#obiyukibingo2018

[akaivampire]

ref

[ruleofexception]

When the Garden Whispers (Witch AU!)

The garden whispers.

Asters and amaryllis coo their compliments.

Hydrangea and anemone speak of a storm.

All of the flowers in the garden have something for her to hear. Something to say.

Her grandmother had always taught her to listen to the gardens and forests. To hear each blade of grass and answer every marigold.

And she has always listened.

Has always trusted the words of the flora.

Today is no different.

Pack light.

Fingers clutch the tiny, precious hair bobble and Shirayuki bites back a soft sob.

Only bring what’s necessary. There’s no telling where she’ll end up this time. There is no plan. No destination in mind.

The window creaks open, bringing with it the quiet pad of his paws on the carpet and her chest grows tighter. He’s not supposed to be here.

A strange wind blows through the still room and she knows he’s shifted. That he’s no longer the sleek black cat that roams the palace, but the man she yearns for. The same man she’s planning to leave behind.

“Miss, I think you’d best come take a look-” the calming lilt of his voice does little to relieve the ache consuming her; his scent is tangled with that of the garden, letting her know, before he’s spoken, that her friends have apparently decided to take matters into their own leaves. “- the ivy is acting unusual, it practically harassed me into… Miss?”

“Hmm, you know how ivy can be, Obi-” hastily wiping her tears and pocketing the ornament, she plasters a fake smile upon her lips and looks to him, “- always determined to-”

“What’s wrong?” Hesitantly, he takes a step into the room; gaze flicking about the corners and shadows, searching for a prey that doesn’t exist.

Yet.

“Are you oka-” Golden eyes narrow when they land upon her bag; pupils turn to slivers, “Ivy.” it’s whispered like a curse and a moment later, he’s by her side, staring her down. Determination and stubbornness etched into every line. “I’m coming with you.”

“You can’t.” Lip trembling, Shirayuki looks away from his falling face and puts her focus on ensuring she’s not missed anything vital. Last time she’d had to flee, she’d nearly forgotten her grandmother’s grimoire. She won’t be making that mistake, again; she’s in no way equipped to deal with the pressures of disappointed trees and bitter flowers. Not right now.

“Yes -” slender fingers wrap around her wrist, pulling her frantic, useless motions to a stop. A shiver flows through her as the connection opens and energy begins to swirl and pool in her belly, “- I can. You’re my Mistress, wherever you go, I-”

“I’m… I’m not your Mistress.” gently pulling her wrist from his grasp, the link snaps as easily as a thread, to leave her alarmingly empty; refusing to catch his gaze, her heart threatens to shatter as she forces the words to leave her tongue, “You’re free, Obi.”

“Fine.” He grunts. It’s the low, guttural sound he tends to make when he’s slipped into a wolf’s form and doesn’t approve of what she’s made for dinner. Distaste. Slight hint of teasing. Thoroughly unimpressed. “Then, I’m coming with you.”

“No, you’re not.” Grabbing her grandmother’s grimoire, her fingers dig into its soft binding, hoping to find reassurance in the powerful words hidden in the pages.

“Ah, but I am. You said I was free - you know it doesn’t work that way, but you said it, so I’m running with it - and with my new freedom, I’ve decided to come with you.” Tone smug, he reaches forward to try and loose the book from between her trembling hands; his fingers graze hers, sparking the connection open again and she shuts her eyes, “And why shouldn’t I come with you? Have I not done my duty, sufficiently? Have I not always been there for you? Protected you fro-”

“It wouldn’t be safe, Obi. The gardens, this morning, they told me things. Whispers of plans that have yet to be set in motion and... and you’ll be safer here, than with me.” Ripping the book from him, hugging it to her chest, she hangs her head, still exhausted from earlier; what she wouldn’t give to reach out and allow herself to be filled by him. Just a taste, from when his fingers encircled her wrist and brushed gently against her knuckles, is not enough. It’s never enough.

Which is why she needs to know he’ll be safe and cared for. 

Dragging her gaze up from the floor to meet the surprised cat-eyes searching her, she laments, “I’m not willing to risk losing you. You’re too important. If anything were to happen - if Zen were to find out about you, about this-” gesturing vaguely at his torso, her lip begins to wobble again, “- he’d... and Haruka would... and I just don’t think I can...” cutting herself short on the words that don’t want to form, trying to take a steadying breath, she sighs, defeated. “The only thing wrong with ivy is that it wasn’t supposed to bring you here.”

Obi stands, frozen before her. Golden eyes blown wide. The only sign of life is the carefully controlled rise and fall of his chest. Tears burn harshly in the back of her throat.

“It was supposed to keep you away.”

In the end, she’d lost. 

Though she’s starting to get the feeling it was never a battle she had a hope of winning.

When they’d tucked through the gardens at midnight, her cloak billowing behind her and Obi trotting ahead, his black fur like satin in the moonlight, all of the flora had been pleased to see them running, together. They’d sung their relief and stretched their petals to graze her arms as she passed.

Even the ivy - the traitorous plant - had come to whisper a gentle reminder that she’s stronger with Obi near.

And though she’d like to deny it, she can’t. 

With Obi beside her, her powers are at their peak. So much more can be accomplished, before she begins to feel faint. And, even then, the energy he replenishes her with banishes any ill effects that larger spells and incantations tend to burden her with. 

It’s always been this way - since that fateful day she’d found him, half-dead and feral in the forest. They’ve always shared an unusual connection. She’d felt it the moment she cradled his weak, squirming body to her chest and carried him to a nearby inn, so she could properly heal him. 

Over the course of a week, she worked relentlessly to mend him. Repeatedly draining her magick, trying to stitch bones and tissue back together.

In the times she’d taken to rest, she’d read her grandmother’s grimoire - hoping to find an answer to the question burning in her heart and energy bubbling in her belly. But none of the passages seemed to hold an explanation for why an injured, feral cat would cause her to feel so... much.  

When he finally gained consciousness again, instead of gratitude or some form of acknowledgement that she’d pulled him from death’s doorstep, she received nothing more than an angry swat and growl. She thought for sure he would bolt the moment he was able and, not wanting to keep him against his will, she kept the window cracked each night. Just in case. 

But... he didn’t leave. Every morning when she awoke, he’d still be there. Golden eyes staring her down from across the room.  

It was weeks, before he stopped hissing at her. Months to let her pet him. Longer still before he trusted her enough to reveal himself a metamorphmagus. 

That had been an interesting development. One that left him with a silvered scar above his brow. One she still feels bad for, whenever she sees it, though Obi tells her not to - after all, she’d only been trying to defend herself from a strange man, who’d suddenly appeared in her bedroom...

A small smile tugs at her lips as the memories continue to swirl through her mind. For such a small cut, there had been a surprising amount of blood and cursing. Initially, he shied away from her touch. Determined to clean and care for it himself. It wasn’t until she snapped at him - tears in her eyes and magick crackling around her - that he’d allowed her to tend to it.

After that, the trust came easily.

Nearly a decade has passed, since that day. And though things had been shaky in the beginning, their connection has flowered into something she can’t quite put into words. Many men and beasts have tried to stand by her side, throughout her life; Raj, Kazuki, Mihaya and - most recently - Zen, are the more notable ones... However, none could ever begin to dream of coming close to what Obi’s given her.

Which is why she’d tried, desperately, to convince him to remain - undetected and safe - at the palace. At least until she knew exactly what sort of storm is brewing. 

As long as he kept his form to that of a cat, none would be the wiser that they’ve had a metamorph living in their midst for nearly three years.

And his staying behind would be believable, too. People of the palace would just assume she’s an awful excuse for a Witch, abandoning her duties, friends and cat as she fled into the night. 

None would question it.

It happens all the time.

Kiki and Mitsuhide would have cared for him. They’ve always been fond of the playful cat wandering about the pharmacy. Ryuu would have kept him well fed and given him a place to sleep. And Garrack may well think he’s already hers, based on the small plot of nepeta cataria she’d planted in the far corner of the garden.

And above all, Zen would never know the truth. He would be too consumed with where his Green Witch has gone, that his attention would never fall on Obi. It would never occur to him to suspect the cat she’d left behind, is the reason she’d fled. 

Obi could have been safe, warm and fed until her return. All he had to do was remain undetected. To stay a cat.

But, deaf to her pleas and stubborn as an ass, he’d finally persuaded her. 

Though, persuaded may not be the correct word.

Mainly, his persuasion consisted of sitting on her in wolf-form, whimpering, until she surrendered. She’s certain she’s still got drool in her hair from where he excitedly licked her, after she’d yielded.     

Squinting skyward to where her raven swirls lazy circles against the pale clouds of early morning, she frowns. He really should be more alert in that form. Especially around here. There are too many villagers who hunt for sport and his casual dance in the sky makes him a rather easy target.

Even if she calls him back and brings up her concerns, he’s not likely to listen. It’s a rare occasion that he take this form - so when he does, he tends to lose himself to the joys of having the current carry his wings. It’s a small joy, but it’s his. She doesn’t want to take that away from him.

Once, when she’d asked him which form he prefers - the wolf, cat or raven - he’d simply supplied her with a whimsical “I wonder”, and left it at that. That had been years ago and she still doesn’t know his favourite - though she suspects it’s the cat. It’s the form he’s in most often. Even before their time spent at the palace, it had been the one he used to stalk city streets by day and curl upon her sheets at night. 

And, it’s the only form he keeps a trait of when he becomes human - his golden cat eyes that are as dangerous and feral as they are kind and intelligent.

The raven caws above her and begins his descent. The shrubs and blades of grass along the roadside sway in her direction, lending her their energy and support. Looking about, Shirayuki purses her lips, straightens her back and marches onward. The first checkpoint looms before her. 

It’s no surprise to see the guards, dressed in crisp uniforms, their swords half drawn and at the ready. She’d expected nothing less from a capital afraid of what awaits in the shadows of the real world.

And though none of this set-up is new or surprising, she still finds that her nerves cause her fingers to tremor and knees to wobble.

This will be the first time since coming to Wistal that she attempts to cross, alone. The first time she won’t be escorted by the second prince or stuffy officials, assigned to ensure her loyalties don’t falter. 

Looking back on the memories, it’s arguably laughable. 

It’s almost as though they were fearful that, somehow, leaving the capital would sway her mind so greatly that she’d cease to belong to them. That, perhaps she’d run away to align herself with the Laveyan or Necromancers who reside in the North.

They didn’t seem to understand that she’d never been theirs to begin with. That they've never had a hold of her reins.

No place has ever owned her, nor would she let it.

And the only being who has a claim to her, besides herself, is Obi.

“Oi. You there-” the younger looking of the two guards straightens and calls out to her, his grip tightening ever so slightly on the jewelled hilt of his sword, “- Miss, what business do you have in the Ozo?”

Settling her gaze on the man, she opens herself up to the surrounding flora and smiles sweetly, “I’m a florist.”

Obi cackles above her. 

“A... florist?” the man tries to hide the way scepticism has clouded his features, as he leans slightly, his gaze fixed upon the small bag slung over her shoulder. “Uhh, yeah. Okay. Uhm, listen, I’m going to need to see your papers.”

“Of course, of course.” patting the length of her bodice for show, she shrugs and holds out her empty hands, “Ah, but, seems I’ve forgotten my papers, gentlemen. Perhaps this will do?” 

She doesn’t wait for a response.

Breathing steadily, listening to the encouraging cries from Obi as he twirls overhead, she allows the magick to flow through her. It starts soft, as it always does, before building into something that cannot be contained by her pale skin. 

Luminous green ribbons spark and crackle from her fingertips. They snake up her arms and play in her hair. The trees on either side of the road begin to bow towards her, while the grasses whip menacingly. 

She wants to giggle. 

It’s been long - far too long - since she’s had the freedom to wield her magick like this. At the palace, Zen had always been talking about restrictions and rules she needed to obey. Laws put in place for her that needed to be abided by. She was, after all, the only witch within the palace walls. They needed to keep a collar on her. Keep her power within their control.

But now she’s free. And it feels incredible, and- 

Both men stumble backwards, swords forgotten and faces ashen.

Perhaps she’s allowed herself to become a little too lost in the feeling. 

Easing back, thanking the flora for providing her their aid, she takes a cautionary step forward, but stops when the younger man drops to his knees and presses his forehead to the dirt.

Frown tugging at one side of her mouth, her hands fist and she slowly approaches him. She never meant to scare these poor men. Only prove a point. 

His muffled words hardly reach her, but from what she can catch, he’s praying to whatever gods might be listening, that she bring him no harm.

Guilt twists in her gut and she knows it’s best to just move through the checkpoint. To leave these men behind, without startling them, further. But once she’s crossed through the gate, the same guilt begins to gnaw at her heart.

She's never been good at leaving without some form of apology. And they certainly do deserve one. 

A glance over her shoulder and quick twist of her wrist, and white heather blooms into existence around the two men. Not quite an apology, but something she feels is more suitable, given the circumstances. 

Shouts of surprise and gratitude call after her, helping to ease the guilt sitting in her chest but not the dark thought that’s started to cloud her mind.

Perhaps rules had been put in place for a reason.

[sabraeal]

We Seek That Which We Shall Not Find

“Name.”

The word itches in her ear as she stares at she box, stymied. She’s used to the ones at the apartments, where you press a button and talk, but this one is smooth, sleek, barely more than a speaker. It’s meant to not ruin the line of the gate.

Shirayuki shifts, staring up at the spear-points of the finials, the toe of one sneaker scratching at her ankle. She hadn’t known -- Zen hadn’t told her there’d be some sort of gate keeper. She’s known he was well-off -- hard to miss that, with the sort of gossip that went around him at the school -- but she’d thought -- Mcmansion. Three car garage. The usual sort of extravagance.

She was not expecting Wayne Manor, complete with wrought iron gate and stylized W, driveway stretching endlessly behind.

“Name.” Also complete with disembodied voice. “Just say it. We can hear you.”

That...does not make her feel any better. “S-Shirayuki.”

A sigh huffs out of the speaker. “Full name.”

“Shirayuki Nowakowski?”

“Are you expected?” the box demands, with about as much emotion as a toaster.

“Uh.” She stares at the brick wall, at the little spearheads on top of the gate. “I’m here for D&D?”

There’s no answer from the box this time, just a buzz as the gates swing open. It’s so slow she’d be waiting whole minutes if she was trying to drive up. As it is, she slips through the gap as soon as it’s big enough to fit her.

She turns back when she’s halfway up the drive, just in time to see it open fully, standing there like there’s an actual car to let through. She giggles at that, stumbling over some curbing, and –

“PLEASE DO NOT STEP ON THE GRASS!”

“Oh gosh!” she yelps, dodging the aggressive spray of a sprinkler. “It was a mistake!”

The sprinkler, for its part, is unmoved. Her left sock is partially soaked. A great impression to make the first time she does – whatever this is going to be.

Fun, she hopes.

Shirayuki’s seen a bunch of fancy entrances in her time. She grew up in a Victorian townhouse with full veranda, wrapping front to back, and most of the neighborhood was the same, save for where houses had been pulled down in the 50s to make room for pre-fabs.

Still, this isn’t -- this isn’t a porch, the wood musty and probably rotting in places, just waiting to give an unsuspecting kid a splinter they’ll never forget -- it’s a portico, all columns and statuary, like she just strolled up the lawn to Pemberley. There’s even a round-about that goes through it, so that cars can drive right up, and -- it’s a lot. Just a whole lot.

She gets to the front door -- real wood, she can tell, inset with tasteful stained glass that does not look like it came from Home Depot -- and fully expects a butler in full dress at the door, Jeevesian accent in full force as he asks, your coat, madame?

So she’s not expecting Izana. Not at all.

The number of things she knows about Zen’s brother could fit on the palm of her hand in nine-point-font, double spaced.

Bullet One: He’s older, not even in college anymore, though she’s not quite clear on what he’s doing now. Something important, from the way Zen always talks about him.

Bullet Two: He’s actually serious about this whole Dungeons and Dragons thing, or as he gently corrected after he first anxious text, Pathfinder. She never quite worked up the nerve to ask how long he’s been playing, but it’s long enough that he’s as comfortable modifying its rules as she is with a bread recipe -- he spent most of their first conversation trying to explain gestalt, but she really didn’t understand much beyond being able to start with two classes instead of one.

Bullet Three: He’s even more serious about Arthurian Myth, to the point where she’s sure he must have minored in it or something. He sent her the full text of Le Morte D’Arthur -- in English, thankfully -- as prep for the game.

Meeting him, she can now add bullet point four: he’s extremely, extremely tall.

“Shirayuki,” he says warmly, looming over her with almost a full foot of height. She’s seen him before, met him before, even aside from their late night texts about her character, but – not this close. Mitsuhide’s even taller, but somehow it never seems like this, like something she should be aware of.

“Oh!” she yelps, clutching at her hood. “I didn’t – you – I thought someone –“

“Security told me you were walking up the drive.” He says it so simply, like everyone has 24/7 surveillance at hand. “Can I take your…jacket?”

She shrugs her hoodie closer around her. “N-no! It’s fine. I get cold easy.”

He shrugs. “If you want.” He turns, clearly expecting her to follow. “Do you need me to validate your parking? Next time you can come right in. We have plenty of room, but I can send someone out to put a pass on your windshield. They’re a little strict about street parking here.”

“Oh no, it’s fine,” she assures him, wishing her voice didn’t tremble. “I took the bus.”

His steps stutter on the stairs. “The bus?”

She stops herself just short of saying, do you know what one of those is?

He recovers. “I didn’t know there was a bus stop near here.”

There isn’t, but she doesn’t want to explain how she walked almost a half hour from the nearest one to here. “I don’t have a car. Or a license! So…”

“Hm.” She’s not sure what to make of that sound. “I’m sure we can figure something out.”

“Shirayuki!” A chair clatters against the wall as Zen stands, slipping around the side of the table to…stand an awkward distance from her, as if he’s not quite sure he should hug her or shake her hand or – just let her exist in space. Mitsuhide, for his part, is half out of his seat too, while Kiki hasn’t moved an inch, only giving the barest nods as a hello. “I’m glad you could make it.”

She opens her mouth to say – well, something, she hasn’t really planned that far ahead, -- but –

“She took the bus,” Izana says offhandedly, sitting at the head of the table. It sets off a chain reaction across the room.

“The bus?” Zen’s face is a mask of horror. “Shirayuki, you should have said something. I could have sent a car around.”

She doesn’t miss how he says a car; it comes out so easily she’s not even sure if he knows that it isn’t normal for people to have drivers that can just…go pick people up. Without them there. It certainly doesn’t seem to faze Kiki, and though Mitsuhide makes a face, it’s a resigned one.

“Not to worry,” Izana drawls easily, spreading out his screen. “We have another player coming from that side of town. I’m sure he wouldn’t mine carpooling.” He glances up, gaze fixed over her shoulder. “Right, Obi?”

“There’s worse things than driving around cute girls.”

Shirayuki spins, staring up -- and up -- into a pair of gold eyes looming above her. He takes a step down, right beside her, and then he’s nearly normal height, only a head or so taller than her, mouth quirked into a grin.

Zen scowls. “Who is this?”

“Our other player,” Izana says easily. “You inviting Shirayuki reminded me you were very much missing another important role in your party, and I asked Obi if he’d be willing to fill it.”

Zen frowns. “Do you know how to play?”

His shoulders twitch, barely a shrug. “I played Skyrim at a friend’s house, once.”

Zen looks like he’d like to argue his credentials, but Shirayuki offers, shyly, “You’re already doing better that me.”

Obi stares at her, eyes round, as if he’s not used to -- to anyone taking his side. It last only a second, and then he’s back to his grin, back to his gaze sliding off of her like she’s furniture. “Guess we’ll see about that.”

You have heard of the great castle of Tintagel, but even the tales pale to the halls you are walked through. Everywhere, blue and silver hangs, a dragon and a lily sewn over every one, and when you reach the great doors to the throne room, over them is carved in bold script: Toujours Beau.

Always Beautiful. Always Good. The Pendragon way, it is said. You only hope that it is so.

You are instructed on how to approach the throne: head bowed, stop three steps from the dais, and perform an obeisance. You are glad to be reminded – you have long resisted your lessons, and now, when you need them, you wish you had paid attention.

You have barely dropped into your curtsy, when you hear a soft gasp, when you hear soft footsteps on the stairs, and suddenly you are being lifted upright.

“There is no need for that,” says the man that holds you. He is swathed in blue and silver, a coronet on his pale hair, and you know – this is Arturius, Prince of the Angles. “No women must humble herself before this throne.”

“My lord,” you manage, confused. His hands leave you, and already you breathe easier.

“Come, tell us what must be done,” he says, stepping back, taking his place on the dais once more. And empty throne, larger than the one he takes, sits beside his.

“My name is Lynet,” you say, “and my sister --”

“Lynet?” Zen frowns, craning his neck to see her sheet. “I thought you were going to be Gwenhwyfar.”

“I was,” Shirayuki says, gritting her teeth. “But I read around, and Lynette seemed a lot more –“

Interesting. Not that Guinevere wouldn’t have been, but – Lynette had possibilities. Possibilities that didn’t say healer girlfriend.

“We talked it over,” Izana interjects smoothly. “And Gwenhwyfar was more of a cleric/druid build, which Shirayuki wasn’t interested in.”

Mitsuhide’s brow furrows. “So what exactly are you?”

Force bursts from your hands, magic trailing like crystal flowers from your hands as the missiles shoot straight through the quintain. Sir Bedwyr stands next to you, solid as a wall, stymied.

“It’s been a long time since we’ve had arcanists in Tintagel,” he says finally, smile wide.

“I’m not so bad with potions, either,” you offer, blood rushing to your cheeks. “And a bomb or too might be in my purview as well.”

Zen may not be pleased with her choice of character, but Arturius Pendragon, Prince of the Angles, is enchanted with Lynet, and hardly a half hour passes before he is pledged whole-heartedly to her quest to free her sister from dread enchantment.

Obi’s character has still not made his debut.

“Just what are you supposed to be?” Zen asks crankily, after they’ve had their break. “Do you have some quest or what?”

Obi looks up from his phone. “Oh yeah,” he drawls, mouth quirking up in a grin.

Izana glances down at his own phone before setting it aside.

“Shirayuki.” She startles, glancing up at him. “I’m going to need you to roll Reflex.”

“An arrow?” Arturius paces his study, incensed. “Someone dared to harm you in Tintagel, my own home?”

“I dodged,” you offer weakly. Morgaine, from where she stands, slowly shakes her head. His sister would know as well as anyone how intractable the prince could be in this temper.

“There was a message as well, brother,” she says, holding out the scroll. “’To our red haired guest…’”

There are more incidents like that over the next hour. Lynet locked out of her rooms in the tower, flower pots from high windows, all manner of accidents.

Obi keeps looking at his phone. So does Izana.

“You missed,” he says suddenly, while she’s preparing her bombs. “Shirayuki, I need you to roll me initiative.”

The knife hits your desk, rattling your alembic on its burner, and finally you cannot ignore it anymore. You whirl to face the shadows, unnatural in their corner, and spread the salve of true-seeing over your eyes.

It is a man, or something like, twisted ram’s horns curling back along his head and around his ears, eyes darker than night, only a slit of gold to mark them in his face.

“You!” you call out, no longer afraid, but – annoyed. “You are the one who keeps trying to kill me!”

He tries to run for it, but you’re ready, bag of tanglefoot bursting as it lands on the stone. He trips, wines wrapped around his ankles, struggling. You storm closer, immune to the touch of your own magic.

“Kill!” he coughs, smiling wildly as you lean over him. “Kill is such a strong word!”

“Apparently,” you deadpan, hands on hips. “Since you keep botching the job.”

“Botching?” His smile takes a wicked edge. “Is that what you think?”

You tumble, his hands around your wrists, hot and strong like bands of iron fresh from the fire. It tickles, really, you realize as you lay under him.

He stares. “Are you…?”

“I’m an alchemist,” you sigh, wriggling restlessly under him. “Do you really think I’d make bombs without some kind of protection?”

His grin breaks wide, into a smile. “You are the most interesting woman I’ve ever met,” he admits, the heat in his hands dying until it’s…almost pleasant. “Do you happen to have a sister?”

You groan, rolling your eyes. “Gods --”

“Unhand her, scoundrel!” Arturius shouts from the door. “Never fear, Lynet, I heard your calls for help --”

You stares. “I didn’t call for help.”

Arturius stares.

“You didn’t?” Zen says, brow furrowed. “Are you --?”

“Yes,” Shirayuki sighs. “I thought I could handle it myself.”

“Mm,” Obi hums, pleased. “Beaumains certainly feels handled.”

“You’re certain you renounce your ways?” Arturius sighs, annoyed. “You won’t try to harm Lady Lynet?”

“Quite sure,” Beaumains the tiefling assures them, with little conviction. “No point after being caught. And if you pay me more coin than my last master –“

“We will.”

The room startles as Uther, King of the Angles strides in, resplendent even without his royal vestments. “I think it only makes sense that since you tried to take the life of Lady Lynet, that you should now be charged with protecting it.”

“Brother --” Arturius objects, but it’s cut short by a wave of the hand.

“There is no one better,” Uther tells him. “After all, even if he will not speak the name, he knows who plots against her, does he not?”

Shirayuki knows she should feel uneasy getting into a car with a man she doesn’t know, even if he’s apparently a friend of a...friend? But even though Obi’s spent the last three hours trying to kill her character, she sees his beat up Honda rusting on the side of the street and doesn’t even feel a twinge of doubt when she slips in.

“Sorry it’s not the town car,” he intones, not sounding anything like Izana, but still, she knows exactly who he’s imitating. “If i knew I was going to have a passenger, I would have at least stocked the minibar.”

“It’s all right,” she assures him, trying to smother her smile. “I think I would be afraid to leave fingerprints on the leather if you did.”

“God, right?” He shakes his head, pulling off the curb. “Our Overlord there tried to offer to have someone pick me up, and all I could picture was some butler rubbing his glove over the seat and pulling up dirt. No thanks.”

She laughs at that, tucking herself into the corner of the seat. It’s not a long drive to her part of town -- their part of town -- but it feels even shorter with Obi, who keeps her giggling almost the whole time.

“Beamains,” she says, eyeing him warily. “That’s not his real name, is it? You didn’t decide to call him Beautiful Hands.”

“He does have beautiful hands.”

She gives him a flat look.

Obi grins. “Beaumains has many names, and many secrets.”

They pull up in front of the apartments, and she tells him, “Sounds like an answer from someone who would name their character Beaumains.”

His grin widens, and there’s just -- something. Something more in the way he looks at her, like he -- he sees her. It’s almost soft, but not -- not the same softness Zen has when he looks at her, half-hopeless and half-determined, like she’s a puzzle to be solved.

He’s handsome like this. It’s a devastating realization, and she tries to -- to un-have it. If only to keep her heart from doing what it’s doing in her chest, to keep her hands from breaking out in this clammy sweat.

“Hey,” he starts, almost awkward, “you wouldn’t...”

He hesitates, eyebrows drawing down, like he’s -- he’s thinking.

There’s a part of her that just wants to bolt, wants to run up the walk and disappear inside to have an existential crisis in peace. But there’s another that wants to stay, that can’t help but wonder what all this -- this tension is. “I wouldn’t...?”

“You go to school with Zen, right?” he says, suddenly very...removed.

Her breath tangles in her chest. For no reason at all, we’re just friends sits uselessly on her tongue. “Yeah, I’m a senior.”

“Great.” Both of his hands grip the wheel, knuckles nearly white. “That’s -- great. I guess I’ll see you next week?”

She wants to ask what he was going to say, but there’s something about the way he’s turned, not quite looking at her, almost -- disappointed? angry? -- that makes her say. “Right, next week! Text me when you’re on your way.”

“Great,” he says as she slips out, closing the door behind her. She’s halfway up the walk when he calls out, “Hey, your birthday though...?”

“May!”

“Right,” he sighs, his whole body slumping into his seat, one hand lifting to his temples. “Right. Next week. Text before I come over. Perfect.”

He drives away, and Shirayuki can only wonder at the disappointment in her chest, at the way things feel unfinished.

“Oh well,” she murmurs to herself, hands trembling as she tries to fit the keys in the lock. “There’s always next week.”

[snowwhite-andtheknight]

Obiyuki AU Bingo 2018: Final Round Up!

After six weeks, the Obiyuki Au Bingo challenges has CLOSED! We had multiple bingos, and so in the spirit of FRIENDLY COMPETITION, we bring to you SOME STATS:

Highest Scorer (each square 1pt, bingo 5pts, blackout 25pts): @ruleofexception​ (23 pts - 2 bingos, 13 spaces)

Runner Up: @claudeng80​ (15 pts - 1 bingo, 10 spaces)

Most spaces filled: @ruleofexception​ (13 spaces)

Number of players with bingos: 7 (out of 24 total participants)

Total Fics Written: 46

Art Pieces Completed: 12

Total Words Written: 120,671

Week 1

Week 2

Week 3

Week 4

Week 5

Week 6

Thank you all so much for participating! <3 <3

[claudeng80]

Obiyuki Bingo Entries by AU 2018

Summary of all the bingo entries from this year, sorted by AU.

Looks like this year there was a pretty even spread of AUs - aside from the free space, only Arranged Marriage, D&D, Doctor Who, Horror, Role Reversal, Shapeshifter, and Urban Fantasy had more than one entry (two each). There were 58 in total.

If I’ve missed any or there are broken links, please let me know and I will fix.

AU of your Choice

Monster AU art - @forgetful-and-forgettable

Noragami AU - @claudeng80

Get Up Eight, Ch. 1 - @sabraeal

Fate/ AU Art - @septhi-draw

In Orbit Around The Doctor, Ch. 4 - @codango

Private Investigator AU - @superhappybubbleslove

Terrors (FOTC) - @ruleofexception

blindsided - @meniskoshi

1920s

Art - @septhi-draw

AI/Android

Vessels - @k-itsmaywriting

Aliens

Brought Together by Angels (part 2) - @claudeng80

Animal Owner

Drink Up - @k-itsmaywriting

Arranged Marriage

Desert and Reward: ch. 4 - @sabraeal

Unwilling, cont. - @ruleofexception

Bookstore

Art - @forgetful-and-forgettable

Comic Con

Comic Con AU - @ruleofexception

Dance

Ballet Art - @septhi-draw

Doctor Who

In Orbit Around the Doctor - @codango

Brought Together by Angels (part 1) - @claudeng80

Double Agent

Art - @forgetful-and-forgettable

D&D

Griefer - @claudeng80

We Seek That Which We Shall Not Find - @sabraeal

Edo Period

Worth His Weight in Rice - @claudeng80

Firefly

You can’t Take the Sky From Me, cont. - @ruleofexception

Game of Thrones

Family, Duty, Honor - @sabraeal

Ghost Hunters

Hypewire Unsolved Drinking Game, Rule #1 - @sabraeal

Homestuck

Art - @forgetful-and-forgettable

Horror

Damned, cont. Part 2 - @ruleofexception

Nightmares - @superhappybubbleslove

Isekai

Dragon Raid - @claudeng80

Kidnapped

Art - @septhi-draw

Lions of the Mountain

In Orbit Around the Doctor, Ch. 5 - @codango

Mad Science

Art - @septhi-draw

Mafia

If Not For You, Then For No One Else, ch. 3 - @superhappybubbleslove

Mermaid

In Orbit Around the Doctor, Ch. 2 - @codango

Music Majors

jazz hands but they’re a little embarrassed - @k-itsmaywriting

Musician/Band

Cat In the Cradle (Future Snippet) - @superhappybubbleslove

Mystery

Invasive Code - @claudeng80

Nobility

True Confessions - @traditional-with-a-twist

Obi meets Shirayuki First

Undercover Bodyguard - @claudeng80

Obi Works for Izana

Narrow is the Road - @superhappybubbleslove

Phantom of the Opera

In Orbit Around the Doctor, Ch. 3 - @codango

Post-Apocalyptic

Damned, cont. - @ruleofexception

Reality TV Show

Hunger Games, Cont. - @ruleofexception

Role Reversal

Art - @akai-vampire

This is Not a Test - @ruleofexception

Samurai

Get Up Eight, Ch. 2 - @sabraeal

Shapeshifter

Neither the Wolf nor the Mountain, Ch. 4 - @superhappybubbleslove

Hunger Games, Cont., Pt.2 - @ruleofexception

Star Trek

First Contact - @claudeng80

Tattoo Parlor

Stumptown, Ch. 2 - @superhappybubbleslove

Theatre

Prologue, cont. - @ruleofexception

Thousand and One Nights

Art - @forgetful-and-forgettable

Twentieth Century Historical

Consequences - @claudeng80

Urban Fantasy

Strangers - @ruleofexception

Art - @septhi-draw

Western

Storm - @ruleofexception

Witch

When the Garden Whispers - @ruleofexception

[bubblesthemonsterartist]

Narrow is the Road

Obi doesn’t have what one would call a handsome face. He lacks the elegance of His Majesty, the boyish charm of Master, the strong jawline of Sir. He is made of sharp lines, high cheekbones that stand out a little too strongly against the shadow of his skin, eyes more prone to cut than to fall into, with thin brows and a pale mark across his forehead that no one would believe he came across ‘accidentally.’

Torou told him once – more than once, actually – that he looked dangerous. That he didn’t have the face that any sensible person would invite back to their room. That no matter his easy smiles and friendly charm, he was a wild dog days past hunger and would therefore always be more of a calculated risk than a frivolous decision.

So how, then, did he find himself here?

“I hope I’m not keeping you from your preparations.”

Obi may be stupid. He may have been born be ten times a fool. But he was not dumb enough to deny the summons of a King.

“Hardly anything needs to be prepared for, Your Majesty.”

“I see.”

The silence is deafening, suffocating, only punctuated by the slow tick of the clock on the wall eddying out the minutes, the shuffle of papers as Master’s elder brother moves from one to another with frightful efficiency. It’s too casual, the way he leans back in his chain, eyes scanning dossier after dossier; too sedate.

Obi swallows, shifting on the ball of foot to alieve the growing ache in his bent knee. It would be best to break the quiet. Silence brings death and he’s always tried to fill it when he could.

Thankfully, His Majesty fills it first.

“Curious that you find yourself here.” There’s a ghost of smile gracing his lips. “I thought after our conversation in Lyrias, you had made your position clear.”

“It is.” Obi lowers his head, lowers his eyes, just as men of his stature demand. “I serve my Master and my Master alone.”

“And heeding your Masters wishes is the only desire in your heart?”

He almost pulls his gaze from those polished riding boots. Almost. “Of course.”

Elder Highness hums, sound low and not entirely convinced. “They say eyes are the window to the soul.” Obi’s cheek twitches without his permission. “And yours tell me you are a liar.”

Laughter bubbles out of him, breathy and nervous, and he cuts into his palms with his nails to ground himself. “Lies are tricky business,” he grins broadly, lifting his head with a sweep of the arm. “I don’t know who I would share them with.”

The King stares at him, that unnerving blue appraising him for a long moment. “Maybe you don’t know it yourself.”

Obi doesn’t know what to say to that. So he lowers his eyes once more.

“My brother tells me that you will go North.” His tone is airy, unconcerned, and coming from any other man, it would be cause to relax.

Obi opens his mouth to confirm, but the slow slide of steel being pulled from a scabbard turns the words on his tongue to dust. His hand flexes on his knee, the screaming in his brain to move growing louder with every muffled thud of those boots.

“He has also requested that you be knighted before you depart.” He hums. “Actually, it was a stipulation on my part for your reassignment. He agreed.”

Obi’s eyes widen, head snapping up. “You can’t be-”

The touch of steel right under his jaw stills him.

“You aren’t a knight yet,” he cautions. “Rise.”

Obi swallows, following the pressure of the sword as it guides him to his feet. Blood rushes into his leg, pin pricks of pain surging through the numbness. He dares not attend to it. Instead, he keeps his hands to the side, open and vulnerable, but politeness can go stuff itself. He locks his gaze on the winter blue of the Kings and doesn’t let go.

“Your eyes are so clear when they want blood,” he murmurs, lowering the blade, and now he can see what a thing of beauty it is. Gold whirls and jewel inlays and polished until the metal shimmers like water. It doesn’t appear a weapon of war, but the sting on the soft of his throat, the faintest shimmer of ruby on its tip, tells him it is one all the same.

“I’ve had enough of it,” Obi manages. “For now.”

His Majesty is most terrifying when he appears pleased. “And you’re sure you want this?”

Obi smirks.

“Then you know who you serve.”

It comes out as a statement, but sounds like a question. Obi blinks slowly.

Master’s elder brother smiles, sword in one hand, and the other raising, long tapered fingers upwards. From the edges of their extended tips dangle a new tag with a new title. 

“‘Immediate Knight of Clarines,’” he intones, lifting the glass so it catches in the light. “Those who wear it don’t belong to Sereg like Sir Lowen, or even a Prince.”

Obi’s heart rests on his lips. “But a King.”

“You don’t strike me as a simple-minded man.” He tilts his head. “You’re hungry, but not for the normal fare of those who enter my purview. I doubt you know what exactly will sate you.”

Obi stares, and it’s only with those final words that he realizes how long the trap has been sprung. The sticky silk has been clinging to him for some time, the poison far too deep in his blood. He wants to fall back to the ground, wants to laugh until tears pour from the corners of his eyes and his stomach can bear no more. Finally, finally after all these years, after he finds someone he wishes to serve-

To think that a King would give him so much notice.

If only Torou were here. She would be laughing with him.

His Majesty raises a single, pale brow. “Would you have it, then?”

Obi sighs. To the victor goes the spoils.

Without pause, Obi lowers his eyes again, lowers himself with it until he rests on his knees once more.

“Yes, Master.”

Steel touches his shoulder. And then the other.

“Then rise, Sir Obi. Your Mistress awaits.”

[k-itsmaywriting]

Vessels (AI/Android!AU)

CONTENT WARNINGS: body modification, body horror, vehicle incidents

“No problems, Master. She still hasn’t had any severe malfunctions.”

Obi jumps onto the sidewalk just as a horn blasts in his ears. He turns over his shoulder to watch the truck trailer swerve around the corner in the shadow of blinding blue and purple lights, driver flipping him off.

“And her productivity?”

He enters the small apartment building and climbs to the second floor, fishing for his keys in his coat pocket.

“Lower than usual.” He huffs lowly as shoves the key into the lock and turns it. “I’ve never seen Shirayuki take so many naps before.”

The door opens and Obi stills in the entrance. In the living room inside, the hem of a dress and a stocking foot slip behind the kitchen wall. Shirayuki calls, “I’m almost ready, Obi! Just let me close the kitchen window!”

“But she seems to have woken up while I was at work. She’s as energetic as ever now...”

“That’s good. We can’t have her fall behind on her work much more, or brother would be more than unimpressed.”

“Well, she texted me earlier that she’s feeling well enough to be back at work tomorrow. And I’m off the clock now too, so if you’ll excuse us, Master,” he says, voice chipper, “my best friend and I have a night out to get to.”

He hangs up, just as Shirayuki crouches to slip into and buckle her kitten heels. She straightens to meet him with a smile. “Shall we go, Obi?”

When he’s with Shirayuki, it’s like breathing fresh air again.

When cars roar and screech through city roads, her voice is soft in the suffocating smog. When bright lights smear and blur in the concrete jungles, the fiery red hair and sea green eyes ground him in time and space, the only existence he can be sure of in a city with too many people doing too many different things in too many different places.

But when Shirayuki looks at Obi, she sees history, memories of innocence, laughter and warmth under the sun. To her he is safety and honesty, a life-long friend. She sees them as two souls together in a wide world that were lucky to find each other when they needed each other the most, and have stayed together since.

But that’s not really the truth.

Not when Zen paid Obi for finishing building her in a Wisteria lab just eight months ago.

“Obi, look, there’s a special event here tonight.”

Obi turns around, and Shirayuki is standing outside a restaurant, reading the scrawling on the window. “They’re serving chocolate dumplings and cocktails, all you can eat! There’s a board game too!”

“No way!” He stumbles back next to her. “How much?”

Shirayuki suddenly holds onto his wrist as they both read the swirls of rainbow markers on the window between them and the warmly lit restaurant inside together. “$20 per person for a banquet offering, including a selection of in-house favourites of chocolates and cocktails.”

“The two-person game navigates diners through truth-or-dare style questions…” Obi reads, “the concept has continued to entertain…” he stops, trying not to click his tongue, “…couples.”

Shirayuki immediately turns to him, a little too quickly. “We can pretend.”

Obi blinks. “…What?”

“We can just pretend. I mean, look,” she points at the sign on the door, “it says the game is designed for first dates, so all the questions will be about getting to know each other. But it’s…easy for us, right? Since we’ve been best friends since high school?”

Ah, right. High school. He forgets he’s supposed to pretend he spent three whole years there sometimes.

He nods. “Yeah, you’re right. It’ll be easy.”

Shirayuki smiles, but, it’s different than usual. It’s more reserved, hidden in the dim lights reflecting stars in her eyes and blush in her cheeks.

Though, it’s not a lie either.

Shirayuki was designed entirely, from the expert database in her brain to her passion for conservationism. Izana only really needed intelligence and work ethic, but Zen wanted to push the boundaries. He wanted cognitive thinking, memories and personality, as close to a human as possible – for further advancement, he had said.

The only real difference between Shirayuki and a human is where and how she was created, and the parts inside her body. She’s still Obi’s companion and friend, even if the history is different.

But it always hurts to lie to a friend.

Shirayuki and Obi gave up on the board game five minutes in. They decided to kick back in the corner booth with a pile of truth cards each and stacks of bamboo steamers the table between them, steaming with the dumplings inside.

Obi snorts. “Okay, this is an interesting one. What book have you read so many times that the cover is wearing?”

“Hmm…probably…” Shirayuki thinks for a while, head tilted, but eventually smiles sheepishly. “The first botany book I ever got from my grandparents. I literally tore the spine from the sheer amount of times I read it.”

Ah, he remembers putting that one in. It took the mechanics and psychologists weeks to figure out how to input fabricated memories straight into the long-term storage for the first time.

Obi takes another dumpling and devours it in a bite as Shirayuki flips over her next card. “So, Obi,” she says, “How many houses have you lived in? What was the first one like?”

He tries really hard not to sigh. At least he’s rehearsed this one before.

“One childhood home in the suburbs, and now our lovely little apartment near Poet.” He fakes a smile. “So, two.”

In truth, it is only two if he counts that rundown shack in the wastelands a home. He doubts anyone outside Wistal is any different, with the government hoarding the country’s little resources into one city for luxurious living, leaving everyone else struggling to survive almost thirty years after the meteor set the world on fire.

Obi flips his next card over. “Shirayuki!”

“Yes!”

“The last lie you told and why?!”

Man, is he glad he was not asked that one.

Shirayuki laughs, “You know how I told you the other day that I woke up at 9:30?! I actually woke up at 12!”

“Well, aren’t you wild!?”

“Alright then, what was the craziest day you’ve ever had?” She kicks back into the seat and folds her arms. “I can think of a few of yours from high school! Devoured a whole cafeteria tray of pasta in one sitting at lunch, then fought two seniors at once for not leaving a teacher alone ten minutes later. Then there was the time you escaped English through the window…”

Shirayuki’s voice fades in his ringing ears. None of those stories could compare to the truth.

He lost count of the amount of days he spent traveling that time, but it didn’t matter anymore. Not when he had pulled up in front of a dense forest and a fucking jackpot inside – an endless stream of old cars between the trees, drowning in regrowth that crawled through the broken windows and over hoods and boots. It was probably a highway before the meteor hit. He was just surprised no one else was near it.

He leapt onto the nearest car roof and screwed his crowbar into the hood, cranking it down to break it. He scavenged for any parts that were usable, that he could sell. It took him until sundown to get through even a third.

When night fell, he squeezed through a broken window into the backseat of the nearest four-wheel drive and dropped his bag next to him, bulging with sellable parts. Obi huddled into his sleeping bag, long legs constantly knocking against the door or the driver’s seat – it had been a while since he slept outside like this. And he was getting too tall. If he followed the old highway, he was sure he would’ve been able to find a small town eventually. His chest filled with a little hope as he fell asleep.

In the middle of the night, there was a crash.

Obi jolted awake, immediately grabbing for his crowbar. He held his breath and pressed his back further into the seat. There was no rustling in the regrowth, no human breath or groaning in pain. Taking his bag, Obi slipped out the car window and eased himself back into the regrowth. Further down the highway, a bright light behind another car illuminates the dark. The static of a dying radio breaks the silence.

“Ryuu, can you come in? It’s Zen.”

The voice went on as Obi crept closer to the light, asking for an answer, but the one named Ryuu never responded. He tightened his grip on the crowbar as he peeked behind the car. He meant to swing at it, break the radio immediately and do the same to the guy’s head, but—

It was…a boy, but not really, crumpled against the car door. At least, it looked like a human boy. The electric circuits sparking from his unmoving joints and the hologram image of a young man projecting from his eyes told him otherwise.

The man in the hologram silenced and turned to Obi immediately. His eyes narrowed. “Did you do this?”

He meant to just bust the android’s eyes out, to cut the connection and steal him away. But instead he held his breath. “And if I did? What would you do?”

“Not that anyone could ever give you the monetary value of him, but nothing that would make any of your scavenging worth it,” he said. “So I suggest you answer properly.”

Obi looked the hologram up and down. “No, I didn’t. I heard a crash and came here.”

The young man, Zen, sighed. “A breakdown on the first mission…that is not good at all. I really do not want to use more resources to retrieve him…”

People on the Outside had been talking about the idea of holograms and…and androids, but no one ever thought to be able to actually build them since the meteor hit. The only people who ever could’ve ever made them, much less control them, were the Insiders of Wistal. And considering it had only been 30 years, at least one of them was probably in new development. It would’ve been especially problematic for Outsiders to get their hands on their newest technology – it would’ve meant they could catch up, compete for the Earth’s little resources that Wistal needed…

…If he found a way to fix this android…

Zen suddenly turned to him again. “Don’t you even think about it. I know your face. If you dare break this radio you will not see the light of day again.”

Obi clicked his tongue. So much for that idea. How about…

“Then I’ll fix him and bring him back to you,” he said.

“And how exactly are you going to do that?”

“What matters is that I will. And after I do, you will either pay me a hefty ass repair fee, or take me back to Wistal as a mechanic.”

He didn’t think Zen could look even more unimpressed and disbelieving than before, but clearly he was wrong. He stood there for a while, probably waiting for Obi to say he was joking. “Fine,” he said, folding his arms. “We’ll need all the worthy hands we can get – you have yourself a deal.” His voice darkens, “But if you don’t finish by sunset tomorrow, you will be captured for possession of classified information and materials.”

“Don’t underestimate me,” Obi growled. “I might be a scavenger, but it’s parts from your drones and surveillance machinery that makes our world go ‘round.”

He barely did it in time, but he did fix Ryuu. After Zen took him back to Wistal, he helped improve him. Made him closer to the human boy he used to be, apparently. But soon, they moved onto building an android from scratch to be his partner. Together they would help save the Earth, Izana had said at the first project meeting, but for whose benefit, Obi wasn’t sure.

Four and a half years later, Shirayuki opened her eyes for the first time.

“Obi, are you alright?”

Obi snaps wider awake. When he looks across the table, Shirayuki has her lips pressed into a thin line. “You’re probably tired from work, huh? Should we go home?”

He nods slowly. “Y…yeah, I think I’m just tired.”

The next thing he knows, Shirayuki tells him she paid the bill and cool night breeze brushes against his face as they step out the door. Pedestrians and cars alike still fill the streets. Everything reverts into blurs and smears against the night to the point Shirayuki has to hold him by the wrist and pull him along with her.

“Just a couple more crossings and we’re home,” Shirayuki says, looking up at him worriedly as she lets go of him at the Starlight’s crossing. “Did something happen? You seemed okay before we went out.”

“I’m…fine,” Obi breathes. He’s not fine at all. Everything feels heavy, and his body cracks whenever he needs to move. “I just…I think I just need to go home.”

She nods sympathetically. “I feel you.”

He’s growing impatient by the second. He pokes his head further out into the crossing, and sees no cars coming from the left. “Shirayuki, come on.” He stumbles out into the crossing.

From behind him, Shirayuki yells, “Obi, no! The light’s still red!”

He turns around, “There’s no one coming—!”

A horn blares.

In the corner of his eye, he sees two lights ripping into his eyes. Then he’s flying, sky gliding above him as he flings across the road. His body rolls against the bitumen like a ragdoll. Screeching tyres and car horns erupt around him. It comes to a stop, eventually, and then he can only see the black sky and a streetlight in the corner of his eye.

Heels pound on the road towards his ear. Closer, closer. The light starts to fade.

He sees green – Shirayuki leaning over him and screaming while her hands grab at his. Hang in there, she’s saying, the ambulance is coming soon.

Her hand moves further up his arm, but pain suddenly flashes across her face. She pulls back, eyes wide, almost white.

Obi thinks he can move his arm a little – see what made her draw away. It feels like forever, the time it takes to drag his shoulder while his head falls to the side. He expects blood and purple skin, probably broken bones and ripped muscle at the worst.

But when he sees metal, red and blue and green wires, some cut others not with strings of sparks crackling down his forearm, it’s like his heart stops. His eyes snap back to Shirayuki’s above him, green clouded in confusion and horror. His heart races faster. This isn’t right. He…he’s not the one who is…it’s meant to be her—

Everything is black, but he doesn’t feel his eyes close.

[codango]

Chapters: 2/5 Fandom: Doctor Who, 赤髪の白雪姫 | Akagami no Shirayukihime Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Obi/Shirayuki (Akagami no Shirayukihime) Characters: Obi (Akagami no Shirayukihime), Shirayuki (Akagami no Shirayukihime) Additional Tags: Crossover, Prompt Fill, Alternate Universe - Doctor Who Fusion, Medical School, First Meetings Summary:

Perhaps it was the power of her own suggestion, but Shirayuki stopped by the Cat’s Meow food truck on her cool-down walk after her jog. She’d only gone two miles, but Yuzuri made a fuss over her nonetheless, and the fish taco was to die for as usual, and so Shirayuki was in quite high spirits as she neared her apartment complex.

Spirits that were dashed to hear:

“Shirayuki! Wait up, hang on a sec…”

Her shoulders went up to her ears, a bite of taco still in her mouth. If she didn’t look around, ostensibly she was far enough away to not have heard him. She still had an earbud in, even though her music was off. She could pretend she hadn’t heard.

[traditional-with-a-twist]

True Confessions

masterpost: Pauper with a Golden Crown

The lady of the mountains could hardly return to the main village without an escort.

At least, that was the claim that Yoshi and Rikuto latched onto, eager to escape the tedium of lookout duty. They put on a good show of it, walking slightly ahead of Shirayuki so that she was safely encircled in the center of their impromptu procession. The way that Rikuto’s eyes gleamed with curiosity and Yoshi’s laughter followed his probing questions gave them away, though.

The newcomer seemed oblivious to their scrutiny. He laughed at their jokes and kept pace with their banter.

When Yoshi groaned and cracked his back, complaining, “You know I’m not getting any younger, but I still have to fix my own roof on top of all this galloping in the forest… There just aren’t enough hands around the village these days,” the newcomer gave a genuine smile.

“You have these hands, now! I’d be happy to help with anything.” He waved his hands for emphasis, looking like he would honestly welcome the work.

Yoshi chuckled, shaking his head. “Oh, you’re gonna regret that offer when we get there.”

Shirayuki watched the conversation with her eyes half-lidded and thoughtful. She looked like a flower, too long in the shade, now opening its petals to bask in the sun.

Obi walked in his lady’s shadow. He kept his eyes fixed on the newcomer’s face, feet moving soundlessly over the forest floor.

Bored with the lull, Rikuto abandoned the circumspect interrogation and plunged in. “So, what brought you to the Lions? What are you running from?”

Shirayuki started. She twisted her hands together as she stammered, “O-oh, Zen! You don’t have to tell us--everyone’s secrets are safe here.”

Rikuto pouted. “But that’s boring.”

Zen waved it off, his smile easy and sincere. “It’s not a problem, I don’t mind people knowing.”

He paused to lift his eyes to the sky. The breeze stirred his pale hair and he braced himself as if the air had caught some heavy cloth and sent it billowing behind him. He rested his hand on his hip, just where a sword hilt would be.

Obi cocked an eyebrow.

Zen drew in a breath. “I was being held against my will for a crime I didn’t commit,” he announced. “I finally escaped my jailers. I have no way to ever clear my name, but I still believe in justice. I want to help others gain what I have lost.”

The pronouncement left the forest to fill the sudden silence with rustles and whistles.

Yoshi snorted and then guffawed. “The Chief’ll love you, kid.”

Shirayuki’s concern softened into a smile. It deepened when Rikuto joined in with the laughter and Zen grinned, happy to accept the joke.

Obi’s gaze left the newcomer at last, slowly shifting to his lady’s joyful face.

[ruleofexception]

This Is Not A Test (Role Reversal, AU! Purge, AU!)

“So? Will you do it?”

The man’s voice, though level, hints at the fear building within him. It echoes, eerily through the abandoned warehouse and his feet shuffle loudly on the wet concrete. The picture, tightly gripped in his hand, shakes ever so slightly.

Bastard is nervous.

As he should be. 

It’s pretty ballsy to come down to this part of town, particularly today. And dressed like that, no less. He’s lucky no one decided to jump him mid-day, instead of playing by the rules and waiting until tonight.

Though, it’s probably a pretty safe assumption to say that his rich ass won’t be out on the streets tonight. As soon as she agrees and takes the job he’s offered, he’ll retreat behind some high-tech security system with large metal walls, sit on his leather couch and watch the carnage spread out across his screen, from the comfort and safety of his home.

Must be nice, to be able to know with certainty, you’d survive the night… Unfortunately, Shirayuki doesn’t have that luxury. In fact, she can hardly afford rent for the shitty little bachelor apartment she’s in.

Going out on Purge night isn’t so much a choice as it is a necessity and this guy… well, he’s offering to pay a lot more than what she’d manage to get from the ATM on the corner. It might be a dirty job, but she’s not so sure she can pass it up. Not when Torou had tried to murder her last year, making it all too clear that she’d best watch her ass and avoid downtown this year.

Besides, from the sounds of it, this job will be a hell of a lot easier than trying to loot when it’s legal and pawn when it’s not - he’s even agreed to pay half, upfront. No Torou, no downtown and no problems.

Gritting her teeth, tucking the blade back into the sheath near her spine, she pulls herself from the shadows and casually strolls towards her generous new employer. “I’ll do it - but I do have one question, fancy-man.”

“If it’s about why, I already tol-”

“Believe it or not, I was paying attention.” Waving a bored hand, she stops in front of him and scowls - he may be twice her size, but both of them know he’d be eating concrete if he tried anything tricksy. “Something about his status and being too close with one of the higher-ups, blah blah blah, you want him gone.”

Plucking the picture from the man’s fingertips, she studies the intelligent amber eyes of tonight’s target. He’s beautiful. Seems a damn shame he’s pissed off the wrong people. But, the need for a hefty paycheck silences her conscience pretty fucking quick. Besides, if she doesn’t do it, someone else will. Someone who isn’t as kind as she is.

“But - and, correct me if I’m wrong - he doesn’t exactly strike me as the… how do I put this politely-” raising an eyebrow and smirking, she taps the corner of the photo, leaving a smudge over the pristine white labcoat the man is wearing, “- type to go out tonight.”

Maybe it’s more of a statement than a question, but, regardless, the guy visibly relaxes and, for the first time during their interaction, actually smiles. It’s a dark and menacing thing. “Leave that to me.” Shuffling hastily through his pockets, he produces a wad of cash as big as she’s ever seen and thrusts it at her, “I’ll make sure he’s out there when it starts. You just do what I’ve paid you for. Do we have a deal?”

Curiosity gnaws at her stomach, but it’s not her job to ask questions about the specifics - she doesn’t need to know all the gritty details. She hasn’t been hired for that.

Shifting her weight, grabbing the cash and taking a step backwards, she plasters a smile on her face and lilts, “Looks like I’d best be going.” A final glance at the photo and she tucks it, and the cash, gently into her pocket, before winking dramatically towards the stiff asshole still standing in the middle of the warehouse. “I’ve got a date tonight. Can’t be late.”

Emergency lights flood the lab. Sirens begin to wail. It doesn’t make sense.

Hazardous anomaly detected.

The loudspeaker crackles with the message and his stomach twists. How can there be an anomaly? He’s the only one here and all of the samples have been in containment since this afternoon, so unless someone’s manually tripped the system-

Quarantine activated.

“No!” Dropping his bag, rushing towards the seamless glass doors, Obi’s heart launches itself into his throat as he frantically presses his hand to the scanner. The screen beeps, turns red and displays the same message playing overhead. “No… No, this can’t be happening. Not tonight. Please, not tonight.”

Hazardous anomaly detected.

Curling his fingers into a fist, he pounds at the screen. He can’t be stuck here tonight. Any other night, he’d just wait it out and report the issue to Zen in the morning… But not tonight. It’s not safe here.

Quarantine activated.

It’s not safe anywhere. Sinking to his knees, struggling to keep himself from falling into a panic, he shuts his eyes and rests his forehead to the glass.

Hazardous anomaly detected.

Think, Obi. Why is the alarm going off? If there really was a containment breach, the alarm would have sounded hours ago. And, based on the experimental specimens they’re studying, if he’d been exposed to anything, symptoms would have started showing almost immediately… So why now? When it’s-

Quarantine activated.

His stomach plummets and nausea rips through him. Unless it has been manually tripped. Which would make sense, if someone is trying to keep him here until the announcement is made... Someone with remote access to the lab’s security systems, and has a bone to pick with him.

Hazardous anomaly detected.

Someone who would benefit greatly, if he found himself a victim of the Purge… too bad he’s got too much to live for.

Quarantine activated.

Grunting as he comes to a stand, Obi backtracks and scoops his bag up from the floor. There isn’t much time to prepare and unfortunately the lab doesn’t exactly have much in terms of heavy weaponry - the most dangerous object he can think of, being the single scalpel they have, and lord only knows where that is. It has a horrible tendency to migrate between desks.

Hazardous anomaly detected.

Cheeks puffed out and hands clenching, Obi marches towards the large containment freezer. The scalpel may be a no-go, but he can think of a few modified microorganisms that would pack a decent punch if trouble found him.

Ugh. It’s too damn hot out.

Ripping the mask from her face and dragging the dirtied, torn hem of her shirt across her forehead in an attempt to mop up some of the sweat, she sighs in defeat and begins to twist and fight with her hair; maybe she can find a position that would work with the mask and keep it off her neck.

Not likely.

It’s only her fourth attempt when her arms begin to ache and she growls. Without a hair-tie, she’s pretty much shit out of luck. No matter what way she wrenches it, the red locks just continue to slip free of the weak holds she struggles to get them into.

Puffing out her cheeks, grinding her teeth, she tries once more to pile the infuriating locks atop her head, but when they quickly break free, she reaches her tipping point.

“Stupid, fucking… you know what-” Shirayuki withdraws her blade and begins to raggedly saw at the handful of hair she’s managed to hold onto. Strands snap and begin to fall through her fingers; floating out of the tree she’s perched in to decorate in the grass below. Staring down at the haphazard pile strewn beneath her, she grins victoriously. “Ha! There. Problem solved.”

Running her fingers through her sheared hair, loosing any stray pieces, she settles back against the trunk with a huff. Why didn’t she do this, sooner? It’s certainly cooler. And likely less of a hassle, than long hair is.

Maybe she’ll just keep it this way, for the foreseeable future. The only reason she’d had it long in the first place is because she’d somehow gotten it into her head that Torou liked her with the long hair. She’s not too sure what started that thought or why she’d gone along with it for so long, but, seems fitting to cut it off, a year after that bitch had tried to cut her heart out with a steak knife.

Swinging her leg down off the branch, using her knife to pick at the grime beneath her fingernails, her mind begins to wander dangerously close to wondering what Torou would be up to tonight; the announcement had only been made fifteen minutes ago, but knowing her, she wouldn’t have wasted any time in hauling ass down to the hot spots. 

Shirayuki briefly wonders if she’s Purging with anyone by her side. And if that someone would have her back. If she had to guess, Torou had probably replaced her as right-hand, as soon as that night was done and life went back to normal. She’d always been quick to move on. Whether that be from job to job, or from person to person. Nothing about her was ever truly stable and-

Shit, she needs to stay focused.

Knocking the butt of the blade handle to her forehead, she shuts her eyes and takes a deep breath. None of that matters. Not anymore. That part of her life is over and she won’t go back. Just like the hair she’d so easily cut away, she’ll cut away these memories, too.

The only reminder she needs of that life is the scar on her chest. A reminder never to stay in one place too long and to only ever trust herself.

Heart skittering, anxiety building, she drags her gaze up to the building across the street. She needs to stay focused. No sense losing her head over what’s done and past. Besides, she can’t afford to. Not tonight. She’s finally got a job and she’ll be damned if she screws it up.

Straightening a little, letting her hand wander mindlessly across her shirt, over where the scar on her heart is, she tries to distract herself from her thoughts by studying the dark blue name splashed above the glass doors - Wistal.

According to Haruka, and her instructions, this is where amber-eyes works. But, the elegant swirl of the name and blacked-out windows makes her question what exactly the company does. It’s not exactly in a swanky part of town, like she’d expected. And there’s not much about it, online.

Actually, the only information she’d been able to find is that the founder was Kain Wistaria; and, when he passed away, rather suddenly, his wife fled north and their eldest son, Izana, started calling the shots. There’s a second son in the mix somehow, but he doesn’t seem nearly as involved as-

The front doors open with a clang and a siren pours into the night, quickly pulling her back to reality. To the job she’d been hired for.

Moving swiftly, narrowing her gaze, and pulling herself up until she’s hanging precariously from the branches, the picture in her pocket practically begins to tremble.

That’s him alright.

Tall dark and handsome stumbles through the doors, labcoat swirling around him and bag knocking violently against the glass, as he desperately tries to close them faster. She has to refrain from whistling. A picture may be worth a thousand words, but damn… even from her perch across the lawn, it’s easy to see he’s incredibly attractive.  

For the second time this evening, she finds herself thinking what a shame it is that he’s gone and pissed off the wrong people. 

Which is exactly why she’ll never work a corporate job. There are too many people willing to stab you in the back… or, you know, willing to pay someone to do it for them. But, she’s never been one to dwell on technicalities.

A murder is a murder. Even when it’s legal.

Snapping her mask back into place as she stands, she shakes her hands out and cracks her neck. This should be easy. In, out, done. She’ll get paid the rest of what she’s owed and maybe, just maybe, she can get out of this god forsaken place once and for all.

Amber-eyes is completely unaware of his surroundings. Still fighting with the alarm system - continuously pressing his hand to the scanner, telling it to hush in a loud, whispering voice that carries across the yard. At least she’d been right about him - certainly not the type to go out and Purge.

Dropping soundlessly to the ground, gripping her knife tightly, she takes one final look at the long red strands pulling at the blades of grass beneath her feet, and sets off after her target - leaving her past, behind.

This is her chance to start over and all she has to do is take someone’s life.

Adrenaline soaks her veins as she sprints across the lawn; her feet hardly touch the ground.

Beautiful bastard won’t even know what’s happened, until it’s too late.

Heart pummelling her ribs, she shoves her conscience down into the darkest crevice her body owns, and readies herself for the kill.

He may die, so she can live, but at least she’ll make it quick.

The closer she gets, the harder it is to breathe.

She can do this.

“Shhhhh!” Obi’s hand shakes and his palm is sweaty as he presses it against the scanner again. “Please, just… Shhhh.”

It’s silly, that he’s still trying to silence the alarm. It’s Purge night. He should get out of here, while there’s still some sunlight to light the way home, instead of continuing his fight with the security system. But, it’s bad enough he’s stolen samples from containment - if anything else happens to the lab, because he didn’t silence the alarm and reset the security system, then it won’t matter if he survives tonight, because Izana will have his head mounted in the lobby.

The scanner beeps again and his heart threatens to crack his ribs. Refraining from ripping the screen from the wall, he hisses through his teeth, “Please, reset.”

Honestly, it’s a miracle he still has a job here. 

If Zen wasn’t constantly vouching for him, he’s sure that Izana would have pulled some strings and had him deported a long time ago - regardless of the fact he’s got his paperwork in order and is deemed an asset to the company. However, come morning, if he manages to survive this hell night, he can pretty much guarantee that he’ll be unemployed - if not worse. 

Removing samples from containment, without the proper documentation is against protocol, but removing them from the premises entirely? Well, that’s not something he’s sure anyone has been stupid enough to try. He can practically visualize where Izana’s going to hang his head. Right above the receptionist. A gruesome reminder to all, that that’s what happens when you break every rule in-

The scanner beeps again and he’s about to cry out in frustration and panic, when it chimes and the large blue Wistal symbol occupies the screen. A half hysteric laugh escapes him. It might actually work this time. Tapping his foot against the concrete, wanting to flee and hope the system reboots successfully, he forces himself to wait. As soon as the symbol turns green, he’ll leave.

A relieved, if shaky, sigh rushes from his lungs - at least the alarms inside seem to have silenced themselves. That’s a good sign. It shouldn’t be much longer before he can try to make it home, unscathed. Looking up from where the blue Wistal logo is twirling lazily on the screen, he blanches when a distorted figure moves in the reflection of the doors.

Or, another unforeseen option is, he could be murdered right here on the sidewalk, without taking so much as a step towards home. Glancing over his shoulder, he curses under his breath. That’s looking like the most likely of options, because whoever it is, is running straight for him at an alarming speed.

Not good. Not good at all.

Fumbling for one of the vials stowed away in his bag, he tries to keep his hands from shaking. Hopefully, the tube his fingers have wrapped around, isn’t one of the more lethal microorganisms. Those may have seemed like a good idea at the time, but now he’s not so sure he could knowingly unleash that on someone… even if that someone is out to take his life. 

Tensing, breathing deep, he withdraws his hand - thumb ready to pop the lid off - and spins to face his assailant just as the screen behind him sings happily, signifying the system has been successfully rebooted and is back online. At least that’s one thing taken care of.

Now he can just focus on not dying.

His attacker slows their pace and fear worms its way into his heart - although, on second thought, not dying might be a little more difficult than originally anticipated.

Though they’re a good foot shorter than he is and far slimmer than what could possibly be considered healthy, their stance speaks of confidence, grace and lethality. That, matched with the mangled, scorched and stained bunny mask obscuring their face, has him convinced that this isn’t their first purge. Or even their second.

They clearly know what they’re doing.

And he does not.

Holding the vial out in front of him, he grits his teeth and prays that the trembling he feels isn’t visible. Before he can find any words of warning, a sorrowful sigh comes from beneath the mask and his hand clenches in shock.

“You can put that away, Mister-” A pale, slender hand comes up and grabs one of the broken ears of the mask, before peeling it away to reveal… a woman? “- I’m not going to hurt you.”

Stumbling backwards into the doors, they clang loudly as he collides, but he just continues to stare at her, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. Gods, is she ever stunning. And more than a little terrifying.

Short, messy red hair that appears to have been freshly cut, dances in the breeze. Freckles that bloom across her cheeks and speak of a life spent outdoors, have him wanting to ask her for her stories. She’s incredibly tiny in stature, but somehow strength exudes from her, in more ways than one. And her clothes indicate that she’s not from this part of town, which means- “Wait, hold on-” confusion stops him mid-thought and he frowns, “- why? Ahm, why aren’t you going to, ah...”

Her eyebrow raises curiously and she twirls her blade, “What? Kill you?” Brain struggling to keep up, he’s too stunned to do much more than nod and watch as she slinks up to him, fingers delicately pushing his outstretched hand and vial out of the way. “Because -” standing on her toes, her green eyes glisten dangerously in the dark and she drags the flat, cold metal of her knife down his cheek, purring, “- I’ve decided not to. Problem?”

“N-no.” Biting back his growing anxiety and swallowing hard, he meets her hard gaze; he really should shut up. Not question why she’s decided to leave him breathing.

But something isn’t sitting right and he doesn’t mean the flat edge of the knife resting against his skin. No… something about her being here isn’t right.

It can’t be a coincidence. Wistal is practically in the middle of nowhere. There’s no way a purger would come out this far by themselves - they all congregate in downtown hubs or target the rich and famous. And she doesn’t exactly seem like an enemy of the Wistaria family - the only interest she’s shown is in him, not in what’s stored in the building behind them. Which would mean, his hunch is right and- “Who hired you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mister.”

She’s lying. Poorly, too. Knife flicking off his skin, she curls away from him and stretches; the back of her shirt riding up just enough to expose the beginnings of her history in the form of small silvered scars lacing over her skin. Questions burn in his throat - all of them about what kind of life she’s lived - but he forces himself to swallow them. 

Eyes still trained on her, watching as she circles back around and grins at him, his breath rattles in his lungs making him sound nervous, instead of demanding like he’d been aiming for, “Yes, you do - if you just tell me wh-”

“Let me take you home.” Her tone suggests that that’s the end of the conversation, but he doesn’t need her to say it, to know that this was Haruka’s doing. No one else in the lab, besides maybe Izana, would hire someone out to have him murdered; but even then, if he’d done something to seriously piss Izana off, he would likely be the one wielding the weapon, instead of paying someone else to do it. “It’s not safe out here, you know.”

Scanning the lawn, seeing nothing but growing shadows in the dying red sunset, he shivers. “I’m not sure it’s safe anywhere.” Reluctantly placing the vial back into his bag, Obi takes a cautious step towards her, pauses and frowns. “Wait - you were just going to... How do I know I can trust you?”

“You don’t.” Grinning over her shoulder, she waves the frightening bunny mask at him and begins to saunter away. His heart leaps into his throat. She’s a psychopath. She has to be.

But what choice does he have?

Fidgeting with the strap of his bag, the vials clink together and he puffs out his cheeks, debating. Option 1, he could stay here, alone, at the lab. Use the samples if he needs them. And, if he survives, talk to Zen in the morning about what had happened. Or, Option 2, he could place his trust and his life, in the hands of this tiny woman hired to murder him.

Neither seem like great options.

Risk being murdered by Wistaria-family enemies looking to get intel from the lab or risk being murdered by someone who was paid to do it, but has seemingly decided not to?

Coughing sharply from where she stands down the sidewalk, she tilts her head curiously. “I already said I wasn’t going to hurt you, didn’t I?”

“You did.” Clenching his teeth, rolling his head back to avoid her steady green gaze, he takes a steadying breath and focuses on the wispy red clouds overhead. Each second they spend standing here, the less light they have to work with and the more likely it becomes that he’ll wind up bleeding out on the sidewalk. He really doesn’t have a choice, does he? Defeated, he looks back towards her. A smug smile pulls at her lips. “I can’t believe I’m going to trust someone who just tried to kill me.”

“Oh, no. Believe me, Mister, I wouldn’t have to try-” she giggles, winks and jerks her head, beckoning him to catch up. He’s only taken a couple strides when she hums quietly, “- If I wanted you dead, you wouldn’t know it until it was too late. Lucky for you, seems my conscience decided to come out and play today.”

“Great.” This is a terrible idea. A horrible one, even. But, logically speaking, his chances of survival are significantly higher if he sticks with her. “How… comforting.” Maybe he should keep that vial out, just in case her conscience changes its mind.

[sabraeal]

Family, Duty, Honor

He’s been to a thousand places -- the shadows of Asshai, the great Dothraki Sea, the pits of Astapor, between the legs of the Titan, and even, once, skirted the edge of the corpse-city Stygai. He’s seen all of what this world has to offer; its highest luxuries and its darkest despairs, but still, still --

There is no greater fucking misery than the Riverlands in autumn.

They’ve trudged across every bloody inch of it to get here; it’d been Summer when they’d left Oldtown, the heat oppressive and sultry, the way he’d been used to in Braavos. Miss had wilted; he’d laughed and asked if she had caught some of the North from Miss Kiki.

By the seven, how long ago that feels.

Water pours from the heavens in great gouts, irregular and unpredictable as a drunk’s belly; one moment the skies are merely gray, clouds growing thick and dark, and the next he can hardly see an inch in front of him for the rain. It’s as if the damned Drowned God of the isles has stormed his way into the heavens to harangue the Seven, only to have a bit too much on the way. Maybe that’s why for as sodden as his priests are, every one of them is as dry as a bone once a bottle’s brought out.

Stranger’s prick, what he wouldn’t give to be dry. No matter how long the skies hold, the ground never dries. Every river ford is swollen, soaked like a whore’s cunt, and by the time they lead the horses over the last bridge, Obi’s ready to turn right back around, war be damned. He’d fly into the arms of Izana Targaryen himself if it meant dry clothes and a meal not cooked over a campfire’s flame.

A knee brushes his, the other mount dancing too close, and his breath catches in his chest. No he wouldn’t. He might play mumblepeg with his own life, but his mistress’s --

Never.

Her hands tighten on her reigns, breath stilled, and without even looking he knows -- she’s seen them. The towers of Riverrun.

“That’s it,” she breathes, at last. “The home of my father.”

His hand clenches, the squealing of his gloves lost in the downpour. He hadn’t been privy to most of that conversation in the twilight of Dorne, not of enough consequence to merit a seat with the lost heir of Tully and a Targaryen prince, but --

But the way Mukaze had spoken of it, he’d say it was more his prison. Just looking at those walls, at the way the Red Fork traps them on their isle – he could see it. See how a man would chafe, even in his silks.

“My family,” she breathes, so light a normal man would have missed it, would have thought it a sigh of the wind.

“Careful, Miss.” Dread knots itself in his chest as he stares at the gates. “These aren’t your grandparents.” These aren’t your people.

“I know that,” she minces crossly, “but blood means something to these people. High houses go to war over family.”

They also go to war with family, but he knows that thought won’t be welcome. Not now, not when she knows all too well what may happen between brothers.

Instead he tugs on his reigns, nudging his knee into hers. “When you’re ready, Miss.”

She takes a deep, gasping breath, like a man about to be submerged, and says, “Ready.”

All it takes is a flash of that Tully red to get them in the doors. Obi would disparage the security, save that it only seems to increase the wariness of the fish swimming next to them; the goofy, gaping maws of their helms swivel their way far too often to express ease. Spears and swords are held with white knuckles, their pale fish-faces held tense.

It’s been a long time since there’s been a Tully besides Lord Harmund behind these walls. Obi can’t help but think that’s by design.

The doors to the audience chamber swing open before them, and the great Lord Tully, lord of the Riverlands, sits hunched upon his throne. His hair might have been Tully red once, but winter and war had worn it gray. His eyes as well, though sharp, have washed from river-blue to the icy hue of its rapids. Everything about him is withered, worn, weary.

“Come closer,” he calls, his voice still strong, though reedy, as all these riverfolk. “I’d see the girl who claims to be my heir. The hair alone won’t do,” he tells them with a weak laugh.

Miss hesitates only for a step, and then she strides across the hall as if she owns it, as if she were born to it. He can only follow along in her wake, dragged as ever by her undertow.

“Ah,” Harmund sighs when she comes closer, his eyes fixed to her face. “I see it. You’re so like Joyeuse.”

Miss stares up at him, eyes watery, the ghost of her mother between them. The mother this man would have married, had Mukaze not spirited her away, and married her in some sept in Dorne.

“Bread and salt,” he blurts out, earning a glare from his Miss. “You haven’t yet offered us bread and salt.”

Harmund stares at him steadily, mouth pulled thin. “Of course,” he says, “bread and salt and all of Riverrun’s hospitality. My niece has returned home!”

Tully’s heir his mistress may be, but Obi is still just some skulk from Braavos, wearing a face from Asshai. When the lord invites her into his study for private conference, he’s not included in the invitation. The fish at the door make it clear enough, flopping their hands at him and telling him to wave his steel elsewhere. They don’t want a rough like him near their lord, or his lady heir either.

He can’t help the first, but they’ll gasp their last if they think they can take his miss from him.

They aren’t done until late; he tries waiting in her rooms, then his, but they don’t think to bring mercenaries up dinner, not even when they serve the heir. It’s dark when he sneaks to the larder, pouring himself a bowl of stew and taking a thick hunk of bread. He leaves the cheese; it’s made from cow, he knows, and the last thing he needs is to be spending a night in the garderobe. Not here, where despite Miss’s insistence, they’re surrounded by strangers and maybe even enemies.

She finds him, of course, tucked neatly into the hay loft, stolen prizes across his lap and half in his belly.

“There you are,” she laughs. It strikes him that it’s the first time he’s heard it since the war broke out.

He lifts his hands, bread still clutched in his palm. “Here I am.”

“I’ve been trying to find you,” she says, tucking herself into his corner, shoulders resting against his. The moon filters in softly, and for a moment, it’s just like late nights in Oldtown, summer burning hot even so far north. “I talked to my uncle.”

He grunts, dipping his bread into his trencher.

“It went well,” she tells him, almost reproachful. “I told him what had happened, what – what I found. I know Tully hasn’t picked sides, but I think he’ll do it. I think he’ll fight for Zen.”

If only he was as convinced as his miss that was the right choice.

“What’s wrong?” Her shoulder nudges into him. “You’ve been tense the whole time we’re here. Nothing has happened.”

“I don’t like this place,” he admits, grudgingly. “I don’t like the guards, and I don’t like being separated from you, and I don’t like this lord uncle of yours or the way he looks at you.”

“The way he looks at me?” She recoils. “Obi --?”

“He looks at you like you are your mother,” he presses. Her mouth hangs open. “I don’t think it’s occurred to him that you aren’t Joyeuse Arryn. That he can’t just do to you what –“

Voices shout from outside, followed by laughter and they both hush. It wouldn’t do for the heir to Tully to be found in the hayloft with her bodyguard.

“It’s misery out there,” Harmund croaks, shaking himself out as he walks in. He’s much haler than that day in the throne room had made him think, and it only makes Obi trust him less. It doesn’t help that the lords that he keeps with him, his closest confidants, are a hand full of Freys and a Blackwood.

“Fuck autumn,” crows a Frey, and all of them laugh. “At least it’s brought you a sweet bounty, my lord.”

“Aye, it has,” Harmund says, subdued.

“What will you do with her?” the Blackwood asks. “She’s a sweet thing. I hear the Tyrells have a boy, though he’s got himself some sort of reputation with the women…”

Miss stiffens beside him. She hadn’t thought of this, he knows. They could send her to Raj, try to cement alliances. He doesn’t have to tell her it would be good for Master.

“We’ve got plenty of boys at the Twins!” another Frey laughs. “She could have her pick.”

“Aye,” the Blackwood coughs, “as long as she likes a stoat for a husband.”

“I’m not marrying her off.”

Miss eases against him, her head dropping to his shoulder in relief.

“Not to any other house,” he uncle continues. “She’s heir to Tully. I won’t have her hand it off to some husband. I’ll marry her myself. Get a boy on her. Can’t afford to be weak with a woman heir in times like these.”

“Ah, so the sweet bounty is for his lordship,” a Frey laughs. “Not one to share?”

Miss is so stiff next to him, rigid, not even daring to breathe.

“It’ll be done when I return,” Harmund says, swinging himself up on his mount. “The septon’s already preparing. With my king’s permission, I’ll be a married man.”

She doesn’t dare to breathe until they’ve left, but still she sits, unmoving, staring out into the air.

“Miss --?”

With a sob she bolts for the ladder, scrambling down it so fast that he’s hardly stood before she’s out of the barn.

Damn. Damn. He sits back down, dipping bread into his stew. He knows better to give chase when she’d rather not be found.

He lingers over his meal, in no rush to lock himself away in Harmund’s keep, where the man is here or not. There’s no use searching it for Shirayuki; he might have, what seems ages ago, back when they were both in Wistal and the vipers seemed particularly deadly, but --

But he knows her better now. She’ll find him when she’s ready.

It’s sooner than he thinks; he’s only just slipped into his own rooms when he sees her small form perched on his bed, back hunched in misery. Oh, what he wouldn’t give for fate to be kinder, if only for her.

“You were right,” she sighs, voice still thick with sobs. She’s sounds wrung-out, ill-used. Obi can’t say he doesn’t feel the same.

“I wish I wasn’t,” he tells her, coming to sit on the bed, legs stretched up behind her. “If it helps any.”

“No,” she admits, “but I have a plan.”

His heart seizes. He’s known too many of her plans.

“He can’t marry me if I’m already married.”

It takes all he has not to leap off this bed. “Miss –“

“We’ll tell him it happened in Oldtown,” she decides, “a secret visit. Hid from his brother, since he knew he wouldn’t approve.”

“Oh.” His heart eases, even as it aches. “You mean Master.”

“Yes.” She stares at him with a question in her eyes, but doesn’t ask. “We’ll say he got a child on me. Another secret tryst. That way he’ll be sure to throw in with Zen’s armies.”

“Miss --” he shakes his head – “you can’t – it will be obvious in a few months that there’s no babe. And then –“

His words still with one soft hand laid on his chest.

“That’s why,” she says, suddenly too close, “there will have to be a babe.”

[snowwhite-andtheknight]

Calling ALL #obiyukibingo players:

Just like last year, we’re going to put up some FUN STATS for the final round up!

Each person who made at least one fanfic submission to obiyukibingo, please reblog this post with your final word count (totaled between all of your bingo submissions), either in the tags or in the post, it doesn’t matter.

Thank you!

[claudeng80]

Worth His Weight in Rice

A/N: This is an Edo Period AU, but set in the universe of Ooku: The Inner Chambers. In the early years of the Tokugawa Shogunate, a disease called the red-face pox ravaged Japan. It struck only boys, primarily in their early teen years, and left the male population devastated. By the time of this story, the male population has stabilized at about 1/5 of the female and men have been largely shut out of the trades and government. The conception of enough children to maintain a sufficient workforce is a constant national concern.

Many of the most capable and attractive men end up in the shogun’s inner chambers, a self-contained world in Edo Castle where they serve as the shogun’s secret army, her advisers, and her bedmates. The families left behind receive a handsome stipend, but the men are never seen again.

In accordance with this, many canon characters don't exist, while others are genderflipped.

The knife spins free of Obi’s hand, tumbling the distance to the ground, and it digs in with a muted hiss. He wobbles, frustrated, and the back of his leg stings with the snap of his aunt’s switch. “Pick it up and do it again,” she drawls, the cloud of her pipe smoke drifting above her head in the still afternoon. Cicadas drone in the distance.

Getting down from the post is a moment’s jump, a gentle landing in the sand. He may be only a few weeks recovered from the pox, not nearly back to full health, but he still should be able to handle something more than just landing without falling on his face. The knife is awkward in his hand as he wipes it clean, teasing the sand grains out of the grip. He’s outgrown these knives, so suddenly, but not yet earned the right to his next set. His cousins, taller and more capable, sneer that boys just aren’t suited to combat, he should stick to his poetry and calligraphy, but he’s too stubborn to listen. Failures like today make it harder.

One step over another he re-ascends to his post, silently balancing on the toes of one foot. He is a tree branch, a gargoyle, invisible there with his knives held hidden against his wrists. At the order, he would drop like a predator, dealing instant and silent death. His aunt waits until she’s satisfied with Obi’s stillness.

“Three dragonflies,” his aunt offers. He should be able to identify the crests of all the major families at a glance; knowing the symbols could be the difference between rescue by an ally and dying on the tip of an enemy’s spear.

“Niu, of-” He pauses to remember, and the switch stings across his leg again. He tumbles, landing unhurt but humiliated at his aunt's feet.

He makes to spring up to his feet, climb again and get back to work, but she motions with her pipe for him to sit. “I'm sorry, esteemed aunt,” he grovels. He doesn't want to be punished anymore, he just wants to get this right.

“Obi, what are you?”

“A disappointment.” He bends forward into a deep supplication, hoping somehow to avoid his fate.

“Wrong,” she snaps, and he looks up in surprise. “You are a treasure, the only son of our house. Your worth is infinite. Do not ever let anyone value you less than that. Even you.” Her eyes crinkle and she takes another drag on her pipe. “Now get back up there and show me what you can do, and have some pride this time.”

The line of women waiting for their turn at the shrine stretches down the hill, almost all the way to the torii gate. Obi’s borrowed horse dances beneath him, and he settles himself in the saddle to calm her. It’s been a long time since he’s had an opportunity to ride. He’s really not sure why he’s here now. “Is there a holiday I’ve missed?” he asks instead.

“No,” Zen answers. The daimyo’s second son shades his face from the sun, watching the crowd. “It’s been more or less like this since I was born, Lady Haruka tells me.” Obi stiffens at the mention, but it seems he really has forgiven them both. He’s an odd man. Obi hasn’t really figured him out yet.

Not that it’ll stop him from teasing. “So the gods should thank you for inspiring this popularity, is that what you’re saying?”

Zen blushes, shoulders rising with the force of his embarrassment. “No, it’s just that they say the Clarines domain is blessed, and they hope to take part in the good fortune. For anyone to have two sons is unusual enough, and when it’s someone as important as the daimyo herself-” He doesn’t have to finish, Obi gets the picture. Two sons born is a good thing, two surviving to adulthood is a sign of the gods’ involvement indeed. A blessing that cuts both ways, though. Surely the Shogun, always sensitive to the balance of power between the daimyo, has her eye fixed closely on the Wisteria family.

It’s a promising place for Obi to have washed up, though. Women praying for children are generally desperate enough to overlook a ronin’s status and pay handsomely for his assistance, so long as he can offer a chance to conceive. The long line takes on a new light of opportunity.

“I’ll likely be sent to Edo in the spring, when Mother returns,” Zen adds, yanking Obi’s attention back to the present. “I’d like you to stay, keep Shirayuki safe for me.”

“You’re hiring me as a bodyguard?” Working for Wisteria would be a nice step up from thug-for-hire. Might even pay enough to get his great-grandfather’s longsword back, reunite it with its partner tucked unaccompanied in his obi.

“I actually meant as a retainer.” He watches Obi’s face closely as Obi tries to keep his restraint intact. A permanent position, a home, a place to belong he hasn’t had since his family- Zen’s face is shrewd, and Obi realizes he’s underestimated him. This man isn’t soft, and his forgiveness is far from a weakness. He found a crack in Obi’s armor, the hope he’s been clinging to since his home burned and his family died, and now the knife is buried too deep to claw it out.

There’s really no choice but to accept. But he can’t make it look too easy. “Talk to me about my salary,” he purrs, and Zen smiles triumphantly.

The idea is Kiki’s, delivered in her usual manner. No flowery words, no particular attempt at tact, just “How about we sell Obi?”

Every head turns to look, not least of all Obi’s. “Pardon?”

“If they were to take him onto the ship, he could guard them from there,” Mukaze muses, finger running idly along the worn hilt of his sword. He sounds like he’s coming around to the idea.

It certainly wouldn’t be Obi’s first choice. He looks out over the city, wood-tiled roofs sloping down to the harbor where seagulls wheel and cry. In the distance, the ship rides at anchor, a single sailor in the rigging silhouetted against the glare of the ocean. Shirayuki’s on that ship. Four Lions of the Mountain, two Wisteria retainers, and one irritating ronin can’t match even a fraction of the pirates’ army.

The silence goes on too long, and when he gives up on Kiki and looks to the others, they’re all watching him. The women are smiling. “He could be pretty enough, I suppose,” one of the Lions offers. Toya wrinkles her nose in what could only generously be called begrudging agreement.

She’s still sore because he ran her down in the forest and beat her in a fight, so her opinion doesn’t matter. Plenty of women like him just the way he is, scars and all. The other Lions, save Mukaze, are all ogling him openly, which is fine, but Miho is joining in, and she can wipe that look off her face right now. She’s proved herself useful, for a sneak and a traitor, but he doesn’t have to like it. His preferences are not what’s important here. Getting to Shirayuki is.

If Master were here he’d think this was a terrible plan, but nobody’s offering anything better. “Fine,” he says, pulling his sword, his knives free of his obi and holding them out for Kiki. They click against each other in her hand and he swallows. She hesitates, and there’s nothing he’d like better than to grab them back, but instead he sheds his haori coat and adds it to the pile. It’s his fault she’s in there. This is the only way to get her free.

The blindfold is an inconvenience, but there’s plenty to hear as two Lions escort him through the town. Most of it is the same as anywhere, the hiss of sandals on shell, the cries of children at play, the ring of the forge. But in between are snatches that remind Obi it’s a pirate stronghold.

“The foreigners will pay well for the girl, I bet they’ve never seen hair like that,” he hears. “I hear they caught Kazuki. Think Umihebi can keep from killing him?” And then naturally there’s the murmurs that follow him, a captive man being paraded through the street. He’s no stranger to being of interest, but without his weapons he’s jumpy. He almost wishes someone would start something, something he could finish. He’s meant for fighting, not waiting.

At last feet thud on the wood of the dock, and one of his captors has a low conversation with someone waiting there. A strange voice calls out, echoes rattling off the wall of the ship and drowning out the waves underfoot, and after a minute another responds from above.

“What makes this one so special, that I should spend my hard-earned money on him?” A knowing smirk drips from every syllable, deep, slow, the voice of a woman secure in her absolute power.

“Turn,” his captor whispers, spinning him like a fish over a fire. It’s all he can do to keep his feet in his sandals. “He follows directions well, he’s healthy, and really-” she stops his turn with a jerk, and he jumps as a hand cups him, smoothing the layers of clothing over his buttock. He sighs, and her hands dart over him, moving him like a doll to show off his arms, his chest.

“You're enjoying this,” he growls. He may have earned it, in all fairness, but still. She leaves the front of his kosode dangling open, the sea breeze chilly against his skin.

“Maybe,” she whispers, then raises her voice again. “Boss’ husband got jealous, and we need him gone right away. A bit rough around the edges, but he’s a good worker.” Her lascivious tone makes exactly clear what work she means.

“Hmm.” Umihebi, because nobody else could belong to that voice, takes her time. “Are we dumpling-sellers, to shout our prices in the market? Come up, and we shall speak further of his value.”

It wouldn’t do to look too relieved. He should be shy, he should be frightened, but both of those are beyond him now. They’ll have to settle for docile, and even that takes all of his self-control to achieve.

The pirates, when they come for him, are less gentle than the Lions. Up and down ramps and stairs he’s pulled, and by the time the echoes of footsteps imply they’re in the hold, he's been groped more times than he can count. He likes women as much as the next man, but it's not the same when he can't see, can't move his arms. The sound of a door comes as a relief. “Behave with the redhead, love. We’ll be back for you soon.”

No they won't. Kiki and the others will see to that. If they fail, well, he has hands and teeth and years of fighting behind him. They won't get to the mistress while he lives.

There's a rustle of whispers. He's not alone. He yanks his hands from their bonds, tears off his blindfold, and she's there. Kazuki spreads himself in front of her, possessive even now, but Obi barely sees him.

“Obi!” She cries with relief and scrambles past Kazuki. Her knees, under the torn hem, are scraped. “You're all right. Are you all right?” Her hand closes on his collar, pulling it back to get a better look at where Toya hit him, and he flinches. She jumps back, and shame coats the other emotions already warring in his stomach.

“Are you?” Shirayuki’s priceless furisode is torn in several places, a strip of the hand-dyed silk binding up her dangling sleeves. Blood weeps from a scratch on her cheek, and he wants to rage back upstairs and tear pirates apart. Even more when she smiles at him, here, in a situation she'd never have been in if he'd done his job. His hands clench against the floor, still stinging where the ropes had rubbed. None of it matters. He forces his face into something approaching calm, so as not to upset her.

Maybe it doesn’t work, because she pulls back, hand hovering in the air. She’s not answering his question any more than he’s answering hers, but her fingers are shaking. “What are you doing here? How did you find us?”

As much as he hates to admit it, he's not going to lie to her. “Got some help. Kiki and the Lions have a plan, I'm just here to guard you and tell you that. Just wait, and you'll be on your way home again.”

The timbers of the ship thrum with the passage of water in the silence that follows, but at least now he has a chance to make things right before he answers for his failure with his sword. Accepting Master’s forgiveness yet again will be more than he can bear.

A month is a long time to be separated from his master and his charge, but when Lord Izana declares Obi’s the man for the job, nobody argues. It’s not long enough to make him comfortable in his old role again, but he must fake it well enough; the rebels accept him as a disaffected ronin, offering an entirely insufficient bribe but never even questioning his sincerity. Even when the Wisteria army bursts through their door, Haruka bellowing orders in the courtyard and Zakura’s sword flashing like lightning, they turn their backs on Obi. He slits three throats before they notice him.

Zen’s palanquin is waiting at Wistal Castle’s gate when the army returns, the cart packed with all his belongings standing by. Obi’s been on a high all the way back, elated at his first battle as an honest man, but he feels small and dirty facing Zen in the audience room. It doesn’t seem possible that this is the last time he’ll see his master, but Zen’s entrance into the shogun’s harem can be delayed no longer. His mother gave him all the time with Shirayuki she could.

“Get up, get up,” Zen motions him up from the floor. “The rebels are dealt with?”

“Most are dead, either in battle or by their own hands. Three surrendered, and Zakura’s making arrangements for them to follow you to Edo. There’ll be no question of your brother’s loyalty once they’ve given their testimony.”

Zen breathes out in relief, silk wrinkling as he sags in place, and Obi smiles. He’s fortunate he got to deliver the good news. “I brought you a present, too, spoils from the rebel hideout.”

Zen cocks an eyebrow. He should know better than to trust Obi by now, but Obi just can’t resist. The packet tucked in his sleeve is slightly smeared with blood, regrettably, and Zen handles it with caution. Obi doesn’t think it’s his blood, but he’s not about to look away and miss this.

Zen doesn’t disappoint, blushing near crimson at the first picture. “What!” He squawks, and Obi struggles to keep from breaking out in giggles. He’s in no shape to fend off Kiki should Zen order him thrashed.

“I’ll have you know Aneko is a very accomplished ukiyo-e artist, and her work is in great demand! You wouldn’t even be able to acquire these in Edo. Give them back, if you don’t appreciate them.”

Zen throws the open packet in his face, the top print sliding halfway out of the pile by the time it’s settled in Obi’s hands. Apparently the one with the geisha and the birds was all it took to make his master blush. “You know I can’t take this to the shogun!”

Obi sighs, straightening the pictures with a finger before tucking the pile back in his sleeve. “Fine. Her loss.” The silence stretches, somehow comfortable even now. He’s going to miss his master, and he doesn’t know how to tell him that.

Zen smiles, and maybe he already knows. “Try not to antagonize my brother too much,” he says. “He doesn’t think you’re funny.”

“He just-” Obi starts, but Zen interrupts him to finish.

“And keep Shirayuki safe. I’ll miss you both, and I don’t want her to be alone.”

Obi’s never seen a place less lonely than Garrack’s offices, but he keeps that thought to himself. It’s only natural to want to be remembered, to be missed. “I promise. She will come to no harm under my watch.”

Zen nods, but there’s something unsatisfied in his face. He never gets a chance to explain, though. A steward slides open the door to inform Zen that his brother is waiting, and they stand. Obi drops into the most heartfelt bow of his life with all the respect that he doesn’t have words for. Zen matches him, lingering for another breath, then turns to go. At the threshold he tosses back the last word. “I left you a present in your rooms. Something better than dirty pictures, I promise. Remember me when you use it.”

Obi doesn’t even clean up before going to see Shirayuki. She’s grinding some kind of green leaves into paste, counting under her breath, and he knows better than to interrupt. It’s enough to be near her, like drinking water after going thirsty for a month. And just after seeing his master for the last time, he needs the comfort. He can wait as long as she needs.

Her attention shifts so quickly she catches him unprepared. One second she’s engrossed in medicine, and the next her instantaneous smile at the sight of him is already shading into horror at his state. Maybe he should have taken the time to clean up, after all.

She’s on him instantly with no respect for personal space. He’s a patient now, so she sticks her fingers into rents in his clothing and pulls back his sleeves. “Where are you hurt?” she asks, almost as an afterthought.

“Nothing major,” he protests, but even so he shrugs his kosode off his shoulders, leaving it to hang at his waist. A stinging scratch across his lower ribs and a few nicks on his forearms have all long since scabbed over, nothing he couldn’t take care of himself, but he’s known Shirayuki long enough now to know she’d never trust him to do it. She’d have hunted him down in his own rooms if he hadn’t gotten here first.

They’re comfortably silent together as she scrubs the wounds clean, checking for any minute bits of dirt or cloth. “Did you get to see him?” she asks at last, eyes fixed to his bicep as she works.

“I did.” As bereft as he’s feeling, she must be even worse. She’d always known things would end this way but she loved Zen anyway. Obi has always admired her bravery, holding out her heart unguarded like that. “He didn’t like my going-away present. No gratitude.”

She frowns the way she always does when he makes fun of Zen. She’s never been comfortable with his over-familiarity with Zen, and it’s probably half the reason he does it so much, to get her attention. Did it. It’s going to take a while to think of Zen in the past tense, and he’s going to need to find some new ways to get Shirayuki to frown at him.

Because when Obi teases her into smiling, she gives as good as she gets, and that makes him forget. He forgets she loves another man when she laughs in his face, when she narrows her eyes at him and skewers him with a clever phrase.

She's glaring at his chest now as though it's told her something she really doesn't like. “You weren't wearing armor.”

Oh. She just now realized it. “I was a spy. If I stopped the dice game to put armor on, they'd have figured out something was-”

“You could have been killed!”

“It's just scratches, miss, you've seen them yourself. Nothing important.”

She huffs, yanking the last bandage a bit too tight. “Of course it's important! You're important!” She turns on her heel and stalks out of the room, leaving Obi speechless in the middle of the floor. He has nothing to do but pull his clothes back on.

He’s adjusting the fall of his sleeves, stalling, when there’s a step at the door. He looks up, hopeful she’s returned to explain, but it’s just Ryuu. He notes Obi’s presence but says nothing, just turns and adds a notation to a diagram on the wall. It’s ironic that one of the foremost experts on the red-face pox, the one with this generation’s best chance of defeating it, is not yet out of its danger. But Obi’s relieved to see that another month has gone by and Ryuu’s face is unmarked by anything more than the usual teenage complaints. He lets himself out to keep from interrupting.

It’s sunset by the time he slides back the screen to his own rooms, and in the last orange light of the day he remembers Zen’s present. It’s folded with an unearthly precision, a mysterious pile of cloth, and a symbol he hasn't seen in years winks at him from the top. He kneels, tracing the embroidery with a finger. He didn’t know Zen-dono even knew his family’s crest. It isn't exactly the same, he realizes, leaning closer. A sprig of wisteria arcs over the familiar pattern.

“Someday you'll have a problem that can't be solved by buying and selling me,” Obi laughs, his sleeves flapping in the wind. Shirayuki clings to his back, pressing his sword into his spine. Her feet slap against the horse’s side, but she’s stable enough he doesn’t have to slow down to keep her steady. It’s not the first time they’ve made a fast exit like this.

“You’ve been sold twice in the whole time I’ve known you. That’s not exactly a constant occurrence,” she argues. “And there were rescue plans all worked out both times.”

“You buying me back is not a good plan, miss. What if they’d wanted children more than they wanted money?” It’s more common than maybe she knows. Kept him from starving more than once, too, back before Zen took him in.

“Then I’d sneak in and steal you.” That he would pay money to see. His mistress is many things, but stealthy is not one of them.

“Couldn’t I just steal myself? Sneak back to you?” He slows the horse to a walk. There’s no sign of pursuit, and it’s a long way to the next town. Her fingers unwind from his haori to fix her hair, and she leans into him to brace herself. He glances over his shoulder, and she’s settling her comb. It warms him to see it, to know that she’d put on her best to try to get him back, and also to know that her best ornament was something he himself had given her.

He needs to change the subject. “So how much did I cost you this time?”

“Me, nothing. Lord Izana? Better you don’t ask.”

He throws his head back and laughs. How easily she spends their lord’s money. “I’m not sure he’ll be happy with the value you got for it. Such a poor steward, miss.”

She’s not laughing. “They really wanted to keep you. I overheard two of the women excited about all the strong children you’d bring them.”

He knows what he’d usually answer to that. When Kiki or Zakura questions his manhood while trying to dent his skull in the practice hall, it’s nothing to toss back a proposition, the more elaborate the better. He’s never meant a single one, but she’s caught him at it enough times to know this is how he reacts.

But this is his mistress, so while he’s got to say something, he tries to keep it clean. “Well, naturally. Who wouldn’t be? Can’t you just picture all the strapping little boys and lovely girls with these eyes?” It’s a weak excuse for humor, and the silence tells him it’s not working.

“Anytime you decide you want one, just say the word.” He's never known how not to take a joke too far.

Her response is a fist clenching in his clothing, and he doesn’t know what to do. Part of him wants to keep joking, keep everything light so she doesn't realize this is something he actually hopes for, but the rest wants her to have the whole truth. It's not easy to tell which side is winning.

When she speaks at last, he can barely even hear her over the hoofbeats. “Obi, have you ever thought of me?”

Only about every minute since he took Haruka’s money to bar her from the castle, since the first time she said his name, since the first time she turned that unbreakable focus on the pulse in his wrist. He was never, never not thinking of her. “What do you mean?”

Her hands twist in his clothes again, and this time her forehead presses against the back of his shoulder. “It’s not important, never mind.” She lifts her head again, her voice clearer when she’s not talking to his back. ”I don’t know whether I should be sorry I risked losing you or sorry I took you away.”

“Neither, miss. I’m right where I should be.” She’s still silent, so he assumes his comfort has flown wide of the mark. He still doesn’t know what she’s getting at, what she wants to hear from him, but his heart is beating fast with the excitement of escape and it makes him reckless. “How many times have I told you now I’m staying right by your side?”

This time he risks a look back to see what she’s thinking. Her eyes are so green, so innocent, and he feels naked before her. He doesn’t know how much longer he can balance on the brink of the truth, telling her the shape of his desires in such a way she’ll never believe him. Maybe he doesn’t want to hide it anymore.

He’s trying to figure out how to start when she finally speaks again, barely a whisper against his shoulder. “What if I didn’t want children now?”

If that’s how she’s going to turn him down, it’s one of the oddest rejections he’s ever heard, but at least she got here before he really bared his feelings. He forces a smile, eyes forward, so there’s no way she’ll hear disappointment in his voice. He’s trying so hard he almost misses her words. “Would you-  Would you still-”

Every nerve stands on end, and the jolts of the horse’s hooves are too much to bear. He misses her warmth as he slides down from the saddle, but the look in her eyes as he turns back to her tells him this is the right decision. Her hair’s windblown again already, her comb ever so slightly off center, and she clasps her hands in her lap. Her knuckles are white until he nudges her fingers with his own, then her hands fly apart. He can’t tell whether she’s reaching for him or away.

“The answer is yes.” Her eyes track every move he makes, not that he can do more than breathe until she answers. “Whatever you’re asking, it’s yes.” It’s not the time for hiding anymore.

The horse shifts, driving her hand into his, and she grabs it tight. “You’ll stay with me.” It’s not quite a question. It’s the truth.

“Always.” The wedding outfit Zen left him is folded in his room, piled safely under every other piece of clothing he owns. He’d scoffed, at first, but now- It feels like hope. He doesn’t know what he can offer her, what she wants, but if there’s any chance he could make her happy?

He wants nothing more.

The look on her face is giving him far too many ideas, and he’s going to do something ill-advised if he can’t get her smiling soon. “We could start now,” he offers. “Looks like a nice spot right here.” He manages to keep his tone level, but his mouth goes dry at the thought of spreading his robe on the forest floor and unwrapping her there between the blowing grass and the shifting shade.

“You’re shameless.” That isn’t a yes, but it isn’t a no either, and her lips curl in a way that makes him smile in return, makes the desire easier to bear. “As tempting as that sounds, I don’t think now is the best idea.” That really, really wasn’t a no. That almost sounded like-

He laughs. He wants her so much, but she doesn't need to know how he's dying at the very thought. “Just say the word.”

The silence lasts just long enough for him to decide he’s gone too far, he's misunderstood everything-

“I will,” she says.

There’s nothing more to say to that, nothing he can add until they get back to Wisteria and his hands are free. He’ll gift himself to her forever, and her regard, her respect, her heart are more than he ever dreamed he could be worth. He gives himself away for free, and never has he felt so valued before.

[bubblesthemonsterartist]

"To make it official that... I've hired you." (Chinatown movie quote!) -- I'm always partial to obiyuki but do whatever inspires you. Smut isn't necessary but I certainly wouldn't say noooo if you're inspired in that direction :3

“This is ridiculous.”

Obi mutters something, pins caught between his teeth and blunt nails scraping along her scalp. It makes her toes curl, eyelashes fluttering shut. 

“Sorry.” Shirayuki doesn’t squirm - he needs her to stay still - but it’s hard when he’s standing so close, crowding her back in the corner of a side alley. “I didn’t catch that.”

He rucks up his nose, freeing one hand and pulling the pins from his mouth to slip them into her hair. 

“I said.” It pinches as he clips one into place. “Notif you work it to your advantage, it isn’t.”

Her eyes water as he slips another one in. Ugh. This was awful. Why couldn’t she just leave her hair down? “Can’t I just walk in and ask?”

His face crinkles in a most distracting way. “In this town?” he hums. “Nothing comes for free, doll.”

Shirayuki exhales noisily, the third pin sliding in with far more ease than the first two. “Then why don’t you do it?”

“Why Miss,” The tremble at his lips breaks, a grin spreading across them. “I may be nice to look at, but you got something I don’t.”

Her face goes hot. “What’s that?”

His teeth are white and sharp. “Feminine wiles.”

“Feminine what?!”

“You do have a body under there, you know.” His hands depart from her hair, ghosting down herneck and unpopping the first button of her high collar blouse. He’s already on the second before it even registers that he’s- he’s manhandling her. “You gotta give em a bit of ashow.”

She slaps his hands away before he can unbutton a third. “Excuse me?!”

His eyebrows reach for his hairline and he cups the air in front of his chest. “Show some tits, doll.”

Of all the nerve-

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” Shirayuki grits her teeth, undoing the third button and holdingopen her collar with enough force that pops a fourth button, “but I don’t have anything to show.”

Obi’s eyes flicker down for half a second - to check, she’s sure - and his cheeks go high with color. He looks away, coughing. “I guess we’ll just have to work with what we got.” He gestures to her waist. “You should probably, um, hitch up your skirt, too. Show off the gams.”

Shirayuki outrage immediately turns to dismay, her jaw dropping as she stares down at her pleats. Sure, her skirt was modest, but it was fashionable and did he have any idea how many hours it took to iron them in? “I’m not-”

His hands are at her are already at her waist, rollingher skirt up and she sighs, arms slack and her side and head tilted back. The sky is gray above her. It’s always gray in the city. “This is not going to work, Obi.I’m 5′2″. In heels. I don’t have gams to show.”

He huffs, tugging at her hem until bunched up fabric falls. Somehow, it doesn’t look horrible. “It’s not whatyou got. It’s how you use it.”

“A man would say that,” she mutters, turning awayfrom him to smooth down her blouse.

His mouth goes slack. “I’ll have you know a woman toldme that.”

Shirayuki gives him a withering once over from head to toe. “I’m sure she did.”

She turns to cross the street.

“Wait!” he calls after her. “What do you mean by that?”

~ ~ ~

Obi’s office is stifling when she returns, the ceiling fan and open window doing little but push the air around. Stacks of papers float around his desk, radio humming the Beatles-

And he’s napping, feet propped up on the desk and hat covering his face, because of course he is.

It is with no small pleasure that she drops the files from as high as she can onto his desk with a loud, ear piercing smack. All the miles of his limbs startle straight and he sits up, staring up at her from across the desk. She smiles.

“You’re back!” He looks happier about that than she expected. “And look!” he picks up the top file. “You got the files. Looks like I was right about flashing a little skin, Miss!”

She crosses her arms. “Property sales are public record,Obi.”

The pleasure slaps clean off of his face. “Oh.”

Shirayuki taps her foot once. “Isn’t that something a Private Investigator should know.”

He stares up at her sheepishly. “Oops?”

[k-itsmaywriting]

jazz hands but they’re a bit embarrassed (Music Majors!AU)

On Monday night, Obi paces outside Practise Room 408.

It’s…stupid, so stupid. It’s not the first time he’s asked someone out, yet why is he having so much trouble?

It must be because it’s different, he thinks. He’s asked people out on dates, to get coffee, see a movie, go for dinner, whatever. But he’s never asked someone if they would like to specifically come see him play jazz piano at the bar Suzu works at on a Friday night – no one knows about those gigs.

Well, except for Suzu and Kiki, because Suzu recommended him to the owner and Kiki plays bass in the same band…Not that he’s ashamed of it or anything. He just doesn’t exactly know how to say I play jazz every Friday at a bar my friend works at to everyone he meets.

But still.

He has his chat with Shirayuki open on his phone already. Their history is all there – the many all-nighters of relaying mp3 files of their compositions, Shirayuki’s ramblings about biology and his about romantic period music, and the occasional meme about the struggles of composing. Talking to her is always fun. They only see each other once a week since comp is Shirayuki’s non-science elective, and he probably looks forward to those Monday mornings more than he should.

Obi slaps his own cheek, stuffs his hand in his hoodie pocket, and starts walking through the hall, typing in the chat.

“Hey Shirayuki…”

Hold on, he’s never opened with that before. He backspaces.

“Heyyyy my guy…”

Nope. Too casual.

He tosses possibilities out of his mind as he walks down the stairs, crafting the text, a harmony of hey I really like being friends with you let’s hang out and but I kind of sort of want to be something else maybe but I’m trying to be low-key about it. The thoughts drum around his mind, spinning around and around. It almost makes him dizzy with how long he holds his breath while striding through the building.

So much that he doesn’t notice the soft guitar strumming or the soft voice that fills the hall on the corner of the first floor.

As he turns the corner to leave through the back exit, he really doesn’t know how he misses it. He suddenly freezes, and she’s there, sitting outside Practise Room 119 right by the doors. Shirayuki, singing.

He…he’s never heard her sing before. He’s pretty sure she tells him she can’t. But the song is definitely from her, soft but a little fleeting like fresh air in spring.

Shirayuki tilts her head and her hair falls away from her face, gliding through sweet melodies. Obi sees her eyes are closed, and she sings like she’s just listening, breathing. She’s beautiful when she’s in her own world, without a care, except…

He...kind of needs to get out that way…

The music suddenly stops, and he hears her voice hiccup.

Ah, shit.

Shirayuki’s shoulders are tense when he looks at her this time. She’s frozen, eyes almost bulging out of her head as her face and neck flush a humiliating red.

Obi clears his throat, cocks his hip to the side. He looks chill, right? “Woah, hey, Shira—“

He’s never seen anyone pack a guitar into its case and run out a building so fast in his life.

The door swings a few times in the wake of her rush, the only noise in the new silence.

All he can do now is look at the text, still unsent.

He has no idea what he’s supposed to do now.

On Wednesday morning, Yuzuri asks Shirayuki if she wants to go to a bar on Friday.

“I was telling Suzu I was looking for somewhere quieter and he said the place he works is a jazz bar off the main street, so…” she shrugs, “guess he’d be right? He says he can get us free drinks if we want. Wanna come with me this Friday?”

Shirayuki hums from underneath her blanket burrito, distracted.

“…You still thinking about Obi from Monday?”

She peeks her eyes above her blanket. “Yes...”

Yuzuri sighs. “It’s really not that big of a deal. He probably knows it’s because you were embarrassed.”

“But Obi of all people! One of the best musicians in the entire class! And the cute boy from comp who I’ve told a million times I can’t sing but I didn’t tell him I do it anyway!”

“Wow, really dug yourself a hole there, didn’t you?”

Shirayuki turns in her bed, dragging more of her blanket over her shoulder and groaning.

“Anyway,” Yuzuri says, “Do you want to come on Friday? You can put on that new dress you bought and just…drink cocktails and listen to jazz for a couple of hours. It’ll be a nicer than thinking about how you totally blew your chance with a cute boy from uni where, quite frankly, everyone does embarrassing shit, so.”

Shirayuki slowly peels her blanket away and sits up. She lets her hands fall into her lap, and she takes a deep breath. “Okay. I’ll come.”

On Friday night, Obi can bet real money that Kiki is internally laughing her ass off.

“We’ve got a double kill tonight. Suzu tells Yuzuri he works here, and she comes with Shirayuki.” Kiki steps into the tiny hallway to the dressing room. “I don’t know whether this would be a curse or a blessing for you.”

“It’s a curse,” he groans. “It’s gonna be awkward.”

Kiki is holding back a snicker. “But have you seen her yet?”

Obi presses his forehead against the wall and knocks a fist against it. Twice. “Black lace cocktail dress…”

“Don’t feel bad, you don’t look too shabby yourself.” Kiki steps towards him and pinches some of the black button up near his wrist. “You match. How cute.”

“That wasn’t really the issue.”

She smiles. “I know, but you wouldn’t be the only one that would fancy seeing each other here.”

Shirayuki can feel herself smiling.

While Yuzuri and Suzu chat away, Shirayuki sits with them at the bar turned the other way, drinking in the blue lights underneath elevated floors and across the edges of ceilings with her glass just against her pink lips. She takes another sip.

It’s a nice place. She thinks she prefers this over clubs with synths blaring in her ears and too many bodies against hers at once, even if this is a little pricier. More people are just starting to fill the lounge chairs around the room, and she can hear the continuous ring of a cymbal in the corner.

Suzu taps her shoulder, and she turns around. “The band’s gonna start playing soon. I think you’ll recognise another person tonight too.”

Shirayuki tilts her head at Yuzuri, but she doesn’t seem to know either. She looks back to Suzu. “What do you mean ‘another’?”

“Wait, shit, you’re not here for—“

Strolling piano chords cut him off, and they all turn towards the little stage across the bar. Shirayuki can only see the saxophonist under the front light, swaying under its halo. She doesn’t know them, so she looks to the left where there’s a glint of light off a grand piano.

The pianist’s back is turned, but Shirayuki can catch fingers lightly hopping between full chords, pressing a little deeper on the beats, stretching and drooping time with the muffled saxophone. But his arms and shoulders wrapped tightly in black follow his hands, like he’s playing a Chopin nocturne—

Hold on…

The pianist and saxophonist turn to each other, both minds and music in perfect sync. They dance over steady splash cymbal, and that’s when Shirayuki catches gold eyes on the night sky stage like a star.

She spins around to Suzu over the bar, whispering, “Obi?!”

Suzu’s lips are stretched thinly as he leans back away from the counter. He barely nods. “Yup. And might as well do the spoiler – Kiki’s on bass.”

“Since when?!”

“Since probably like…the beginning of this year? They were looking for a pianist and a bassist so I was like, hey I know some really cool people who just started uni here and are looking for some work, and here we are.”

Shirayuki turns back around and leans back into the edge of the bar. She…she just didn’t know he played jazz. She’s seen him strike lightning in the keys and other times lean forward while his fingers rippled over them like water in a lake. But now that she listens to his them dance in rainy New York City alleyways, she feels that the way he pulls, raises and falls is the same. And it’s beautiful.

Well, to be fair she never told him she sings even though she doesn’t think she’s any good…

She lets herself curl up in the comforting jazz that’s warm against her skin. She finds herself smiling again, bigger this time.

Soon, the song ends, and Kiki leans over towards the saxophonist’s microphone. She greets the guests nonchalantly, since half of them probably aren’t listening, and clears her throat. “Obi has a special performance of his own tonight.”

That doesn’t seem to be true, because Obi’s body suddenly tenses.

“Gershwin’s three piano preludes, please welcome him.”

There are a few cheers, and Shirayuki knows Obi isn’t backing out with the way he sits back upright, letting his head roll back for a moment. Even she can internally hear his groaning.

He plays by himself for ten minutes, but it feels like two with how tightly captive Shirayuki is in his music. The band takes a break after another few songs together. The instant the drummer and saxophonist are off the stage, Obi sneaks off his stool towards Kiki.

Yuzuri taps Shirayuki’s shoulder. “Suzu said Obi’s been preparing the Gershwin for quite a while now,” she says. “This was the first time he’s played it at the bar.”

“Really? It was so good! I never knew he did jazz. Did you?”

She shakes her head.

Shirayuki looks towards the piano again, but as she turns Obi freezes halfway across the bar. He smiles sheepishly at her. She can’t help but smile back, and hops off the seat to walk towards him. “Hey, Obi. I’m…” she suddenly doesn’t feel as confident anymore. “Sorry I ran away on Monday. I was just…embarrassed because I know I always tell you I can’t sing yet I was right there...”

He blinks. “Oh, uh, no, that’s…that’s fine. I understand. I was just confused and thought for a second like…you weren’t going to talk to me anymore or something…?”

She nods slowly.

“But uh,” he stuffs his hands into his trouser pockets, “I think you sounded really nice.”

Shirayuki lets out a laugh. “Thank you, you play really, really nice jazz. Suzu told me you’ve been working on it for ages.”

He coughs. “Yeah, it was uh…I’m kind of trying to impress someone.”

Shirayuki really hopes the dread isn’t showing on her face.

“Who…” She starts looking around, hoping he doesn’t notice the heaviness in her chest. “Who is it? Are they here?”

Obi grips his shoulder. “Yeah, you.”

She stops. She blinks up at him a few times because did…did she hear that right?

“I…I really like you, Shirayuki. I know we don’t talk all the time and we do different degrees but I really love class with you and talking to you. And…I was gonna invite you on Monday, but then, you know…” he grimaces. “I told Kiki about it, but she saw you here with Yuzuri and put me on the spot.” Even under all his embarrassment, all his awkwardness and nerves, he laughs. “I’ll have to thank her properly later. I don’t think ‘Kiki what the fuck was that for’ cuts it.”

She can’t find her words. She just gapes at him, but before she knows it she says something. It barely comes out of her chest, but she manages. “I really like you too, Obi.”

His grin lights up the entire room, and Shirayuki swears she’s never seen a brighter sun or star than this.

Kiki suddenly walks up behind Obi and smacks a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, we’re going back up now.” She peeks from the side and smiles at Shirayuki. “Love your dress, looks good on you. Right, Obi?”

Obi turns to face Kiki, serious, and he says, “Thank you, Kiki, for being my friend and listening to me talk about my hopeless crush on Shirayuki.”

Kiki furrows her eyebrows, then glances at Shirayuki. “You know she’s right there, right?”

“Yeah.”

She laughs. “Cool. But I do apologise, Shirayuki, I need to drag this pianist back onto stage.”

Shirayuki nods and watches as the two cross the bar. She’s about to turn to go back to Yuzuri and Suzu, but gasps. “O-Obi!!”

It’s louder than she thought – the entire band looks in her direction. But there’s no turning back now. She clenches her fists, summoning the loudest voice she can. “Do you want to go out for dinner sometime this week?!”

The bar fills with cheers and whoops while Obi beams at her again. “It’s a date!”

Shirayuki’s breath falls from her chest as her hands fall to her knees, and she’s laughing to herself.

She tells Yuzuri all about it, even though she just watched the whole thing.

[codango]

Chapters: 1/5 Fandom: Doctor Who, 赤髪の白雪姫 | Akagami no Shirayukihime Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Obi/Shirayuki (Akagami no Shirayukihime) Characters: Obi (Akagami no Shirayukihime), Shirayuki (Akagami no Shirayukihime) Additional Tags: Crossover, Prompt Fill, Alternate Universe - Doctor Who Fusion, Medical School, First Meetings Summary:

Looking back, Shirayuki questioned the exact moment when her good sense left her. Was it before or after the screeching blue police box materialized in the common yard of her apartment complex? At 2:16 p.m. on a Tuesday? Like it was a thing to do?

Most likely, her common sense had fled at least a little before then. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have been quite so comfortable with approaching it.

Well. Comfortable may not be the right word. There were many words that described her experiences whirling in orbit around the Doctor. But comfortable probably wasn’t one of them.