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kirayaykimura · 1 year

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live fast die young

It wasn’t unusual for Shirayuki to see a stray spray of blood she wasn’t expecting in one of the back areas of Izana’s club, but the amount of blood she encountered upon rounding the corner to her office gave her pause. The bodies littering the floor gave her another.

“Hello?” she called. When she received no response, she quickly scanned the hallway, finding a mix of familiar and unfamiliar faces. The darkest part of her was relieved to find no one she was incredibly close with. There were a few security guards she passed by on a semi-regular basis and a woman on the finance team.

Shaking off the thought, she stepped into a puddle of blood next to the closest man - one of the unfamiliar faces; young enough that his cheeks stubbornly clung to their baby fat - and bent down to feel for a pulse. When she found none, she sighed softly.

“May you find peace in the next life,” she told him, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze before moving on to the next.

In total, she found only one with a steady heartbeat. Torou, thankfully, had pulled through. Though Shirayuki had never been very close to Torou, she had been dreading having to pass along the bad news to Obi. With a bullet in her shoulder and a through and through in her calf, Torou wasn’t doing spectacularly, but she’d make it. All she needed to do was survive Shirayuki hauling her off to the medical office a few feet away. At the first tug, Torou let out a faint, pained moan.

“Good,” Shirayuki said. “You’re still with me.”

As soon as she said this, Torou gave a sharp cry of pain before fainting completely. Alright then. At least she wouldn't need to be careful anymore. Though Torou was not a large woman, dead weight was always a challenge. Usually she had help, but help was not a luxury Shirayuki could afford to wait for at the moment. She needed to get Torou somewhere safe and somewhere without a bunch of unknown blood around an open wound. Through sheer force of will and the muscles she’d gained hauling soil to and from her tiny garden at home, she managed to get them both into the safety of her office with minimal issue. Then, she quietly locked the door and did a sweep of the room. At first, it seemed as if they were in the clear, but then a hand raised up over the desk in a clear sign of surrender, causing Shirayuki to jump.

“Hey,” Obi croaked a moment later when it was clear no weapons were going to make their way to his face. “What’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?”

He peeked over the desk at Shirayuki, and even in the dim lighting she could tell he was pale. With the cabinet behind him open, she could only assume he’d been shot as well and was attempting to stitch himself back up. She was about to scold him for trying to fix himself again when she was right there with actual training to be able to do what he was attempting when his eyes fell on Torou at her feet. Impossibly, he went more pale.

“She was out there?” he asked.

“You didn’t know?” Shirayuki asked.

Obi shook his head. “I was dealing with a few guys in the front, then a couple more in Zen’s office. After that, I took the back way in here to avoid bleeding all over the nice carpet.”

Shirayuki wanted to tell him he deserved to bleed wherever he needed to bleed, but that was never going to come out right and she did have more pressing matters at hand. Namely, seeing if she could dig the bullet out of Torou’s shoulder before either it migrated or she woke up. It was so much nicer to do surgery on people who weren’t awake and screaming in her face.

She set Torou’s feet down and rounded the desk to find her suture kit open on the floor beside Obi, everything still neatly in its place. The only evidence it had been tampered with at all was the streak of blood along the edge of the kit and the needle and thread Obi was currently holding.

“It’s like I knew you were coming,” he said, holding out the needle and thread to her. The needle was unthreaded. He was likely shaking too hard to thread it, judging by the way his hands jumped in hers when she took everything from him. Even if he could patch up the giant gash in his thigh, the steadily oozing wound in his side would be too awkward to reach by himself, especially in his current state.

“Did you cauterize this?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

“As the poet M.I.A. once said, live fast, die young.”

She took a lighter out of the kit and lit the nearest candle. It would be nice if she got to light them when people weren’t bleeding out on her floor, but she supposed she knew what she was getting into when she agreed to work for Izana.

“You need to sterilize things before you stick them inside yourself,” she said.

“I was kind of working on borrowed time, miss. Wasn’t exactly thinking straight.”

Shirayuki just gave him a look that said, I know but I’m not accepting that excuse, as she held the needle over the open flame for a few more seconds. She’d do a quick patch up of Torou’s leg before diving into her shoulder.

“I’ll do you next,” Shirayuki told Obi. Since he was alert and nothing appeared to be currently lodged in any part of his body, he’d have to wait for her to circle back to him.

His lips twitched the way they did before he was about to tell a joke, and then he suddenly went still. A moment later, she understood why. Footsteps and faint whispers echoed from down the hall.

“Hey,” Obi said, voice softer than usual. “Shirayuki? Can you do me a favor and run? Fast as you can.”

Shirayuki’s fingertips went numb. Faintly, she said, “You called me Shirayuki.” It was not the part of the situation she should have been focusing on. She should have focused on the way his smile slipped deeper into a grimace the longer she looked at him, or the way he was less leaning against the desk than letting the desk keep him upright. There were clearly more pressing issues to be worried about, but what came out of her mouth was that.

He shrugged through a grimace. “I’m selfish like that. Now go.”

Well, that certainly wasn’t happening. Not when things were so dire here. Not when he was saying nonsensical things like her name and losing blood and being serious. No. She went into the medical profession to be able to save people. There was no way she was going to walk away and let Obi fight a battle he clearly didn’t think he would win.

“Give me your gun,” she said, mind made up.

“Miss-”

“Give me,” she said, holding out her hand expectantly, “your gun. Please.”

“You should go. Save yourself.”

She simply stared at him, palm open and waiting.

Obi caved first. He always caved first. Especially when she put what he called her no nonsense face to good use. With a sigh that was, concerningly, much less dramatic than normal, he said, “I don’t have a gun.” He gestured to the bloody tear in his side that meant something had clipped him at a very high speed as he flipped a knife up and out of his pocket with his free hand. “Brought a knife to a gun fight like a rookie.”

“Well, don’t do that next time.”

Obi snorted, then winced. Right. Not the time to make completely valid statements she knew he would take as jokes.

“Do you know where we could get a gun?” Shirayuki asked. She crawled over to press an ear up against the door and heard a faint thump, followed by a less faint, “Goddammit.” Under her breath, she said, “We could probably use one pretty quickly.”

“Are they outside?” Obi asked just as quietly, leaning around the desk to eye the door like watching it would keep whoever was on the other side out.

“Do you have a gun stashed anywhere in here?” Shirayuki whispered. Though Obi’s weapon of choice was a knife, she knew for a fact that he still stashed guns for other workers in various locations throughout the place. She’d never accidentally found the one in this room, though, so he must have hidden it pretty well.

“I don’t have one.”

At her look, he said, “Honestly. None of us keep a gun in here.”

“Why?”

“It’s dangerous.”

“We’re actively being shot at now. This whole line of work is dangerous.”

“And I was trying to make it less so. Not having surprise guns around was part of that process.”

“We’ll talk about this later. Do you think Torou has one?”

“Probably not. If she-”

Shirayuki skimmed her hands along Torou’s legs and found a small one strapped to her inner thigh. She rolled Torou safely into a corner before deftly removing the gun, checking to make sure it was loaded, then aiming it at the door. It was lighter than anything she’d ever handled before. Hopefully it wouldn’t take her too many practice shots to figure out how to compensate for the difference. There was no telling how many people were outside, and surprise could only give her so much of an edge.

“Whoa,” Obi said, watching her test the gun’s weight against her palm. “You look pretty comfortable there, Annie Oakley.”

“My grandpa started teaching me how to shoot when I was about five. It’s been years, but I think the muscle memory is still there.”

“You’re gonna protect me?”

Shirayuki didn’t take her eyes off the door as she said, “Of course.”

This turned out to be the right call because the person behind the door chose that moment to kick the door in. It took them a couple of tries, door frame splintering under the force, and then Shirayuki was face to face with someone she had seen once. Only once.

She shot him in the knee.

It had not been a good first impression. She was determined to leave a worse second impression.

The man howled in pain and dropped to the floor. She made quick work of the other two, giving them all non-fatal injuries. Well, non-fatal if the injuries were treated soon enough. That was up to them, though.

“Are you going to try to shoot us again?” Shirayuki asked, kicking away everyone’s visible weapons. She didn’t drop her guard, though. She still had one bullet left in her gun and it was going in the head of anyone who tried her again. She only received pitiful moans, but no one reached for anything hidden so she was counting it as a win.

Just as she was trying to decide how to tie them up before tending to, well, everyone bleeding out in her office, she heard the frantic steps of someone not trying to sneak up on her.

“I know that run,” Obi said. In her periphery, she watched as he finally succumbed to everything and fainted while Zen rounded the corner, stopping just long enough to breathe a sigh of relief that she was okay. She, in turn, breathed a sigh of relief that Mitsuhide and Kiki weren’t far behind him. Finally, some help moving bodies.

____

Hours later, once everyone had been stitched up and declared stable, once everyone who had tried to break in had been sent off to be dealt with the way club owners dealt with these events, once Shirayuki had at least cleaned her hands and changed her clothes (though her shoes were a lost cause; that’s what she got for wearing white Keds to work), she sat next to Obi and said, “Next time you want to call me by my name, just call me by my name. You don’t need to die for it.”

Obi was silent for a long moment before he said, “Okay.”

#obiyuki #obiyukimadness23 #you called me x #if you think to yourself 'hey what is this?' don't! it's a trap! just vibe babyyyyyyy #snow white with the red hair #my fic #jen i hope you're proud of me that after a year of posting for events i've finally remembered to title my works without prompting #did you all know 'concerningly' isn't recognized as a word?#i used it anyway #english is nothing but a bastardization of like 14 different languages #i'm just doing what my forefathers taught me

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batgirlsay · 11 months

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Mockingjay and the Miner

A Hunger Games AU Playlist for Obiyuki Bingo 2023 by @snowwhite-andtheknight

After a few songs with general Hunger Games vibes, I chose songs with coal mine and childhood crush references that are mostly from Gale’s point of view (with some Katniss trauma in there too). Similarly to how I like both Zenyuki and Obiyuki, I also like both Hunger Games ships for different reasons, but Gale fits better for Obi feels!

Mockingjay and the Miner

Dead Air- Chvrches Deny It All- The Dear Hunter The Gold- Manchester Orchestra Diamonds and Coal- Incubus The Silence- Manchester Orchestra Safe and Sound (Taylor’s Version)- Taylor Swift You’ve Haunted Me All My Life- Death Cab for Cutie Rear View- Manchester Orchestra

Summary lyrics are cited after the cut:

Dead Air- Chvrches

I will never believe what they say There is a strength in enduring

You will be all that I seek in a twisted light

We hold up to an idea And we'll fight it, what we can't see

Deny It All- The Dear Hunter

The hollow stick to arrogance that binds But good faith and fortune rarely reward our cries While we wait carefully and see

Denied and borrowed tonight Deny, deny it all And it all will go away Close your eyes and deny it all

The Gold- Manchester Orchestra

Couldn't really love you anymore You've become my ceiling I don't think I love you anymore

That gold mine changed you You don't have to hold me anymore Our cave's collapsing I don't wanna be me anymore

"You don't open your eyes for a while You just breathe that moment down."

I believed you were crazy You believe that you love me You and me, we're a daydrink So lose your faith in me

Wasn't really dangerous for us We'd just catch you coughing What the hell are we gonna do? A black mile to the surface Well, I don't wanna be here anymore It all tastes like poison

Can't open your eyes for a while You just beat that moment down You can't open your eyes for a while You just breathe

Diamonds and Coal- Incubus

If it’s good to complicate then both of us are doing fine Just keep your eyes on your part and leave me alone to mine

Come on, in spite of this we’re doing just fine Even diamonds start as coal Give us time to shine Even diamonds start as coal

We’re both aligned in frame of mind, but circumstance has got us good And now you’re seeing a side of me I wished no one ever would

The sweetest things They burn before they shine We think way too much Look at us losing touch A promise is a promise until

The Silence- Manchester Orchestra

Why do I deserve the science To feel better about you? At a loss, I lost my cool I denied that I found you I tried to be a basket case I did not surprise you I'm trying to find a signal fire Let me know when I should move

But you, amplified in the silence Justified in the way you make me bruise

I don't want to waste away It was all I gave to you Take me back and take my place I will rise right up for you Nobody's gonna tear you down now "You can go anywhere but you are where you came from"

Let me watch you as close as a memory Let me hold you above all the misery Let me open my eyes and be glad that I got here

Safe and Sound (Taylor’s Version)- Taylor Swift

I remember tears streaming down your face when I said, "I'll never let you go" When all those shadows almost killed your light I remember you said, "Don't leave me here alone" But all that's dead and gone and passed tonight

Just close your eyes The sun is going down You'll be alright No one can hurt you now Come morning light You and I'll be safe and sound

You’ve Haunted Me All My Life- Death Cab for Cutie

You've haunted me all my life Through endless days and countless nights

You're always out of reach when I'm in pursuit Long-winded then suddenly mute And there's a flaw in my heart's design For I keep trying to make you mine

And so I wait, but I never seem to learn How to capture your diminishing returns I still see you through the eyes of a child Not even thinking we could tame the wild

Rear View- Manchester Orchestra

You were born in a bathtub on Deer Lake and the cradle collapsed And I promised I'd give you a mansion, I'm afraid this is it

Still, you're the reason I'm breathing, the soul in my step I've been running out of excuses, but nobody checks Scream when you need me, in fact, you can scream when you don't I'd rather sit here with you screaming than sit here alone

The fire in the rear view is smaller, the further we get

#obiyukibingo23 #obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #playlist #lyrics #hunger games #the hunger games #chvrches #manchester orchestra #the dear hunter #incubus #taylor swift #death cab for cutie #so many coal mine feels #oops shirayuki is the miner in this chapter cover!

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social-mockingbird · 11 months

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Obiyuki Dystopia AU: A Playlist

so this is a bit unconventional, and I hope it counts! instead of making a playlist with songs that fit an Obiyuki dystopia vibe, I ended up making one of those playlists that tells a story with the song titles. I took a humorous route because these playlists are so much fun when they’re funny. read left to right, top to bottom. enjoy!

@snowwhite-andtheknight

(please let me know if I need to do something else!)

#obiyukibingo23 #obiyuki #obi #shirayuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #vera writes #this was so much fun to come up with a one-sentence story and see how much coherent plot I could fit in #and also to imagine this because I can see this VIVIDLY #also some of the capitalization ended up working for voice inflection and Obi’s dramatic self so that was fun

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gabriella0807 · 2 years

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AnS cover art observations:

-A retrospective essay, starting with the recent cover art.

This is my first analysis of anything ever, and it became longer than expected. English is not my first language so I hope I could express myself well. The following text contains my subjective opinion, I don't intend to convince anyone. However, I hope that it will inspire some of you. Thank you in advance for reading! 💛✨

On the volume 25 cover I just noticed that red string on Obi's belt. Some red ornament hangs from Shirayuki's dress too. (Both accesssories have some blue and golden gems at the endings.) Maybe the one Shirayuki wears is insignificant, still, it matches Obi's string. Could the string Obi wears be a symbol of the red string of fate? 👀

I took a look at previous volume covers, to see if Zen also wears something that can serve as a red string of fate symbol, and yes, he does. On volume 17 and 21 covers, where the string is at his heart's side. So it seems, the red string theory is not an absolute Obiyuki win, yet.

Sidenote: on the back cover of volume 21, there is a beautiful Obi, by the way.

Now let's go back to the volume 25 cover a bit.

They don't just wear matching clothes but also the same bracelets. And that shape above them reminds me of a bow and arrow, which could be a reminder of how they met. That glowing stone in the middle could also symbolize the stone Shirayuki gave Obi. They are also sitting close to each other, almost face to face. I know, there's not much space on a manga cover, but still... their knees almost touch... and they are just calm and natural in the other's presence. The ambiance is warm, cozy and kind of intimate, in my opinion. I get honeymoon vibes here. 😳

And not to mention, this is their second time that only the two of them are on a cover. The first time was in volume 11. Which shows the opposite vibe of the 25's cover, and another main dynamic regarding their relationship. While they can simply drink tea and chill together, they can also have a lot of fun and laughter.

They have matching clothes and almost exactly the same necklace. Obi's clothes look like a guard uniform, but we've never seen something like that before. Also, the necklace can serve as a new identity tag. So it can be a foreshadowing to their future on the north in Wilant castle. They are back to back, arms laced, Obi lifts Shirayuki -her legs are probably kicking the air. They're just having fun and they are worryless. The whole scenario looks like some celebration event. It is playful, cheerful. There are yellow, red, green roses, but the wind blows white petals around them too. I get wedding vibes here. 😳

What's strange for me, that there's no volume where Shirayuki and Zen are alone together on the front cover, not like Shirayuki and Obi, which could mean that...

...even the covers indicate the Obiyuki endgame. OR Sorata-sensei is just waiting until the final book, when Zenyuki marry, to draw only Zenyuki on the cover, to make it special. But who knows. I wonder if it's a general expectation to have the endgame couple on the cover. Because of that, I also searched some of my favorite shojo manga's covers to get some proof. And the endgame couples (only the two of them) were on some of the covers. But in the case of AnS it may be an exception, and Zenyuki can be endgame anyways, and just the two of them don't need to be on the covers. But why is Obiyuki on the cover already twice, then?

The only occasion Shirayuki and Zen are together on a front cover is in volume 4:

BUT Obi is also there, and he's the largest on the pic. Zenyuki is in the background. This is the volume where Obi gives Shirayuki the iconic trinket (in chapter 17), so that's why it's tucked in his breast pocket (at his heart's side). He is also holding a bouquet of white flowers (roses?) with yellow wrapping and golden ribbon. The trinket, the wrapping and the ribbon matches Shirayuki's clothes. It looks like Obi bought the flowers to give it to her. Is it a foreshadowing? I hope so.

This is it. It is possible that I see too much into these things, I know, but I wanted to share how I see these covers. I'm still half agony half hope for Obi&Shirayuki.

What do you think about the mentioned matters?

•

Honorable mentions:

Obi is by himself twice on the covers, and he looks dashing.

This is the cover of volume 8, where in the story Obi finally takes off his shirt revealing his scars. That's what the cover indicates. Also we get to know just a little bit more about his past.

On the pic, Obi is in the forest, probably it's autumn, and he's holding one of the orange-red leaves. And he gives it to Shirayuki on the back cover. May not has a great meaning, but it's such a lovely gesture. Still... for me it is special. What's more, Shirayuki is smiling and slightly blushing. Wholesome, heartfelt moment.

And finally, here's the cover of volume 22 to bless our eyes once more in this post:

I like that both times when Obi is alone on the front cover, the coloring is warm, and his appearance is stunning. Here he is holding some paper, and if I see properly, on it, there is a drawing of Shirayuki and Ryuu. (For their trio went to a soirée together for the first time in that book.) Furthermore, I love that Obi's hair is brushed differently, and he makes a sort of serious face.

Thank you for reading. Blessings! 💛✨

#obiyuki #ans #ans manga #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #akizuki sorata #shiraobi #obi x shirayuki #shirayuki x obi #shirayuki #obi #obi ans

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bubblesthemonsterartist · 1 year

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Hooray for drabbles!!

AnS, obiyuki. with whatever vibes you get from the song "the author" by Luz 🥰

https://open.spotify.com/track/0uqFo6F9DppKZtwm3zhG3s?si=ZjvSbjdVQRutdoUR6ratqQ&utm_source=copy-link

“It’s stuffier here than I remember.”

Shirayuki looks up from her letters. Obi cuts quite the figure these days, the ornamentation of a retainer finer than anything his wage as a commanding officer could have afforded. The threads seem heavier, though. No longer a sign of improvement in station but… a weight.

One that she feels, too.

“Obi?”

“I haven’t seen the ocean in years,” he sighs. “I miss fresh air.”

“Oh.” The floor falls out from beneath her. She had always worried that this day would come…

His hand stretches out between them, bare and vulnerable. “Come with me?”

#bubbleswrites #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #obiyuki #drabble #100 word challenge

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jhalya · 10 months

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2, 3, 8, 11 and 17 for fanfic asks!

2. Yes, I read / reread my own fics. After all, I am my first target audience :) I generally like what I write and I have learnt to be okay with okay. Sometimes, I surprise myself with a funny line and I'm happy all day long.

3. Favorite fic that I've written? Oh, I don't really have one, tbh. Right now, my most favourite fic is one I wrote for the Obiyuki DoSiDo and it kills me that I can't share it yet :))

8. I have sooo many projects! I'm working on the second Obiyuki DoSiDo fic which is - mostly vibes at the moment, but cute ones. Then there's Long Years..., my Haladriel long fic which is somewhat outlined, but motivation for that one goes up and down tbh. It has gotten more love lately, which I appreciate it and am mystified at, given how weird it is :))

11. I don't do playlists while writing. The Obiyuki DoSiDo challenge is the first time I've worked with one and it is super interesting.

17. Well, I know a bit about what it means to suffocate in space :3

#ask meme #fanfic edition #thanks zee!

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sabraeal · 1 year

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I posted 24,543 times in 2022

That's 2,898 more posts than 2021!

88 posts created (0%)

24,455 posts reblogged (100%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@bubblesthemonsterartist

@ponyregrets

@infinitelystrangemachinex

@akai-vampire

@ninox-ios

I tagged 4,603 of my posts in 2022

#ans - 586 posts

#arcane - 572 posts

#spy x family - 547 posts

#fmab - 476 posts

#twisted wonderland - 317 posts

#obiyuki - 270 posts

#hakuouki - 158 posts

#akatsuki no yona - 154 posts

#a:tla - 115 posts

#bnha - 110 posts

Longest Tag: 138 characters

#also i love the look obi and shirayuki give each other when she's like you must find your vocation. it's two adults just being like 🙄kids

My Top Posts in 2022:

WFB, Tanbarun arc: Obi meets the real reason she had to leave everything behind.

[Read on AO3]

Obi can admit: even after spending the day with Umbrella Corp’s heir apparent, even after knowing that Richie Rich couldn’t find his ass with both hands-- but in a nice way-- he hears the tiny tyrant’s little proclamation and thinks, what’s his game?

He may not be on the fast track to Summa Cum Laude, not like Doc-- and apparently this kid, if Daddy keeps paying out that Big Pharma money to keep his grades at the top of the curve-- but Obi doesn’t need any fancy academic distinction to suss out that Raj’s celebratory kegger idea belongs straight in the ‘godawful stupid’ pile. And with the quick way Doc goes bloodless at the offer, the air’s got that tangy Calculated Insult taste to it.

That is until he squares up right in front of this Timothée Chalamet looking motherfucker and is blind-sided by his bright-eyed, dummy wide smile. Despite the vibe in this room reading like the end of a slow-burn thriller’s first act, this idiot thinks he’s doing everyone a favor. The kid somehow took one look at Annie Hall here and thought that her brand says vomits Pabst Blue Ribbon as an extracurricular. There are times where Obi considers his past gold star failures and thinks he’s nature’s worst clown, but Shenezard-- Shenezard could fill a whole car.

“Raj,” Doc chokes out, looking like she’s two steps from a body bag. “That’s very...generous of you, but you don’t really--”

“No, no.” Between blinks, Raj springs forward, seizing her hand. “Shirayuki, you are the generous one, coming here after all this time to make amends--”

“I’m not,” she reminds him, steely, like the tooth of a bear trap. Or maybe the blade of a guillotine. “I’m here to present a paper.”

“--So you must give me the opportunity to be likewise magnanimous.” One hand may be taken, but the other’s free to snap, loud as a gunshot in the empty foyer. “Sakaki, see to it.”

His lawyer ventures a weary glance, closing his briefcase with a final snap. “Mr Shenezard, you know I can’t be party to providing alcoholic beverages to underage students.”

“Right.” His fingers snap again; the brothers passing by flinch. “Brian will take care of it.”

One of them-- the tall one, built like a linebacker with boat shoes that earn the name-- sighs. “Aw man, not again.”

“I told you, dude,” the other one mutters, pushing him through the doorway. “You can’t make eye contact.”

Raj doesn’t even bat an eye, just stares down at Doc, flushed with victory. “See? Simple. Get yourself ready, Shirayuki,” he warns warmly, “for tonight you will be fêted!”

Between Princess and Prez’s egos, there’s no elbow room for any other opinions on the frat’s event committee, but even still, Obi knows there’s some logistical issues to putting together a kegger in barely five hours. It’s the sort of thing he’d worry over if he thought for one second that Doc wanted anything to do with this half-assed excuse for a hook up, but she flees the scene the moment Raj gets distracted enough to drop her hand. It’d be a shame to get all heated when she’s already hanging out a window, escaping the only way she knows how: dangerously.

Real kind of Doc to save him the hassle; if he had to concern himself with her tender feelings, why, he’d barely have time to agonizing over what to wear. Since that’s apparently how he’s going to spend the hours between dinner and drunk o’clock: staring at his backpack full of clothes and hating every stitch on them.

It’s not like he didn’t bring nice stuff; Chief had briefed him-- and Big Guy, and His Lordship, plus a hastily emailed primer from the Big Boss with a rubric for sartorial formalities-- but he can’t exactly wear a sports coat to a keg stand. Maybe CEO Barbie could wear her designer pantsuit and not get a drop on it, but Obi doesn’t have the sort of face that can wear business formal like gym shorts. And the rest of it...

Well sure, jeans and tees would match the vibe; certainly be a step up from the early December board shorts he’s sure will be in fashion tonight, but it’s not-- not--

Hot. His Majesty said this trip would only be four days, a quick jaunt over state lines to see to it that Kihal’s momentary expulsion wasn’t in vain. Packing light seemed smart. He didn’t need to bait the hook when the only item on his itinerary was a poster session and an academic dinner.

He still doesn’t need to; his whole job here is to make sure Doc isn’t eyeing any third-story windows, not his ass. She’s six inches of leg and a drawer full of Victoria Secret away from being his type anyway, and he only came here because-- because--

Her hand had look so pale against the checkered tablecloth, so limp, like it hadn’t been held in years. Like she’d given up on someone being there to take it. He’d held it in the car-- still wet and clammy, a complete accident-- and even now it burns in his memory, the first warmth he’d felt since someone put five inches of cold steel beneath his rib cage. And stupidly, his first thought was, Doc deserves someone who would.

His second is, I’d like to be that someone.

It’s a fucking mystery why. Sure, he-- he likes her, in a real Disney Channel Original, baby’s first crush way, but this whole situation he has at Wistal is a glass shoe, set to shatter the moment he has a diploma in his hands. The last thing he needs is a reason to cling to the shards, expecting more than anyone wants to give him. Besides, he knows by now-- they could hug him and squeeze him and call hims George, but Obi’s the kind of guy who sees and open door and runs through it. There’s no point to being more friend than the job entails. Not unless he wants someone putting up flyers to find their lost Obi, at least. It’d certainly be a first.

“Right.” His palm scrub over his face, muffling out the rest of the world for just a second. That’s all he needs to remember what’s important here. “Just put something on, asshole.”

It’s a stupid thing to worry about. If these clothes didn’t smell like musty library, he wouldn’t even--

Something flutters, right at the corner of his eye. Not big enough to be a threat-- he can tell that right off, but it definitely didn’t come from his stuff. No, looks like it blew out of the trash, pushed along by the sudden burst of hot air from the vents. His mouth tilts, sliding right into a smirk. Speaking of flyers...

Phi Sigma Pi Crunch Time Kegger, this one reads; he has to squint to see the grainy oval in the center is just a photo-realistic barrel. $5 at the door. 8pm on December--

Ha, well. Look at that. It’s today. What a coincidence. Seems he’s not the only one concerned about what’s covering his ass.

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27 notes - Posted March 11, 2022

The Opposite of Shame

[Read on AO3]

It should be easy.

That’s what Zen had said they paddled the last few yards into the canals, a stream of water curled onto his palm, shaping itself into a pearl, too precious to even touch. At least, easier than what you were doing, he’d laughed, letting it splash back down into the water, splattering into Mitsuhide’s lap. After squeezing water out of vines, a whole city of it should be nothing.

And yet sweat beads at her brow when she tries to coax a trickle from its slow currents, dripping from her fingers like a recalcitrant cat. Her boots brace against the ice, and she hauls, the way laborers would, pulling and straining and still-- it flops back down to the surface, swallowed up by ripples like it never left at all.

Shirayuki sprawls right back onto her rear with a huff. That’s what she gets, bending with only half her head. Maybe if she was still ho-- where she came from, she might have managed it. There was something about knowing every vine curled around her window and every plant in the streets of Ba Sing Se that made the motions come easier to her, that made bending nearly mindless. But here...

Ba Sing Se may have been raised from stone, but there were trees there, gardens. Little window boxes where grannies raised their kitchen herbs and children tended their mother’s flowers. In Agna Qel’a, it’s all...ice. Ice and snow and water a shade warmer than freezing; a paradise for a waterbender like her, one who had always hidden her skills lest some neighbor suspect she was the Avatar. Water was next in the cycle, after all, and to see a child with green eyes bend something besides stone would bring her before of the Fire Lord faster than the Earth prince could snap. Even the ancestors would be hard pressed to say what would happen to her when he found out she was simply mixed-blood, a waterbender wearing an earthbender’s face.

And yet this is not the safe haven she imagined, the home she had yet to find. Instead it’s barren, as cold and uninviting as Master Haruka. A woman need draw no more than a dram, he’d said, voice cracking like a whip in the temple. Any more risks being unseemly.

Unseemly. She gets her feet beneath her, letting her attention slide alongside a likely stream. Haruka’s voice echoes in the confines of her skull, What does a healer need that couldn’t fit in a skein?

Healer, he said; woman, he meant. How Kiki could come from a place like this, her bending honed to a blade’s edge, and yet its Master Bender could still say to her face-- impossible.

Her teeth grit, cheeks flushed. Zen might have warned her at least. He’d made this place seem like a refuge, like heaven, like home, and now not only does she have to worry after Haruka, but even Raj--

She can’t think about that. That’s the whole purpose of this: to not think about it. Another thing that’s supposed to be easy. After all, Shirayuki forgets things all the time. Meetings, meals, sleep-- it all fades away under the sinuous stretch of leaf and vine, her fingers reaching and stems rising to meet the motion, as easy as putting on a glove.

But that’s not what it’s like here. Not when it’s so cold that algae barely blooms. Hard to lose herself when every surface reflects her face.

“Lookin’ pretty serious there.”

Shirayuki concentration shatters, easy as a plate on a pub floor. The stream of water she’s pulled-- larger than she’s ever managed before, even if it still wiggles and drips against her control-- drops, tumbling back into the canal with a plop, big enough to soak her boots.

No, both their boots.

“Ah, uh...” She doesn’t know his name; a realization that pulls her up screeching a moment too late. They’ve only met twice, after all-- once when he tried to scare her off, and again when he caught her at Laxdo. Each time he’s appeared like fog off the water, disappearing just the same way, intangible and unannounced. “Sorry.”

Satisfaction glints like a knife’s edge in that man’s eyes, as if he suspected he might get this reaction. Or worse, meant to do it.

Well, that’s what he gets, anyway, coming up on her all unaware like this, a strange man in a strange city. He’s lucky she doesn’t have her plants, otherwise he wouldn’t have much room to be giving her smirks and sly eyes.

“Don’t worry about it, Miss.” His shoulders twitch, a distant cousin to a shrug, as he shakes off his feet. “I was asking for it sneaking up on a lady all alone like that.”

It mollifies her to hear him admit it. Just a little. “Here, let me at least--”

Her hand flicks out, ready to wick the water off him-- it’d be rude not to-- but he shuffles away with a laugh, his own warding her off.

“I said don’t worry about it.” His smile is wide, if not a little lop-sided. “You barely got me. It’ll dry off on its own.”

She frowns down, eyeing the waterline on his boots, wet splotches climbing all the way to his knees. He can say what he likes, but it’s freezing at the poles, and even dry he’ll still be cold. She should really--

Her teeth clamp down, keeping her protest locked behind them. There’s no reason for her to worry about a man that only shows up to cause her trouble. “What are you doing here?”

His grin sharpens to a point, through strangely, she’s sure it isn’t aimed at her. “My my, young miss. You may not wear a necklace like these water folk, but that question has teeth.”

She lifts her chin, stubbornly meeting his eyes. “Should it not?”

For a moment, he’s still. Not the way a person is, all hitched movements and stifled breaths, but the way eel hound does before they strike-- motionless. More like a statue than a living being.

And then his mouth splits in a grin, tongue clucking against his teeth. “And after I caught you in my arms, too. Folks just aren’t as grateful as they used to be.”

Shirayuki stares, confused. “Used to--?”

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28 notes - Posted July 29, 2022

900 Followers: Pick Your Adventure

The pairings have been chosen, and now it is time for you to choose what you would like to see! Each pairing has four options, let me know which fic you like most for your holiday gift. Voting is open from today, 8/25, to Friday evening, 8/26!

VOTE HERE

30 notes - Posted August 25, 2022

At Your Command

[Read on AO3]

Written for @kaedix‘s birthday! Kimber requested an Ella Enchanted AU, and I originally set out to write a canon universe one where Obi had the obedience curse...and I made something close to that, and yet entirely new as well...

The carriage pulls up right outside the alley; even in the street’s shadow it shimmers with shellac, like wet cobbles on a dark night. With all the hansoms that clog Port City’s arteries, it’s unremarkable, just another box among many. Save that it’s here, where no one with the money to hire a cab would be caught. And save that it’s arrived right on time, just as he’s been told it would.

A boot hedges out of the shadow, followed by a narrow limb, stretched enough to be part shade itself. The carriage merely waits, hunkering down at the alley’s mouth with all the gravitas of a fat tabby used to table scraps. It could play this game all day, its hefty shape says; could he?

He edges out the barest bit more, letting the light from The Beggar’s Barrel fall across the knife-sharp planes of his jaw. A tilt of his head sets one eyes to flash like a coin, stark beneath the low-slung band of his cap. A dangerous look, he’s been told, the kind that keeps bigger boys from trying to roll the one who’s skin and bones. That’s the thing about being skinny; all it takes is a good, feral grin, and only fools want to feel out your edges.

It gets the job done too; he’s hardly got his chin up from his collarbone when the door swings open, revealing an even deeper dark inside. “Get in.”

It strikes like a whip’s lash, the air knocked clean out of him. “Me, milord?” He gives a hearty laugh, making a good show of peering around the narrow alley. Good thing there’s not enough light to show him sweat. “You’re sure you have the right pl--?”

“You are Nanaki, aren’t you?”

His soles itch as he shuffles closer, trying to stave off the burn. Another breath or two and he’d find a long walk over hot coals more pleasant than standing here. “Today I am. Though maybe tomorrow I’ll feel like someone else...”

A shadow shifts in the dim of the cab, not small. “I have little patience for mummery. Hurry up.”

He’d likened those words once to a goad to an ass, but tonight-- tonight he has to catch himself before he stumbles. There’s not much pride in him, but what’s left refuses to meet his client on hands and knees, crawling up the steps like a cur. He’s got a reputation to keep, after all.

“Your wish,” he grits out through clenched teeth, taking those stairs in a single bound, “is my command.”

The inside is black as pitch and just as sticky, the shadows clinging to the corners as stubbornly as a stain. Still, he catches velvet beneath his palms, the cushion plump as any young miss, not the aching black lacquer benches of one of the city’s hansoms. Plain it might have looked from the outside, but this is no jumped-up merchant’s night out. Whatever money bought this is old, like the quarter itself.

He’d stretch his other senses to the task, but there’s no need; once the carriage has clopped and swayed itself to smoother cobbles, the shade snaps up. Lamp light pours in, painting the cab in gold.

Hardly necessary; this man is made of it. His business has never extended much to textiles-- too much speculation for his blood-- but the fine weave on that wool coat alone would fence enough to keep him well fed and warmly housed for a year, fingers firmly in pockets. That doesn’t even account for the linen of his shirt, or the brocade of his waist.

His fingers scour runnels through velvet. This man isn’t money, he’s a noble. No wonder even the barest command from that mouth sets him scrambling.

It’s not the first time a man more title than name has sought him out-- he’s got a reputation after all, a good one. A knife with legs, a man called him once, and he’d liked that just fine. A tidy little image; one that keeps the unsavory types from trying to stiff him. But this man-- this man looks nothing like those small, sniveling lordlings looking for a sure answer. No this one, this one--

This one could be a killer himself. If the calluses on his hands are a hint, he already was. Men don’t get ones like those from playing around in the training yard. This was a man used to fighting.

No, a man used to winning, unless he mistakes his guess. A dangerous sort to get in bed with, and a lethal one to get in business.

Well, let it never be said he passed up a bad idea when it sat itself in front of him. “Nice ride.”

The lord grunts, displeased. “Tell me how this works.”

His mouth itches the minute the words hit air. It’s not like this with everyone; most times he’s got a few moments-- maybe even a few minutes-- to dance around, to let them replace a strict order with a weaker one, maybe even slip the lead on the whole thing altogether. But his lordship here wields commands like a rider holds his reins, and oh, he’s not in the habit of letting a bucking stallion keep his head free.

“Well, I’m not sure of the mechanics.” His teeth flash, an effect lessened by the glare of the lamplight. Hard to seem so dangerous when all of him can be seen, black washed out to gray. “But the hitch the horses up front, you see, and then the driver--”

“Not the carriage,” his lordship snaps, brow furrowing like a thunderhead on a horizon. “They say you’ll do anything a man asks. Tell me how it works.”

There it is; the trap closes, and it’s steel teeth as far as the eye can see.

“Command me, mister,” he drawls, stretching his legs as long as they’ll go. It’s enough to pass beneath the bench on the other side, his lordship giving a censorious sniff. “And I must obey. That’s my gift.”

At once, the storm breaks, and with a terrible certainty, his lordship grates out, “No, boy. That’s your curse.”

It’s not that he expected business to be concluded in a rattling carriage-- that’s the sort of thing one of those merchants might do, the ones that want to curry favor with the First Prince by aping one step up on the food chain-- but he’s got to say, he doesn’t see the palace coming. A clandestine location sure, maybe even the guy’s townhouse if he’s got a misplaced sense of confidence, but most blue-bloods seem to know that you don’t flaunt your private problem solve right under the royal’s nose.

Then again, His Highness has been up wooing the North for the past few months. Turns out all those old ladies were right: when the cat’s away the mice will play. These ones just dress nicer and aim a little higher than stealing cheese.

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33 notes - Posted March 22, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

900 Followers & Holiday Gifts!

Way, WAY back in the early months of 2022, I got quite the influx of followers and this happened:

Which means that, as is traditional, I will be posting every Friday in December with fics of my followers’ choosing! And since last year was obiyuki focused, this year will be about non-Obiyuki pairings, including those from other fandoms! Which means I’m going to let you guys tell me what pairings you’d like to see!

From today, 8/21 to Tuesday, 8/23, I will be collecting pairing suggestions via ask! I will pick the pairings I am most interested in writing, and on 8/24 I will put those to a vote!

ASK AWAY!

33 notes - Posted August 21, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

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obiyuki-beebs · 4 years

Text

“If I could unspool the thread of our story from the wind that blows through my hair I might wrap us around my fingers Like I do with the stems of the flowers you’ve ripped for me. I might spill us like ink across eggshell parchment, And then name it Chasing Rooftops.

I’d etch us into the neon of NO TRESPASSING signs, Into the reflection of where we shouldn’t be Yet still are.

Yet the words between our pressed palms are not just the tiles beneath the stars, But the blues of the Mediterranean, The understanding of stolen glances, My lifted skirt as you twirl me beneath your arm, on the smooth spine of a street at night.

Maybe if I’d listened to the stars that night, When you were chasing rooftops alone, I would have taken your hands and your lips as my own And not sat as still as the crowds we now dance through.

We chase rooftops like we chase sweet silent moments, Like we speak through stolen glances, Like we dance in a still crowd.”

- Margherita Bassi

#phew #poetry #not by me #obiyuki vibes

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makethiscanon · 3 years

Note

Heewuu! I really love your content and our dedication to our Tailman! I've been craving for some fluff with him for a while now... I really wanted to request a best friends to lovers in a fantasy au (noblewoman reader and assassin Ojiro). Thank you so much and have a wonderful day!!! 💞💞💞

Okay lemme start off by apologising for taking so long to get to this Ask. I've had the fic written for a while but I really wanted to post this on Ojiro day because I actually really like it and there's a high chance I've already evolved this one-shot into a multi-chapter novel. (Also thank you for the ObiYuki vibes if it was intentional. They're one of my OTPs so I jumped at the chance to do a Shirayuki style piece)

A Royal Favour | (Ojiro x Fem!Reader)

Age Rating: G

Word Count: 5k

Tags: Fantasy AU, Royal AU, First Meetings, Slow Burn

------

What absolute rot.

Embroidery. Embroidery. What good were flowers stitched onto handkerchiefs when it came to war? How, pray tell, were you supposed to defend yourself with a needle and thread if your enemies stormed the castle? Your mother had her head screwed on backwards, you were sure of it. Here you were, embroidering carnations onto silk patches in your tower while your brothers spent their time in the courtyard, learning to swordfight with the knights. You didn’t care if you were a princess and they were princes – this was totally unfair.

“But mother,” you complained, poking yourself in the finger with your needle for the umpteenth time. “Surely my future king would want a queen who can look after herself? What use will I be if all I am taught is sewing and singing?”

“Until you are wed, my dear, your usefulness is to us.” Your mother, the Queen of Thribb, announced while she sat beside you and unpicked one of your failed attempts at stitching roses. “Singing and sewing are what will attract you a husband. They are the tools every woman needs in order to court.”

“But—”

“Once you have a husband – a suitable husband. A duke, or more favourably, the prince of a flourishing kingdom – you may twitter his ear off until he teaches you what you want, but for now you must try to present yourself as a couth young lady.”

Your mother’s fond but all-knowing smile did nothing to improve your sour mood.

You twisted your head away, listening to the far away sounds of swords clashing as you looked across the room to the open window.

“If I can’t present myself as I truly am, I can’t imagine I’ll have a very happy marriage. He may be in for a surprise when I reveal I am more than just a singing canary who sews his robes.”

The Queen chuckled, setting aside your failed stitching so she could stand, then leaned down and kissed you on the crown of your hair as she glanced outside.

“My child, you are a surprise worth having.” She placed a hand on your shoulder. Never more so than now could you feel her experience as a noble as she spoke with certainty and compassion. “One must sacrifice on the way to queendom, but you will find, as I did, that they are sacrifices worth making.”

“I shall not hold my breath.” You mumbled, but smiled and touched your mother’s hand all the same.

Looking out from the tower, you could see far beyond the kingdom of Thribb, past the Great Forest and towards the mountains of Drultam. The world was so very vast. You resented how little you had seen of it, particularly in comparison to your three overly-privileged brothers. Somewhere out there was your freedom.

The ways of this world meant your dreams came secondary to your duties as princess. You could not begin your life until you sat upon the throne of another kingdom, so to wed was your first priority.

But to wed you had to both find and charm a prince, and a charming princess you most certainly were not.

“I shall be in this tower until I die.” You declared glumly, hardly thinking it worth the effort to embroider flowers now. Your mother smiled at your wilful nature before sighing.

“Don’t be so silly. You have the rest of the castle-grounds to wither old in and die, too.”

You did not appreciate her sense of humour. She decided to leave you to pout, turning as she made her way to the tower door.

“I suppose I ought to check on your brothers. Our poor knights are bound by duty to aid them in their studies, but I do think it was a rather cruel trick by your father to have all three of my unruly sires practice swordsmanship at once. I shan’t be surprised if I’ve lost one of them to Sir Bakugou’s short temper already.”

You held the side of your finger against your lips to suppress a gleeful chuckle at the thought. Perhaps if Sir Bakugou really did lose his temper, you would have a shot at the throne and finally be taught something worthwhile.

Keeping the happy thought of your brothers’ timely demise very much to yourself, you waved to your mother as she bowed her head in farewell then left your chambers. You listened as she descended the stone staircase then sighed once she was gone. Without your mother to oversee you, the idea of slacking off very much appealed to you but you supposed if sewing meant your eventual freedom, you couldn’t abandon it yet.

Handkerchiefs and flowers were the symbols of love granted to you to give to men in your favour. Apparently a simple declaration of affection was not enough, and the in-thing was cryptic flowers embroidered on fabric. Pink carnations for thanks, purple tulips for royalty or red roses for romance. Then, of course there were the fabrics themselves. A single pink corner meant I cannot live without you, while an entirely lilac handkerchief meant please meet below my bedroom window. What was more, you were expected to carry this great collection of declarations in your bosom. If any man were to make it as far as your bedchambers, he would be sorely disappointed to find that your ample cleavage was made up entirely of handkerchiefs.

“I can’t think of a single prince who might know the difference between a white handkerchief or blue, the meaning of a peony or an orchid, so why must I waste my time learning the language when no prince will understand it without an encyclopaedia?”

Surely using your brothers as a guide for what all princes would know was unfair to the men trying to win your favour, but never the less in a bout of melodramatic fury you threw your embroidery-hoop across the room with the hopes of it soaring straight out the window. When you did not hear the soft clatter of it hitting the floor, you congratulated yourself on an excellent throw then rose from your chair to fetch a new piece of silk in case your mother returned.

“Perhaps if the princess wishes to practice her discus, she should use something more weighted than a sewing hoop?”

You stopped dead, hearing a voice. It was not one you recognised.

Twisting to look to the window, you saw a young man perched on his haunches with one arm bracing the archway as if he had just climbed through it – a maniacal notion when you remembered the tower was six storeys high. In his free hand, he held your embroidery hoop.

His face was partially hidden behind a mask while his clothes indicated a need for stealth, both dark in colour and wrapped tight against his strong body. Twin daggers rested against his hips but most striking was his tail. It looked powerful enough to render both his blades obsolete.

He would have stricken you with fear were it not for the insignia that gleamed on the breast of his haragake. You noticed as he hopped down onto your bedchamber floor that he wore the mark of the royal assassins.

“My apologies, your Highness. I was told her Majesty would be here. I was not aware you had taken this tower as your bedchambers.”

He straightened his stance then bowed to you, folding one arm across his chest as a show of respect.

You smiled and placed a gentle hand against your heart, still recovering from the split second you had feared for your life, then told him to raise his head.

“Please, it’s alright. Until just last week I was living in the west wing. You weren’t to know.”

He kept his head down, maintaining his impossibly low bow by counterbalancing with his tail.

“I arrived at the castle yesterday from my mission. As part of the royal guard I should have studied the changes in case it impacted your safety. My deepest apologies, Princess.”

You heard the sincerity of his voice. The assassins weren’t a branch of the royal guard you knew well. Indeed, you couldn’t say for certain how many there were or call a single one by name, but the King had once mentioned that should the castle ever fall, he could entrust your safety to his assassins like no other. They were dedicated and disciplined, and loyal above all else.

Seeing the attitude of this boy, you believed your father’s words. You appreciated his bow for what it signified, though you hardly believed you deserved such a display when you spent your days in leisure instead of any kind of royal duty. You believed one did not deserve respect simply for being.

“Don’t bow to me. I am but a wallflower in this royal palace. A temporary resident, if you will—”

The trouble, you found, with living in a castle where everyone took pride in their royal duties was how often you found yourself alone. The unfortunate result of this was that when you stumbled onto an attendant, you felt compelled to ramble, to vent at them in case the opportunity did not present itself again for some time. Unfortunately, more often than not your venting took the form of sarcastically running your mouth.

“—In but a few short months I will be wed and whisked away to a kingdom where I may learn to thrust a sword and never have to see the faintest sign of a flower-covered handkerchief again.”

You were aware how deluded you sounded but it was nice to get these things off your chest without the fear of your mother reprimanding you. Normally whichever attendant you cornered stood in silence and left you to ramble without interjection or comment.

Your current captive followed much the same pattern, rising to stand so you could rant at him properly but to your surprise, he actually seemed to pay attention. He relaxed his stance and watched you, his tail flicking lazily over the floor as he listened to your carry-on. It rather took the wind out of your sails and you brought your nonsense to a stop.

The greatest surprise came after that, when he actually chose to respond.

“Your Highness, whether in this castle or your new found kingdom of sword-wielding, flower-banning handkerchief haters, you will always be my princess and so I shall always bow.”

He held the embroidery hoop out to you, observing your colourfully stitched carnations. It was hard to be certain because of his mask, but by the creases at the corners of his eyes, you seemed to think he was smiling.

“But if I may, your Highness? Should you cancel your wedding plans, I strongly recommend adjusting how you hand out your favours should you wish to be rid of them for good. Your technique of throwing them like shuriken is admirable, but might be mistaken as an act of war to the nobles of other kingdoms.”

All royal etiquette be damned, you were impressed. You did not need to know what a shuriken was. The fact he answered back, let alone with wit, was enough to make you wish you had met him sooner.

You accepted the hoop when he placed it into your hands, thinking over his words. You were more inclined to listen to him since he understood your concerns well enough to make a joke of them.

“When I present my favour, I’ll be sure to wave it between two fingers like the dainty lady I am.” You quipped before frisbee-ing the hoop towards your four-poster bed. Had your mother or any of your regular attendees been here, they would have scolded you for such an action, but this boy seemed intrigued by your antics, amused even, almost as if he could forgive you for letting your hair down instead of acting like a pompous princess all the time.

Raising an eyebrow and a playful smile, you said, “Now assassin, you say you respect me, but did I detect a hint of sarcasm in your advice just now?”

Amused by your lack of royal decorum, the assassin nodded, his black eyes sparkling as his tail swished like a dog’s ready for play.

“At the risk of sounding impudent, I was merely trying to point you in the right direction, should you actually want to find yourself a king.”

“Oh, thank you.” You snorted. “But please don’t you start.” You raised your hands theatrically into the air, finding it strangely pleasant how quickly you relaxed in the assassin’s presence. “I’ve had my mother hounding me on that topic for days.”

“On which topic, your Highness?” He asked, seeming to enjoy this back-and-forth as much as you did. Perhaps assassins did not get much time to socialise, but you couldn’t say you minded when it meant you could speak to someone who would reply with more than just your attendants’ usual ‘yessum’.

“That I must practice, practice, practice such a ridiculous craft so I can find myself a husband.” You sighed. “I am a woman, therefore no one will give me the time of day to teach me what I need to be taught until I am some king’s wife.”

The assassin made a gentle ‘ah’ sound as his tail stilled, like the disjointed pieces of your bizarre puzzle were finally slotting into order. He looked at the sour expression slipping on to your face.

“And what you need to be taught is how to use a sword?”

“What I need to be taught is how to defend my kingdom.”

This seemed to pique his interest. He stayed quiet, placing a hand to his chin in thought. You liked such a refreshing person in your chambers, you decided. It was nice to have someone who was willing to hold a conversation with you, who wasn’t solely there to push your royal parents’ agenda. You weren’t sure how your mother would feel about you talking to him without a chaperone, of course, but perhaps this was alright as he was already a member of the guard.

“May I ask your name?” You said before too long, noticing that you may have broken him with the idea of princesses learning to fight. You realised you had his attention when his tail thumped once against the floor.

But before any words could be uttered, a gentle knock came at your chamber door. You made towards it, but the assassin raised a hand to ask you to wait, then he welcomed the newcomer on your behalf. Though at first he was wary, he bowed when he saw who was at your door.

“Your Majesty.”

Your mother entered, carrying a small tray of sandwiches and drinks.

“Please, let me carry those for you.”

“Ah, Ojiro. Thank you.” The Queen handed him the tray. “You’re back from your mission. I hope we find you well?”

“I’m humbled you should think of my health, my queen. Yes. I am very well, thank you.”

While they exchanged formal pleasantries, you smiled at the assassin’s name. Though it had not come directly from his mouth, you were happy to know him as Ojiro. Though your paths had never crossed until this day, perhaps now that you had a way to call him, you might have the chance to see him again. Having someone willing to speak frankly with you was a blessing when your royal curse meant generally being respected with silence.

Seeing your mother beginning to frown, you listened to what she had to say.

“Now if you’ll be so kind as to explain your presence in the royal princess’s bedchambers?”

There was a note of accusation in her tone. Whether Ojiro could handle your mother on his own or not, you stepped in on his behalf to clear the air.

“He was told you were up here, and well, you were until you weren’t and I’m sure he was on his way to find you again but I side-tracked him. It’s my fault.”

Seeing as though you were shouldering the blame for this, the Queen adopted a more mother-worthy expression as she folded her arms and furrowed her brows at you.

“Oh? And what exactly were you doing, side-tracking one of the most elite members of our court?”

You rather wished she had not said that. She made you wonder about your prior informalities in front of him. You had attended many royal courts and not seen him there once, but perhaps a good assassin was one you never found. Then again, Ojiro himself seemed not to have minded your indiscretions so perhaps like you, he was both a member of the court and a real person with real human feelings. When it came to the court, you could not name many with that quality.

“He got caught in one of my long-winded speeches about handkerchiefs and their lack of uses.”

To Ojiro’s credit, he hid the amused swish of his tail by turning to lay the dinner-tray down. At least he realised you were talking in jest. Your mother, however, did not.

“Young lady, if I have told you once, I have told you a dozen times.” Her sigh was so heavy that you thanked Ojiro for his presence. If not for him, she would currently be a queen on a furious rampage. “One way or the other you will learn to love handkerchiefs, favours, and what they mean for this kingdom.”

“But mother—”

Making you jump with her movements, the Queen strode across to a pile of your practice materials and grabbed the top-most piece of fabric. It was sore luck that she grabbed your worst attempt at roses to-date.

“Do not give me your opinion on the matter until you can actually stitch a flower that looks like what it’s meant to be. If you keep up your lackadaisical attitude, your nightmare of never leaving this kingdom might actually come true.”

“I’m not trying to leave the kingdom,” you answered back hotly. “I’m trying to learn how to help it but you won’t let me!”

“You can help it by practicing your embroidery and putting effort into the studies you complain about so much,” your mother snapped. She landed you with a glare that told you not to answer back, and you did as you were told.

Aware that she had humbled you, the Queen nodded then turned to Ojiro with a gentle smile, like she had not been seconds away from unleashing a motherly hell on to you in front of him.

“What was it you needed from me, Ojiro?”

Seemingly unfazed by what he had just witnessed, Ojiro stood to attention and addressed the Queen.

“I carry a message from the kingdom of Fern.”

“Ah, excellent.” Your mother glanced at you then briefly pursed her lips. “Let us not bore my daughter with dreary details. May we speak outside?”

“Of course, your Majesty.” He said, bowing. They turned for the door but when the Queen made towards it, Ojiro did not.

“Is something the matter, Ojiro?” She asked, wondering why he had failed to move. In response, he bowed again, much deeper this time as he kept his head low.

“I wonder if you will permit me to speak with the princess alone for one moment?”

If you weren’t bound by duty to hold your composure wherever possible, you would have let your jaw fall open. Ojiro was a brave soul to ask to speak to you in private from the Queen herself. It was only your input that had stopped her accusing him of impropriety moments ago.

As to be expected, your mother’s response was not pleasant.

“Absolutely not. I cannot leave the princess unchaperoned in her bedchambers with a man. You mock me to think I would.”

Ojiro did not rise from his prostration, speaking only when he was certain the Queen did not have more to say.

“I meant no disrespect, Your Majesty. But I ask you to reconsider. On my oath as an assassin, I swear not to take one step towards the princess, and that what I have to say is only in the best interests of the kingdom.”

A quiet fell over the room as your mother considered him. The fact she even hesitated put you in awe. The royal assassins truly did hold a place of deep respect from the crown if his word alone was enough to sway her.

“Alright.” She agreed, after a moment. “I shall wait for you outside,” she said, then turned her gaze to you. “Once I am done with Ojiro, we shall share sandwiches while I lecture you on courting etiquettes. Is that understood?”

Whether you understood or not, you had no say in the matter. You nodded with a sigh, resigning yourself to hours of difficult quizzes and courtship protocols. You couldn’t think of anything worse.

“Yes, your Majesty.”

The last thing you wanted to do was slip up and call her your mother while she had her queen-head on. You were on thin ice as it was.

With that she left, closing the door behind her, leaving you and Ojiro alone. Your first response was to sigh in relief, but your respite was short-lived when Ojiro addressed you with a frown.

“With the greatest respect, your Highness, I beg you not to upset our queen like that. She is only doing what is right by the kingdom.”

“I know,” you agreed, wishing he would not remind you. “I know it comes from a good place, but sometimes I find it so frustrating that she forgets I am my own person as well as a princess.”

You found yourself looking to him for reassurance that you were not a terrible daughter, but instead of words of comfort, the assassin looked at you in total seriousness.

“To that end, your Highness, I wonder if I may speak frankly with you?”

The fact he had battled your mother for your privacy and won was all the convincing you needed. He could cuss you out daily from this day forward and you would rightly say he had earned it.

Ojiro asked you to take a seat for your comfort, so in the spirit of being frank you ignored the decorum of perching on your sewing stool and instead climbed onto your bed. You delighted in the fact you heard Ojiro chuckling at your antics, then when you were settled he said,

“I would like to propose a deal.”

You raised an inquisitive eyebrow. You had not expected that.

“Go on.” You said, feeling yourself growing giddy with intrigue.

“My deal is this. You continue your studies and do all that you can to find a suitable prince through courtship—” you opened your mouth to rebuke him, to say he sounded far too much like your mother for this to be an honest discussion. “—and in exchange, when the Queen leaves the castle on her weekly tours of the kingdom, you shall come to me and I shall teach you how to swordfight.”

You looked to your chamber door, expecting your mother to come bursting through at any moment. She did not. You dared to answer him back.

“You would do that for me?”

“I would.” He said with total conviction. “You say you wish for someone to give you the time of day to teach you. Then I shall give you my time, Princess. As much of it as you need.”

Feeling a swell of warmth in your chest, you rose up from your bed. You had every intention of going to Ojiro and embracing him, being the first and only soul in this entire castle to listen to and offer you his help, but as you made a step towards him, he fell back, raising his hands to ask you to stop.

“Forgive me, Princess. I swore on my oath not to take a step towards you. Though you are the one stepping, I must honour my word.”

The more you learned about him, the more he fascinated you. But an oath was an oath, and you respected him for taking such pride in maintaining it.

“I understand,” you said, then an idea struck you. “But instead, if you will…”

Returning to your bed, you reached for the embroidery hoop to detach the square of silk, then quickly tied off its stitching. Ojiro stood in place, unable to fathom what you were up to until you turned to face him.

“Please, take this,” you said, holding out the handkerchief. For the first time since his arrival, you saw him looking shocked.

“Princess, I couldn’t—that’s—”

“A failed attempt at a favour, I assure you. My mother has told me in no uncertain terms that my favours are not up to standard, but even if they are not beautiful, I daresay they still hold some small meaning.”

Keeping to the edge of your room so that Ojiro could keep his word, you stepped across to the window then placed the handkerchief there before quickly returning to your bedside.

“Please accept it as a small token of my favour. What you have offered me means more to me than you could ever know.”

“Your Highness…” You heard the gentle tone of his voice, like you had shocked him to his core.

He walked towards the window. You worried he might refuse your favour when he saw it out of duty or disinterest, but when he reached the place you had left it, he kneeled down and picked it up with a gentle, tender touch.

“They’re carnations,” you said, hoping to teach him the significance of the flower so that he truly understood your feelings. “For—”

“—for gratitude.” He said, sounding humbled by such a gesture, like he was unworthy. Carefully, he folded the handkerchief then placed it into the pocket of his haragake, then turned to you, doing the one thing you did not expect, and lowered his mask. And the smile that greeted you was breath-taking.

“I shall treasure your kindness with my whole heart, your Highness. I will cherish your favour as the symbol of our pact. For as long as you strive to become the queen I believe you can be, I will do all that I can to aid you where others will not.”

He left you speechless. You could do nothing but look at his smile and the warmth of his eyes. Not another soul had looked at you in such a way in such a long time.

“Ojiro, your Highness.” He said after a moment. “I am aware the queen told you, but let me formally introduce myself. My name is Ojiro.” He straightened himself up then bowed to you again. You couldn’t help but smile at the way his tail wagged so unabashedly.

“Well, Ojiro, I’m glad you stumbled into my chambers today. I forgive you for the intrusion, and please if you feel the urge, you are welcome to stumble here again so that I may vent more of my princessly problems to you.”

He held his bow for a moment more then rose up again, his bright smile never leaving your sight.

“Thank you, your Highness. I take the invitation as an honour.”

You felt warm. Even as Ojiro slipped his mask back into place then turned for the door, a wonderful feeling stayed in your heart. You had almost forgotten what it felt like to be treated as an equal.

“May our meetings always be as blessed,” you said as he gripped the door to leave. He nodded, turning back to look at you.

“I have no doubt that they will.”

With a final curt bow, he left and closed the door behind him. You stayed still for a while, letting the events of the last ten minutes play through you. They had come so suddenly and so by chance that you had to wonder if it was fate. You were the luckiest princess alive to have the only member of the entire court willing to teach you such boorish lessons drop into your room out of the blue.

Ojiro seemed to believe it was best to hide his intentions to train you from the Queen, and though you wondered of his reasoning, you agreed wholeheartedly that it would be your secret. Not only would it set you back if your mother found out, but you daren’t think what would befall Ojiro if the Queen realised he was teaching you anything uncouth. You had only just made his acquaintance, you would rather not see his head on the royal chopping block.

Besides, you liked having a secret to share with someone. It bonded you, and you hadn’t felt bonded to anyone in any way in such a long time.

Letting a smile drift on to your lips, you wandered to your window and breathed a great sigh as the draft tickled your face. Perhaps your freedom was not so far away. Perhaps there was yet a way to keep your beloved kingdom safe even while you struggled to become the bargaining chip your parents desperately needed. The world was vast. It seemed there were possibilities you were yet to discover. You wouldn’t give up hope yet.

Your smile widened as you looked down into the courtyard some sixty feet below. Your smile widened and widened until you started to laugh, and you clutched your hand to your chest as an excited giddiness filled you. What utter absurdity. What delightful nonsense.

Ojiro had gotten into your room earlier, and certainly not by the door. Whether he had scaled the castle or bounced up here on his tail, he had not broken a sweat. He had greeted you with such poise that you had forgotten until this very moment how absurdly tall the tower was.

You were certainly in good hands with Ojiro mentoring you.

------

I really hope you enjoyed, my lovely. Thank you so much for this ask. It gave me so much inspiration and now I love royal assassin Ojiro with all my heart~

(Art by Iamcarlosm on Fiverr. He deserves love and support. All the love for this piece aahhhh---)

#ojiro #mashirao #bnha fantasy au #mha fantasy au #ojiro x reader #ojiro mashirao x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha royal au #assassin ojiro #a royal favour #whensarahsmiles #makethiscanon #ojiro mashirao #mashirao ojiro #MTCfics #OjiroFics

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onedivinemisfit · 1 year

Note

2 & 23 for artist ask <3

2. 5 favourites of your own work?

- goshdarn, again?? XD

1. Queen of the Wild Hunt sorrynotsorry

2. Father and Son Foxies

3. Winter is Coming

4. Rusalka of the Red Light District

5. Obiyuki Disability!AU Chapter 1

23. Do you listen to music or watch shows while you work? If so, what’s your favourite?

- Sometimes. If I’m going for a Specific Vibe, I’ll put on a soundtrack or something, or play the entire Clamavi De Profundis’ song library; more often I just listen to a Twitch Stream in the back. I try -not- to make myself dependent on background noise for creating actually.

Artist Asks

#artist asks #about the artiste

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what-plant-metaphor-am-i · 2 years

Text

2021 Creator Self-Love Extravaganza!

Rules: It’s time to love yourselves! Choose your 5 favorite works (fics, art, edits, etc.) you’ve created this year and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you’ve brought into the world in 2021. If you don’t have five published works, that’s fine! Include ideas/drafts/whatever you like that you’ve worked on/thought about, and talk a little about them instead! Remember, this is all about self-love and positive enthusiasm, so fuck the rules if you need to. Have fun, and tag as many fellow creators as you like so they can share the love! <3

Thank you for the tag @nokaru!! 😊

Year total: 16 (14 art posts, 1 fic, 1 song)

1. A Lilias Drinking Song🍻

I was really pleased with how this came out; I'd had the urge to write an AnS song for a while and had a lot of fun coming up with a tune and some lyrics, imagining a lively inn atmosphere. It was like taking a step into the ans-verse~

2. At The Reins

My first AnS fic, written for obiyukimadness21, 'Almost Kiss' prompt. I feel like I captured the personal atmosphere I wanted to go for here! I am pleased with my descriptions and think I kept the characters true to canon :)

3. Fearless Folly

Obiyukiweek21 submission; although not my best art I really like the idea of these two sauntering into a soiree without a care, arm in arm, commoners united 💪

4. Future Nostalgia Obi

This year I was slightly obsessed with the album Future Nostalgia by Dua Lipa and got into it around the same time as I did obiyuki. Hence, the two are linked in my mind, and Future Nostalgia Obi was born! 🙌 Here I drew him in the place of Dua Lipa in the album art and I just really like how it looks. I like his expression and the fabric detail and his pose, and how said pose ends up revealing his major chest scar which feels relevant. It was a drawing I started not meaning for it to be much but then I loved how it turned out! (plus I think Obi fits this kind of diva vibe ngl)

5. Pillow talk part 1.

For obiyukimadness21 - Only One Bed prompt :D had fun with this one and I think that comes across, haha. First time drawing an AnS comic and clearly it's pretty rough but I'm still happy with it! I love comics and the idea of making them, so actually completing one (even if it was just a 'part 1') was a feat in itself and I suppose I'm proud of that. My aim is to make more comics next year, (starting with Pillow Talk part 2 😅) and try to neaten them up, so here's to that!

Honourable mention: Obi and Torou sketches that I was proud of! I liked the head angles and their expressions, imagining who or what they were reacting to :D

Tagging: @the-pompous-potato, @zenouji and @kitsunefire7 plus anyone else who wants to :)

#also thanks to those in charge of obiyukiweek/madness for giving my submissions names 😂 I kept forgetting that little detail...#tagged #myart #mywriting #obi #shirayuki #torou #obiyuki #mystuff #2021 creator self-love extravaganza

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kirayaykimura · 3 years

Text

Obi’d had dreams once. He’d wanted to be a director. He’d almost finished his sixth semester at UCLA before bad decisions and worse friends finally caught up with him and rerouted his life to where he was always meant to be: bartending, unable to make ends meet without three roommates, amounting to nothing and no hope for anything different in the future.

Except now, apparently. One of said three roommates, a journalist named Zen who was as uptight as he was fair-skinned, had talked Obi into waking up early for a perfect opportunity to get back to what you actually want to do. No, I’m not taking no for an answer. Up at 7 of your own volition or I get Mitsuhide to carry you out to the car in the morning. Which was how he found himself interviewing for a PA position on the set of the American version of the Great British Bake-off. He couldn’t even land an AD position. No, he was interviewing to be a production assistant for a lazy cash grab of a reality show that no one was going to watch.

“Why am I here?” Obi asked.

Haruka, the director and Obi’s interviewer, paused mid-sentence. One eyebrow raised, clearly telegraphing his displeasure at being interrupted.

“This is an interview,” Haruka said. “Or have you never had one of those before.”

Obi usually liked sass. Under different circumstances, he thought they might actually get along. As it was, though, he was confused and cranky from getting two hours of sleep and really not in the mood to just lie back and think of England.

“I didn’t apply for this job,” Obi said.

“Well, someone did. And as I’m conducting this interview as a personal favor to the Wistarias, I can only assume you’ve caught the eye of one of them.”

Wistaria. As in Zen Wistaria? Did that kid think any position on a set was good enough? A director could also be the caterer! Because why not!

“Look,” Haruka said, “I’ve heard you had your sights set on being a director, but the truth is, you didn’t even finish film school and you have zero experience. Even though nepotism is alive and well enough to get you this interview, I won’t pretend I’m even considering you for the AD role.”

Well, Obi could appreciate the honesty. At least they wouldn’t have to pretend Haruka had stumbled on his short film from sophomore year Pomegranate, A Tragedy in Three Acts and found it so brilliant he had to hire Obi on the spot.

“However,” Haruka said, “we have a slightly unique role we’re looking to fill. Impress us, and I’ll consider you for something closer to what you want to do in the future.”

Great. That meant he was going to get paid an assistant’s wage to do three people’s jobs. There was also no way it was going to be more than what he pulled in at the bar. Still, though, he was already in the room. Might as well hear what the job was. Plus, he wasn’t exactly sure where his ride home had wandered off to.

“Impress me with the job duties and we’ll talk,” Obi said.

Haruka’s jaw twitched in irritation, and Obi flashed his most obnoxious grin. That’s right. Obi wasn’t some desperate, starry-eyed kid willing to swallow on his knees and say, “Thank you.” This wasn’t the life Obi got to want anymore. If they wanted him, they’d need to make a damn good case for why he should give up the current stability in his life for the unknown.

Haruka’s eyes flicked over to the door, then back to Obi. He asked, “How do you feel about being this annoying on camera?”

A week later, Obi strolled onto the studio lot where they’d be shooting the Great American Bake-off: Trial by Fire. Aka, they want the name recognition while assuring everyone this would align with the American sense of intense competition. It didn’t really make sense to Obi since the draw of the original was the sense of camaraderie and celebration of human kindness, but since his job was to ensure that didn’t happen, he should probably stop thinking that.

After a few wrong turns and directions from very harried PAs - should he have brought a clipboard and ten thousand pens tucked behind his ears and in various pockets as well? - he found the right place, just on time to be the last one there. They were instructed to wait in a green room that looked more like a warehouse to Obi for how big it was. Even with a couple folding tables of breakfast pastries, fruit, and coffee, the other eleven contestants had plenty of room to fan out. By coming in late, he’d hoped that everyone would be deep in conversation with at least one other contestant and he could size up the “competition” without being noticed or having to explain why he was totally listening to where John Smith lived and how bad the traffic was on Wilshire that morning while his eyes roamed the room.

He found Zen first. The kid’s hair was a very unique shade of blond; made it easy to spot in him a crowd. He was talking to a cute little red-head a few inches shorter than Zen. The way he smiled softly at her while she gestured to the room, clearly excited to just be in the holding room before the actual kitchen, told Obi that Zen was half-way to being in love already and that girl was trouble. Not in the traditional sense, but her cutesy wholesome act didn’t bode well for the fight-to-the-death vision all the higher-ups clearly had in mind.

A few feet away, his other two roommates - Kiki and Mitsuhide - were chatting amiably. Well, Mitsuhide was amiable. Kiki was as stoic as ever. Obi wondered if Zen had rounded up everyone he knew for the show. Was this whole room packed with Zen’s acquaintances?

While it was possible - he hadn’t known Zen that long - he didn’t recognize anyone else in the room. Two tall blond twin dudes who looked more creepy than they did hot, a dark-haired guy trying to flirt with an obviously uninterested brunette, and a trio of ridiculously attractive women nursing coffees in silence in the corner to Obi’s left.

“Sizing the competition up?” a voice drawled near his right shoulder.

Only years of practice from living in a big city kept Obi from jumping. Showing fear meant making yourself a target. He glanced side-long at the man who had snuck up on him. They guy was probably Obi’s age, about mid-twenties, with silky black hair pulled up into an artfully messy ponytail. He had sharp eyes and a sardonic smile.

Obi hated him instantly.

“Hisame,” the man said mildly, reaching a hand out for Obi to shake.

Obi wished he would go His-away. Forever. (Should he say that one on camera? That was the sort of embarrassingly stupid shit people who watched reality tv loved to gif and make fun of on Twitter.)

“I’m not here to make friends,” Obi said, ignoring the outstretched hand.

Hisame’s lips quirked in a slight approximation of an amused smile. “Are you quoting The Bachelor at me?”

It was the only other reality show he’d ever watched. Girls liked it for some reason, and, well, he liked girls.

“No,” he lied as some assistant came in and ushered them into their version of the tent, which turned out to be a soulless sound stage with a green screen backdrop.

“We’ll add in the Hollywood Hills later,” the assistant explained.

Sure. They were half an hour from the actual Hollywood Hills, but sure. They’d add it all in post. Sometimes movie magic was fun, but most of the time Los Angeles was just depressing.

The assistant pointed out everyone’s work stations. Zen was right in front. The cute redhead took the other front workstation. Mitsuhide was near the middle. Kiki got the second to last station catty corner from Obi, who shared the back row with Hisame.

“Pleasure to see you as always, Miss Seiran,” Hisame murmured to Kiki while the PA gave them all a run-down on the do’s and don’ts of being on camera that no one but Mitsuhide was paying any attention to.

She turned to nod politely back at him. “Hisame.”

Interesting. She must have caught Obi’s delighted grin because she shot him her iciest stare until he backed down first, breaking eye contact and focusing instead on putting on his apron. He wasn’t really afraid of Kiki, but he was a little afraid of Kiki. He’d be a fool not to be. She literally taught krav maga classes. He was scrappy, but they both knew she could kick his ass without even breaking a sweat. He wasn’t exactly proud of it, but he’d had more than one dream about her holding him down and-

“Everyone ready?” the PA asked. Without waiting for an answer, she said, “Good. Great. We’re doing this in real time, so please try not to have any medical emergencies. That would really fuck up our schedule.” And with that, it was show time.

Half an hour in, Obi wondered why he was there at all. Like sure, he could fuck up plans like nobody’s business, but the real competition was baking. Artistry. He managed to set a fire boiling water once (long story short: don’t leave plastic spatulas where they could potentially fall onto hot burners), so baking perfect, beautiful, delicious cookies? Probably not going to happen. The plan was to deal with whatever he made and have the hosts declare they “tasted perfect, but maybe work on presentation next time,” and let him coast at least a few weeks until it became too suspicious to let him keep going. Still, though, he didn’t want to, like, poison Izana or Haki.

He slid his cookie sheets into his oven, set his timer, and looked up to find a borderline irate Haruka making unsubtle glances at the cute redhead - Shirayuki - in the front row. Whoops. Guess he’d been a little more focused on which one’s sugar, which one’s salt, don’t add cups of salt than he’d thought.

Obi shrugged slightly in apology, then sauntered up to the front just in time to hear Shirayuki say, “I have some time. Can I help?”

“Yes, actually,” Zen said, shoulders dropping from tensed to relieved at her words. “Thank you. I’d-”

“What a coincidence,” Obi cut in. He leaned a hip against Shirayuki’s abandoned station with her oven right behind him. “I also have some time and some free hands.”

“Just the one pair will do,” Zen told Obi. The underlying message was, I know you’re up to something. Go away. Obi simply grinned in response.

“And you, Miss Shirayuki?” Obi asked. He watched as she slid on a pair of oven mitts and pulled Zen’s cookies out for him. Zen’s hands were currently covered in icing and blue dye. He’d be stained for days. Obi was very much looking forward to calling him Grouchy Smurf tomorrow morning. The kid did not handle mornings well.

“Me what?” Shirayuki asked, polite but distracted.

Perfect. Obi subtly pulled the oven door behind him open just a crack. It should be small enough to go unnoticed for a while, but big enough to throw off the temperature and make the cookies...he didn’t know. That was beyond his pay grade. Probably flat or something.

“Nothing, nothing,” Obi said. “I can see I’m not useful here. I’ll just be on my way.”

The man behind Shirayuki’s workstation - Tsuruba, according to the plaque at the edge of his station - caught Obi’s eye as he was leaving. Tsuruba’s gaze flicked to the open oven, then back to Obi. Obi met the clear question with a silent one of his own: are you going to stop me?

Three, two, one. Tsuruba’s gaze flicked away, and Obi strolled back to his own station with a pleased pep in his step.

Okay, so he did feel a little bad watching Shirayuki freak out about her cookies. She managed to scrape by just fine, though. In the bottom half for sure, but she still managed to do better than Kiki, Tariga, and Yuzuri. And Obi, he was sure, if the playing field had been level. He made a point to leave her alone for the second round, choosing to focus on making Hisame and Mitsuhide’s lives harder than they needed to be when they both offered to lend a hand to Kiki, but Haruka had him back on Shirayuki’s tail for the final show-stopper. He leaned over her station, chin in hands, and waited for her to notice him as she pulled her gingerbread cookies out of her oven. The sides, it looked like, of what was apparently to be a gingerbread greenhouse with shortbread plants inside. She'd even promised functioning doors. It was ambitious enough that she probably wasn't going to have time to help anyone else, so he was standing in as a sort of buffer against anyone else lending her a hand.

“Oh,” Shirayuki said, slightly startled, when she did, in fact, finally notice he was in front of her. “It’s you.”

“At your service.” He stood up and nodded back at the rest of the room. “I thought I’d come see if you need any help since no one else wants me around.”

“Can’t imagine why,” Zen snarked under his breath.

Shirayuki frowned, eyes darting between the two men. It wouldn’t do if she was suspicious of him, so he changed the topic and said, “Icing. I’m great at it. What are we thinking? Royal?”

“Well,” Shirayuki said, still frowning, “yes, but it’ll harden before we can use it if we make it now.”

“Right,” he said. Of course she knew that. “Good call.”

She was clearly still suspicious and he wasn’t helping his case at all, so he plastered on his most innocent smile and awaited her verdict in silence. Which was probably for the best; his mouth was always the thing to get him in trouble anyway.

“But I do need some buttercream frosting,” Shirayuki said after a long moment. “If you’re sure you don’t have anything you need to be doing.” She still seemed wary of him, but she was letting him in anyway. She was either incredibly stupid or incredibly naive. Either way, it worked in his favor.

“I’m still waiting for mine to cool,” Obi said, making his way around to Shirayuki’s side of the station. She was swapping out another tray of gingerbread for a few trays of shortbread, so Obi set up the mixer on the other end. Buttercream. Butter was probably in it, right? And...cream? He was using royal icing; he didn’t need to know the recipe for any other frostings.

“Have you,” Shirayuki asked slowly, “ever made buttercream frosting before?”

On anyone else, it would have sounded like a judgment, but he got the feeling that wasn’t what was happening here. She simply seemed curious but cautious, like she didn’t want to offend him if it wasn’t true.

He had two options. One was to lie, of course, but he knew she’d know it was a lie and he’d lose any sliver of trust he might still have from her. The other option was to fess up and hope she found it charming instead of the deeply dubious it actually was.

He ran a hand through the back of his hair and laughed self-deprecatingly. “Is it that obvious?”

“A little. Sorry.” She shot him a small, amused smile as she gathered the ingredients for him. (Coffee creamer, he noted, was not among the items.) “I have to ask, though: how did you get on a baking competition without knowing how to make buttercream frosting?”

A good question. A very good question.

“I’m better at other things. I don’t really do icings.” The key to lying was confidence. He had no idea if what he was saying made any sense at all, but he knew he’d said it with conviction.

“So you’re good at bread?” Shirayuki ventured.

Bless her and her trusting heart.

“Bread. Exactly. I’m great at bread.”

He had never made bread in his life.

“How about I take care of the icing, then,” Shirayuki said, inching him out of the way.

Fine by him. He hopped up on the last (tiny) clear section of counter and watched her plop a frankly upsetting number of sticks of butter into the Kitchenaid bowl. Maybe he could distract her enough that she would mess up her frosting and have to redo it a few times. That would press her for time, which would probably be exciting, right?

“Is this your thing, then?” he asked. At her look of confusion, he clarified, “You asked me earlier how I got on the show. Are cookies your thing, or will you wow us all another week?”

Her brow furrowed slightly. She said, “Oh. I guess I don’t really have a thing.”

“So you’re great at everything?”

“Well, I wouldn't say that. I’m not great at making bread.”

Shit. Was it really that hard? He was doomed.

“Honestly?” she said. “I think I just got lucky, getting on the show.”

Obi stilled. He didn’t do emotions. He wasn’t equipped to help this girl through whatever crisis of confidence she was having at him right now. But when she peered up at him with those big, guileless eyes, he found himself wanting to be whatever she needed.

“Obviously I’ll work super hard,” Shirayuki said with a quick shake of her head. She checked the butter and started organizing her food coloring next to various small bowls. “I’m grateful to be here, but baking isn’t really my thing.”

“Not your thing, huh?” Obi asked. “What is your thing?”

“Plants," she said simply.

“Obviously.” Obi pointed to the gingerbread that would become a greenhouse with a lot of effort and imagination. “So why not look for a botany competition or something? Why agree to come on this one?”

When Shirayuki looked up at him again, all traces of self-doubt were replaced with steadfast determination. She said, “Because someone told me I couldn’t.”

Well, fuck. There went his plan of being a good little plant for Haruka. Breaking into Hollywood was a pipe dream anyway. He’d much rather help this feisty girl with a score to settle.

Without a glance over at Haruka, Obi said, “Well then, Miss Shirayuki, let’s get your cookies in the chiller so you have more time to frost them. It sounds like you have someone to prove wrong.”

#obiyuki #i mean it's just their first meeting but like...it will be #obi's first thought about her is 'cute' and by the end of this he's like 'i want to have her babies' you know?#(meanwhile shirayuki's just vibing)#preslash for straight people #anyway #my fic #snow white with the red hair

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