's board is currently posting Now through 6/30, and posting for July's board will start posting on 7/1-- which is also when the center square will be revealed, as the winner of our optional PvP challenge in June will be picking the AU used in that space!

Reminder: the PvP challenge can be joined at any time, and your previously filled squares will be added to your point count! Also, if you would like to keep up to date with where the boards are at-- or just hang out with other obiyuki fandom members-- you can come join our Obiyuki Discord!

Post Dates: June: Jun 1st- 30th July: Jul 1st - Jul 31st Tag: #obiyukibingo25 Medias: Fic, art, edits or playlists

[PLEASE READ ALL GUIDELINES BEFORE POSTING YOUR WORKS]

Guidelines:

All work must be your own (eg. no plagiarizing other sources, tracing, pose stealing, AI art/writing etc)

The main pairing is Obi x Shirayuki

Fics, art, edits, and playlists are all valid works for this challenge

(If you create other forms of works please contact the comm and we will be happy to work out eligibility)

Must follow the AU prompt

Must be tagged #obiyukibingo25 within the first five tags

With Tumblr’s tagging system on the fritz, please also @ the Obiyuki comm in your entry

No works entered through the submission box will be accepted for this challenge

Works must be posted to Tumblr to be eligible as fills! The post may redirect elsewhere (AO3, ffnet, deviant art, youtube, etc) but we need a Tumblr post to reblog our progress on the board!

Please label with your AU!

All NSFW content must be tagged and under a Read More!

You may post more than one entry per prompt, but it will only count for that square

If someone else fills a square, you are still welcome to submit a fill for that prompt– it won’t count towards a further bingo, but it will count toward your personal stats!

One entry, no matter how many AUs it is applicable for, may only count as one square

Fics must be over 500 words to count as a fill

Art does not have to be a full colored finished piece, but at least a finished sketch

Playlists must be over 8 songs.

Be nice

Play hard

Can I base my work off of other fanworks? (aka, make fanart of a fanfic, write fanfic based on fanart, make an edit of a fanfic or write a fanfic for a playlist, etc)

This is absolutely welcome! If your medium is the same (making a fanfic of a fanfic, or fanart inspired by fanart), please check with the creator of the original fanwork, but otherwise just credit the work that inspired you.

What works are considered valid entries?

Fic, art, edits & playlists. Please note, we are looking for transformative works; please do not simply palette swap characters from the AU source, or find & replace names in their plot. Reimagine what an AU would look like with AnS character in it!

[snowwhite-andtheknight]

Obiyuki AU Bingo: June & July Community Boards

Both our community boards are live! June's board is currently posting Now through 6/30, and posting for July's board will start posting on 7/1-- which is also when the center square will be revealed, as the winner of our optional PvP challenge in June will be picking the AU used in that space!

Reminder: the PvP challenge can be joined at any time, and your previously filled squares will be added to your point count! Also, if you would like to keep up to date with where the boards are at-- or just hang out with other obiyuki fandom members-- you can come join our Obiyuki Discord!

Post Dates: June: Jun 1st- 30th July: Jul 1st - Jul 31st Tag: #obiyukibingo25 Medias: Fic, art, edits or playlists

[PLEASE READ ALL GUIDELINES BEFORE POSTING YOUR WORKS]

Guidelines:

All work must be your own (eg. no plagiarizing other sources, tracing, pose stealing, AI art/writing etc)

The main pairing is Obi x Shirayuki

Fics, art, edits, and playlists are all valid works for this challenge

(If you create other forms of works please contact the comm and we will be happy to work out eligibility)

Must follow the AU prompt

Must be tagged #obiyukibingo25 within the first five tags

With Tumblr’s tagging system on the fritz, please also @ the Obiyuki comm in your entry

No works entered through the submission box will be accepted for this challenge

Works must be posted to Tumblr to be eligible as fills! The post may redirect elsewhere (AO3, ffnet, deviant art, youtube, etc) but we need a Tumblr post to reblog our progress on the board!

Please label with your AU!

All NSFW content must be tagged and under a Read More!

You may post more than one entry per prompt, but it will only count for that square

If someone else fills a square, you are still welcome to submit a fill for that prompt– it won’t count towards a further bingo, but it will count toward your personal stats!

One entry, no matter how many AUs it is applicable for, may only count as one square

Fics must be over 500 words to count as a fill

Art does not have to be a full colored finished piece, but at least a finished sketch

Playlists must be over 8 songs.

Be nice

Play hard

Can I base my work off of other fanworks? (aka, make fanart of a fanfic, write fanfic based on fanart, make an edit of a fanfic or write a fanfic for a playlist, etc)

This is absolutely welcome! If your medium is the same (making a fanfic of a fanfic, or fanart inspired by fanart), please check with the creator of the original fanwork, but otherwise just credit the work that inspired you.

What works are considered valid entries?

Fic, art, edits & playlists. Please note, we are looking for transformative works; please do not simply palette swap characters from the AU source, or find & replace names in their plot. Reimagine what an AU would look like with AnS character in it!