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squidpro-quo · 5 years

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As a mini AnS exchange for the discord server, @yukiialice and I teamed up to create something on the theme of “Zen’s birthday Banquet”! The absolutely lovely and breathtaking art is from @yukiialice and my fic is down below, please enjoy!

Zen scratched at his cheeks and breathed in the smell of perfume, five to be exact, each from a different noble chatting beside him or walking by, wafting their scent like a calling card amidst the crowd. He moved away from where he’d taken up an inconspicuous position leaning against the fireplace and tried to find another spot with a hopefully less cloying atmosphere.

Not that there was much hope of that. The glittering ballroom was crammed with people, dignitaries from small city-states only Izana had gotten the chance to visit, and a never-ending flow of food winding around the edges on islands of silver platters. He ducked under the arm supporting a passing tray of champagne and plucked a glass from the edge: his third of the night. His face felt too warm and the ribbon ends tickled the back of his neck like an unwelcome gaze; two hours of the party was more than enough for him and he still hadn’t managed to escape yet.

“Ah, Zen, I was looking everywhere for your… telltale feathers.” Izana’s voice materialized out of the laughter and clamor of the surrounding revelers much like the owner did. His hands darted from beneath the shimmering cloak of scales cascading over his shoulders and snatched Zen’s glass before the rim could touch his lips. Watching its sparkling contents disappear as Izana tilted his head back, leaving a line of emeralds to glint in the candlelight that bathed his temple, Zen was tempted to try to slip away again.

“Don’t go just yet, the party’s barely started. They’re here for you, after all.” Lowering his arm, Izana dangled the champagne glass between loose fingers, deceptively off-guard as he reached up to adjust his mask of jade-green. Zen wished he’d picked a more colorful one for himself, in the midst of every shade imaginable swirling around them the cream white of his stood out too much for his taste.

“This wasn’t my idea,” Zen muttered, turning to look for another tray on its way past and avoiding Izana’s gaze in one motion.

“It didn’t have to be, birthdays are always a perfect excuse for foreign relations. Clarines will be the talk of the week.”

And it would last till next week too, if Izana had anything to say about it, Zen was sure of it. What good would come of the entire blown-up celebration would make itself clear in a month’s time when he’d be signing the mound of paperwork but until then he can imagine there was some sort of point to what felt like a waste of an evening.

Izana broke him from his silent stupor with a hand on his shoulder and smiled, whispering, “Stay sharp, brother. You can never be certain who’s in attendance.” And with a look of pleasant, if bordering on uncomfortably-shrewd, interest, he swept past to engage a lady adorned with the eyes of a peacock and a fan to match.

Left on his own again, Zen fiddled with the clasp of his collar, regretting the last glass he’d had as his mind pulled at strings of suspicion with every glimpse of eyes on him. If there was a danger at the party then he needed to find it first, before anything could happen to the palace’s security or people.

The ranks closed around him, nothing recognizable or familiar in any of the silk and satin faces forming the mosaic of guests. His own armor was merely stray feathers and a gilded mask, a trick so flimsy it may as well be made of smoke. Pushing a smile onto his face, he headed towards the wall, stepping over expensive fur trains and ruffled capes on his way to a more sedentary spot.

A hand caught him in the side as he passed the dance floor, his heart making the leap up his throat even while he was whirled around by a grip as insistent as steel. His feet found more room once he was pulled into the drifting tide of dancers, but he still had yet to see who’d whisked him away.

Forced to turn his attention to the music lest he end up trampling hems and feet alike, Zen found himself in a line running the length of the floor and facing another row of faceted eyes and ribboned smiles. This dance was at least one he knew the steps to, if only to give him time to find out what had happened.

The dance started, both rows coming close and separating in a slow tease. Zen stared at the mask opposite him, its thin slits hiding any hint of the wearer’s eyes while the gold thread running through their charcoal-dark tunic was only visible when he was a few inches away. For all that his costume stood out, the other’s was just plain enough for the eye to skip over if the odd glint of the cape’s underside didn’t draw their attention instead. But Zen didn’t get the chance to speak before the dance had already moved on, lines weaving between each other with partners switching every few measures of the twining music.

His first partner’s hands scraped his palm with her sharp, purple nails, gripping his proffered arm like a hawk’s talons. Passing her on wasn’t much of a relief when the next partner loomed above him, leaving him in shadow until the music marked the next switch.

A gloved hand slipped into his, sure and firm, though that confidence didn’t extend down to her feet. The barest of hesitation before the complicated steps gave her away. Zen looked up from the golden brocade edging brushing the floor and into eyes that could rival the color of Izana’s emeralds and smile tucked underneath her mask.

“How— “ He was cut off as the music swelled and the next partner stepped forward, pulling her away before he could say any more.

His eyes stayed on her back, the ribbon trailing in her wake all he could see even as he craned his neck, staring over his partner’s shoulder until he felt a nudge in his side.

“People will think you’ve found someone of interest,” the amused voice of his dark counterpart from the beginning pulled him back to the steps he’d trusted his feet to know and the hard edge he felt as his fingers brushed his partner’s side.

“Obi,” he said, fighting back a grin, “You both made it in here?”

“Miss wanted to wish you a happy occasion,” Obi’s cape flared as he made a turn around Zen, “And there’s plenty of fangs underneath the velvet in this room. Wouldn’t want an accident to happen.”

Zen’s anxious miasma dissipated as he and Obi kept in step, dancing around each other within arm’s reach, and he had the chance to look around without the urge to keep checking over his shoulder. They had circled the room, the whirling dancers giving them more space to move and see through the crowd to the edges. Passing the open balcony doors, a sweet smell touched his nose, of wisteria and the promise of spring. Something he could count on to enjoy during his birthday, a quiet but steady smell with nothing overly flashy with its flowers or bright fruits, just a reminder wafting in through the open windows while he worked.

He felt a tug on his hand and a slight touch at the small of his back, all it took to steer him outside and into a softly lit garden ringed in slender columns wreathed with flowering vines. The party’s incessant chatter and noise ebbed away, dampened amidst the leaves and petals until it was just the three of them. Shirayuki pulled her mask down, smile in full bloom as she looked around at the arrayed colors of nature’s own silken gown before turning back to Zen.

“Happy birthday, Zen,” she lifted the hem of her dress, gold shoes peeking from underneath, “I’d have brought your gift along but it wouldn’t have survived the pockets on this dress.”

“I think it’s the dress that would have found it hard to survive,” Obi quipped from where he leaned against one of the columns with his own mask pushed up into his hair and hiding a laugh at Shirayuki’s rueful look.

The tension in Zen’s shoulders eased as he watched them joke with each other, Obi blocking the balcony’s entrance with his dark silhouette and Shirayuki resplendent in the light, both here with him when he’d thought himself alone against the tide of revelers. It was easy to forget in the usual stream of days how much they permeated his life but in those times when their presence made all the difference, he was grateful that they managed to find their way to him anyway. Pulling a flower closer, he dipped his head and traced the delicate spiral of petals where they met in the center.

“How did you get in?” he finally asked the question that had been burning on his tongue ever since he first recognized them.

Obi and Shirayuki exchanged glances, before they began to talk at once.

“A little mischief— “

“We can’t say exactly— “

“It was my brother, wasn’t it,” Zen cut in, not bothering to make it a question and surprised at the warmth that spread through him. Izana might milk every last opportunity for diplomacy from the simplest thing, but now that he remembered that self-satisfied smile over the rim of a wineglass, he knew it couldn’t have been anyone else’s doing.

Brushing off his pants, he turned to pluck two sprigs from the bush whose fronds had tickled his senses earlier, tucked them into his pocket and gestured to the other two.

“May I have another dance?”

#Akagami no Shirayukihime #ans #zen wistalia #obi #shirayuki #exchange #My writing #check out those lovely flowers and shirayuki's dress! i love the colors and the flowers #i can't get over the style and the watercolor! it's stunning

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puffdragongirl · 5 years

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In Name Only - Team Really Royalty Reveal

Set several weeks after the events of Catch

After another endless day of squinting at notebooks, Ryuu closes the door to the pharmacy and turns blindly towards his quarters. He had been expecting a challenge – even looking forward to it – when he was granted the position of Wilant’s Head Pharmacist. He had imagined most of the difficulty would come from dealing with staffing the largely empty roster or interacting with the members of the frosty Northern court. What he hadn’t been expecting was the entire wing to be a disorganized mess of cabinets full of questionable contents, drawers crammed with mysterious vials, and spotty, near-illegible notes. Many days the sheer chaos of the pharmacy he’d inherited made him want to throw the poorly-kept logbooks out the window and retreat under his desk to scream into his pillow, but somehow Obi’s supportive humor and Shirayuki’s unflagging determination had managed to keep him sane long enough to get most of the supplies identified, labeled, and properly catalogued in the imminently sensible Lyrias style.

Speaking of Obi and Shirayuki, the only thing keeping Ryuu going tonight is anticipation for their weekly shared dinner. Although Obi still spends a good part of his time helping out in the pharmacy, his conscription to helping out with the paperwork surrounding Prince Zen’s permanent relocation meant he often took meals in the Prince’s office rather than the pharmacy. Not to say meals with Shirayuki alone aren’t enjoyable – they are. He just always feels that something is missing. He didn’t realize the missing piece was Obi until the fiasco with the sprained wrist a few weeks back had kept him away from paperwork (“Pens are different than knives, Miss Kiki!” he had exclaimed when Kiki had inquired about his apparent ambidextrousness, which did not extend towards writing with his left hand, “I had more pressing things to worry about at the time than writing legibly.”). Despite frequent whining about not being allowed to climb things occurring every day of those two weeks, the knight’s presence back at their lunch table those two weeks made everything feel right again. Ryuu tries not to think too hard about what the warm and fuzzy feeling being with Shirayuki and Obi means (They are not his parents. They aren’t.), but he does make a point to never miss their weekly meals.

As he approaches his rooms, the scent of roasting meats and savory spices grows stronger. Getting to eat delicious food is another benefit of sharing a meal with Obi. Pushing open his door, he follows his nose directly to the kitchen, where Shirayuki is setting places at his table while Obi stirs a steaming stirfry at the range. They are deep in conversation, although he only catches the tail end of it.

“And Master wants what, from us, exactly?” Obi asks, flipping the contents of his wok in the air to keep them moving.

“He asked if we heard anything about it in our travels,” she replies, setting a pitcher of water on the table before settling in her chair, “Apparently, one of the rumors was that the heir went North.”

“Hmmm…” Obi hums, face contemplative as he adds some last-minute seasonings to the dish, “I can’t recall hearing anything of the sort.” He thinks for a few minutes more, then shoots a sly grin across the counter, “Then again, I didn’t spend as much time with the gossips as you did, Miss.”

Shirayuki sputters, color blooming in her cheeks as she protests, “Look here, I don’t believe for a second that guards don’t gossip just as much as-”

“Gossip about what?” Ryuu interrupts, resisting the urge to smile fondly. Months on the road with the two of them taught him they would bicker and tease each other endlessly given the chance.

“Little Ryuu!” Obi calls, raising his spatula in greeting, “Dinner is almost ready!”

“Oh, Ryuu!” Shirayuki echoes, sending an unrepentant Obi a look but dropping the argument for now, “You’re just in time; we could use your help with this.”

As Shirayuki explains the situation, he wanders over to the counter, grabbing a mug from the table and filling it with water. He leans against the counter as Shirayuki speaks. It sounds like any other story of greedy nobles at first – a “missing” heir, with younger half-siblings looking to take their place – but something about the story sets him on edge.

“…So essentially, it is rumored that there is a son from his first marriage that would have the claim on the title, but no one has seen him for many years or is sure that he ever really existed.” Shirayuki frowns as she recaps the background, “I’m not sure why they didn’t try to figure this out sooner, especially since it sounds like the child would have been young when he went missing…” She shakes her head, and gets back on track, “Anyway, now that the previous title holder has passed, they need to figure things out as quickly as possible. The widow sent a petition for her child to be declared the official heir, but Zen wants to look into the claim of the older child first, to make sure the widow’s claim is valid.”

“What was the last name again?” Obi asks when she finishes, shuffling the pan absently to keep the stir fry from burning, “Ga-something, right?” He turns off the heat and starts piling the steaming dish on a serving platter, “Galirat? Galiro? Gabirin?”

He makes several more attempts at the name, and a chill runs down Ryuu’s spine, but he pushes his worries down. It had been years, nearly a decade, and it couldn’t be. It just couldn’t be…

“Gaboriault,” Shirayuki corrects, and somehow, what he feared is true, and it feels like his whole world has dropped out from under him.

His mug drops from suddenly nerveless fingers, but he barely registers the clatter of porcelain breaking against the floor. The room spins and his ears ring as panic threatens to consume him. There are gasps, voices asking if he is okay, wondering what is wrong, but he doesn’t hear anything over the pleas racing through his mind. No, no. Please no. Please don’t make me go back, not when I’m finally happy, finally me.

Overwhelmed, he flees, leaving the broken pottery and the alarmed calls of Obi and Shirayuki behind.

It shouldn’t surprise him that it doesn’t take them long to find him. He is curled up under his desk, leaning against the back wall with his knees pulled tight to his chest. After several years of growth spurts, he is perhaps too tall now for it to be a perfect fit, but he is comforted by the familiarity of the small space all the same. Barely ten minutes have passed before he hears the pharmacy door open, and although their words are too quiet to make out, he would recognize their voices anywhere.

Even colored with distress, he finds their familiar back-and-forth comforting. Shirayuki first, her concern evident in the wavering tone and rapid pace of her words. Obi next, voice deep and steady as he soothes her, but touched with the slightest hint of strain. Their voices separate, and he hears the quiet sound of footsteps echo through the room. One set, still somewhat unfamiliar given he has only heard them a handful of times despite their long acquaintance, draws close to his desk, and the fabric separating his nook from the world parts to reveal Obi’s face peering in at him. His mouth is set in that way that means he is worried, and Ryuu can’t quite meet his gaze, upset with himself for worrying them.

“Over here, Miss,” Obi summons Shirayuki to the desk and before he knows it, somehow all three of them are wedged in the space, with Ryuu pressed securely in the middle. Although he can feel their concern, they don’t speak, content for now to have found him. He soaks in the comfort to their presence, and eventually unbends enough to explain.

“You probably guessed this,” he begins, staring hard at his clenched hands, “I am the ‘missing’ son they are looking for.” He can’t help the bitter laugh that spills from his lips, “Or maybe it’s better to say, the one they are hoping not to find.”

“They told me my mom… died right after I was born,” he continues, and now that the words have started, the story just tumbles out, “I’m not sure if my father really cared about her, but I know he didn’t wait long to remarry.” Ryuu didn’t have any memories without his father’s second wife, and his half-brother was only a year or so younger than him, so his father couldn’t have waited more than a couple of months to remarry. “She was…ambitious, to say the least, and resented that her children couldn’t inherit because the orphan a dead woman was still hanging around.”

“My father was always very busy, and more often than not was in Wilant or Wistal on some kind of business,” Ryuu could probably count on one hand the number of times he had spoken with the man, “He never really had time for any of his children, so the housekeeper and maids looked after me.” He pauses for a moment, then admits quietly, “I’m not sure I even remember what my father looked like.”

“Oh, Ryuu…” Shirayuki breathes, and her hand reaches out to wrap around his tightly-clasped fists. Obi says nothing, but his arm does settle across the stiff line of Ryuu’s shoulders. Neither of them miss the implication that, even if Ryuu wasn’t neglected, precisely, he was never really cared for either.

“It wasn’t so bad,” he offers, weakly, “I spent most of my time with the gardener, and that’s how I found out about plants and herbs.” He will always remember her patient explanations of which plants were used for food, and which for medicine, and the best times to harvest them both. He tells them how, once his questions had outpaced her knowledge, she started to bring him books from the library. “And one benefit of growing up…where I did… was the size of the library. There were books in the collection I didn’t see again until the library at Lyrias.”

“One day, she brought me the old gardener’s notebook,” he can still see the notebook, carefully kept despite the decade or so since the man’s departure from the property, “I found an old advertisement looking for apprentice pharmacists in Wistal Palace inside.” The yellowed paper had slipped from its place tucked between two pages detailing a particularly grueling insect extermination. It had seemed like a salvation, a way to escape the indifference of his father, and the resentment of the woman who could have been his mother. “I knew it was crazy, but it seemed like the only way out.”

He finishes his story, describing how he packed a bag with his clothes, the pocket and gift monies he had gathered over the years, and the notes he had compiled from the gardener and the library books; the way he researched the roads to and from Wistal from some maps his father stored in his office; and finally, the way he left in the dead of the night.

“I would call it running away, but that place was never really a home to me.” Drained by the telling, he leans back into the arm still around his shoulder, and fiddles his fingers against the grasp still warm against his hands. They sit in silence for a moment, then he asks, “Are you…going to tell Prince Zen?”

The pharmacy is dark, but he sees them turn to each other anyway, communicating in that silent way of theirs. What must be only a few minutes, but feels like hours, passes, before Obi moves to face him.

“Let’s start with this,” Obi proposes, “What is it that you want to do, Little Ryuu?”

“I don’t want to go back there,” he admits, the words leaving him in a rush, “I like it here. I like the pharmacy, even if it’s a mess right now. I like having dinner together, and traveling to get plants, and complaining together about how terrible fancy parties are…” He scrambles away from them, or at least as far as the cramped space allows, and bows his head, “My home is here, with you. With the both of you, wherever you are. Please…please let me stay with you.”

There is a beat of silence, then a slender hand is reaching for his chin, tilting his head to meet watery green eyes and a wobbly smile.

“Of course you can stay,” Shirayuki assures, her eyes taking on that familiar glint of determination, “If I have anything to do with it, I hope we can stay together always.” Her gaze drifts to Obi’s, and she admits, “All of us; no matter where we go, it feels like home because we are together.”

“You heard her, Little Ryuu,” Obi grins, and reaches a hand out to ruffle his hair, “And you know wherever the Miss goes, I follow.” His grin softens to a soft smile, “I guess you’re stuck with us both for the long haul.”

If the three of them spend the next quarter hour hugging, at least two of them crying at any given moment, at least no one outside the family would ever know.

The next day, Obi reports to Zen that none of them heard anything about the missing Gaboriault heir during their travels through the North. Indeed, given the ways of the North, where rumors were just as often born of boredom than grains of truth, they suspected the heir, if there had ever really been one, was long gone by now, and wanted nothing to do with the title. However, if you were to listen carefully to conversations on quiet days in the pharmacy, when only the three of them were around, you might hear the occasional reference to Ryuu, Lord and Master of the Pharmacy. And that was one title that Ryuu was happy to bear, as long as it stayed between the three of them.

#obiyukimadness19 #championship round #really royalty reveal #I mean #this is more happy family feels #featuring somewhat OOC Ryuu?#but hopefully the obiyuki comes through too #obiyuki #shirayuki #ryuu #obi #ans #puff writes

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thecatwhogrins · 5 years

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To Be Human

Okay so Uni has been kicking my butt lately but I managed to write this haha It’s not my best but I still hope you enjoy!

Tengu mountain had always been off limits for Shirayuki.

Her grandma warned her to never go near, as she might be spirited away to the spirit world, never to be seen again. But to keep the gods from being angry, grandma always offered some food. As Shirayuki grew up, she watched in awe as her grandma cooked the food and placed them in small beautifully ornate bowls, before hobbling out of the house with the precious cargo in a satchel.

When she went to fetch the bowl at nightfall, nothing was ever left of the food. This cemented Shirayuki’s idea that the gods were real and so, when her grandma grew too old and could not take on this task any longer, Shirayuki carried on the tradition.

Shirayuki took this job very seriously. Every morning, after she had woken up and donned her yukata, she went to the little shrine at the entrance of the path that led up the mountain. There, she would place a bowl full of offerings for the mountain god’s spirit to relish. During the day, she would help her grandma at the tavern. She’d go back by twilight, would retrieve the empty dishes and bring them home. On her way home, she’d pick some medicinal herbs. Those were peaceful days.

One night, when Shiaryuki was about twelve years old, as her work ended later than she thought, she came to pick up the bowls wearily, smelling like sake and a hard day’s work. The tavern had been hosting more and more of the local lord’s men lately and as a result her grandparents had been obliged to close shop later and later, making it harder and harder for her to tend to the shrine like she used to. She had missed a day already, to her dismay. She hurried to the mountain, a lantern in hand.

When she arrived at the shrine she almost gasped in horror.

A boy was squatting on the ground, one of the bowls in his hand, eating its content heartily. She could see that he had eaten all of the brazed meat. From behind, she could only see that the boy wore a black kimono and a dark colored hakama. His hair was short, unruly, like a stray cat’s. She had never seen this boy before. Was he one of Lord Raji’s retainers’ children? He looked slightly too scruffy and young for that. Well, whoever he was, he had no right eating from her shrine offerings, lest he be a mountain god, which she greatly doubted.

“Ex… Excuse me, what are you doing?” she asked, he heart pounding away in her chest.

He looked up and unfolded himself from his position, bowl still in hand. He was tall, wiry, probably her age, if not a little older, and most of all very intimidating. In the dim light, she could see the amount of scars he sported, creating somewhat of a pattern, especially on his hands, the rising puckers flesh proof that the boy had been in a fair share of fights. And his eyes... Like a cat’s, feral, untamed. He blinked lazily at her, his face a composed mask.

Fear washed through Shirayuki like a wave.

“You… You cannot eat that. These are offerings to the mountain gods, if you wish I will gladly show you the way to a restaurant near here,” she explained.

As she spoke, his eyes rove over her, taking her in. Shirayuki felt nervous, on edge. No one was around for miles if she ever needed help, she’d be on her own.

“This food is a day old, it might upset your stomach,” she continued but his silence remained.

He finally broke the silence:

“Are you the one who brings offerings every day?”

“Yes, it’s me. I’ve been upholding the tradition. How did you know I bring food every day?” She asked, surprised.

He wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve recklessly and smiled.

“Because I’m the one who’s been eating the food,” he laughed good-naturedly, “Thank you, by the way, it’s very good, very tasty.”

Shirayuki bristled slightly at this comment. She was flattered that he liked her cooking but was also angry at him for the sacrilege he was committing. She was about to tell him to go away again when the sound of footsteps approached.

Some men arrived carrying lanterns, probably some of Lord Raji’s men. When Shirayuki turned around to ask the boy if he knew them, he wasn’t there anymore. All that was left was the empty bowls and the sound of cicadas in the trees.

At that moment Shirayuki decided to start making extra food on the side for the hungry boy. She noticed that he would usually eat all of the chicken but always left a lot of the onions. He also seemed to really appreciate the spicier pieces of food she made. So, she made more of those and set them aside in a black bowl for him every day when she went to the shrine.

The next time Shirayuki saw the boy, he was eating from the black bowl.

But the other offerings had also been devoured.

“Ah, the little miss. Thank you for the extra food, I am very full now,” he grinned cheekily.

Anger raced through Shirayuki’s veins as she replied:

“I made that bowl for you, but the rest is for the mountain gods!” she stomped towards where he crouched on the ground. She didn’t care that the boy was a head taller than she was or that he looked dangerous. It had been a hard day, she was tired, and he was stealing the offerings.

“Ah, but I am a mountain god,” he smiled, his hands up in defense. He had a playfulness in his grin but his eyes were also guarded. He observed her reaction, waiting.

Shirayuki stopped in her tracks for a second, puzzled.

“You expect me to believe such an obvious lie?” she asked, even more angry.

“Well, I was one,” he explains, his smile turning bitter sweet, “I was banished, and my godhood stripped because I was naughty.”

Shirayuki is suspicious of course, but also very curious. Her grandmother had raised her to see in things that were invisible to the human eye, to believe in things that were unbelievable. That was why she taught her to make the offerings to the gods.

“If you really were a god, what kind of god were you, then?” Shirayuki asked, arms crossed, eyebrows raised, her inquisitive gaze trained on him.

A wistful look took over his face, but he quickly started smirking again.

“I am a god of the winds, of the Tengu tribe!” he proudly proclaimed.

Shirayuki couldn’t contain her smile.

“I am not stupid, you know? And anyways, tengus are not gods, they’re yokai. The mountain god is a beautiful celestial being, that’s what my grandma said!” Shirayuki stated.

At these words, the boy rolled his eyes and laughed. He licked his lips and deposited the bowl back unto the platter.

“Pff, those boring show-offs? Yeah, they’re gods and they’re powerful, that’s true. But they don’t know how to have an ounce of fun, they’re all sticks in the mud.” As he said these words, the boy looked upwards with a smirk, as if he was taunting some invisible foe in the sky. Shirayuki was truly puzzled. Did this boy really believe he was a god?

“I have proof of this,” he said.

Shirayuki watched expectantly but gasped, blushed and covered her eyes with her hands once she saw that he was undoing his yukata.

“What are you doing?” she squeaked.

“I’m showing you my wings!” he left his chest and shoulders bare, the yukata was still tied around his waist.

He turned around and on his shoulder blades were two scars. They looked quite painful, raw, as if someone had just recently cut the boy with a rusty blade. Shirayuki gasped in stupor. Who could have done such a thing to a young boy like this? Her only consolation was that he didn’t look like he was in too much pain.

“Well anyway, I’ve been stuck in this human form for a few years now thanks to that stupid monk. If I see him again, he’s dead meat for sure,” spat the boy, retying his yukata.

Shirayuki did believe that the gods exist but she was still very sceptic of this strange boy. She decided to play along.

“Is there a way for you to return to your previous state?” she stepped closer to him.

“I must do good deeds towards humans and mean them. That’s what the monk said. But I’m not exactly sure what that means,” he said, scratching his head.

Shirayuki thought about this for a moment, then decided that if this boy was trying to do good deeds, then that would mean he isn’t all that bad.

“I’ll help you become a god again,” she said resolutely.

Obi looked shocked for a moment then chuckled.

“Why would you help me? I’ve been eating all the food you’ve been making. Shouldn’t you want me to go away?” he asked, mystified. Shirayuki approached towards him, making the stunned boy take a few steps back in surprise.

“Well, yes, you have been eating all my food, and you’ve been generally pretty rude, but you don’t seem all that bad to me. If helping you means you’ll make good deeds, I don’t mind helping,” Shirayuki explained while piling up and gathering the bowls on her platter.

She straightened up and smiled.

“So, since we haven’t properly introduced ourselves, and we are to be friends, let us do it now; my name is Shirayuki, what is yours?”

The boy didn’t answer for a moment and the silence blanketed them, the sounds of the forest taking precedence. His strange eyes seemed to assess her, but she held his eyes easily, not intimidated anymore.

“My name is Obi.”

#obiyukisoundtrack #song 1 #day 1 #ans #obiyuki

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sabraeal · 6 years

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Obi and Shirayuki's wedding, please

“Alright.” Master scrubs a hand down his face, shoulders slumped wearily. Beside him, Miss shifts uneasily. Obi doubts she’s ever been in this position; he’s suffered Master’s disappointment before, but Miss –

Well, he doubts she’s ever heard a raised voice.

Master lets loose a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Walk me through this again.”

The winch creaks as the lift scrapes up the side of the Ramtops, the village at the bottom growing smaller and smaller with each turn. A wind shudders through, shaking the cage around them, and Miss steps into him, purposeful. Her head ducks down, hiding against his coat.

“It’s so high,” she remarks, voice strained and tight.

“The Hounta have lived in these mountains for generations.” He peers down at her with a grin, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. “You should’ve expected it. Besides, I didn’t think you had a problem with heights, Miss.”

She shivers; he feels every inch of it along his side. “I didn’t.”

He means to tease, but the winch locks as they hit the cliffside, shaking them again. He’s only just gotten Miss back on her feet when their escort heaves open the gate.

“This is it,” he tells them in a hilly Samese. Obi can understand it, just barely. Miss just squints, confusion writ clear across her brow.

Looks like there’s something you can’t learn all from books after all. He’ll have to tease her later.

“We won’t be coming back up until the –” the escort uses a word either Obi doesn’t recognize or is garbled by his accent – “is over. So as to not disturb.”

“Yee-ah!” Shirayuki tries in her enthusiastic yet terrible Samese. “Thanks to you for to bring high yes thing.”

Obi grimaces. “She means thanks for the lift.”

The man smiles, charmed by her attempt. “Go on then. It looks like the elders are waiting for you.”

They are, hidden just around the bend in the path. Shirayuki isn’t quite sure what makes them elders; only one of them seems to be very old, as cantankerous-looking as she’d expect of a man whose lived four score on a mountainside like this. The others are a man hardly older than Izana, his face bright and open, and a woman well into her pregnancy, maybe thirty-and-five with eight or so weeks to go, if she was to take a guess.

“Oh, good!” The younger man comes forward to meet them, carrying a staff taller than he is. The bells on it chime as he moves, making the mountain twilight seem more mystical, more magical than it had been moments before. She likes him already.

He opens his mouth again, and –

And Shirayuki’s paltry Samese fails her. She’s only just begun to learn it, cobbling a curriculum together from what books she’s found in the library and what she can make Obi teach her, and anything beyond simple conversation is…impossible. For now.

She lays a hand on Obi’s arm, giving him a look that she hopes convey how lost she is.

“A minute, Miss,” he huffs out, brows drawn. “This is a different dialect than I’m used to.”

The man hardly begins to speak before the older one interrupts him, which makes the woman snap at him, and – and she does not blame Obi for his grimace.

“The wise man here says that it’s good they sent…two of us?” He shrugged. “He used a word I don’t know. The people who are two? Something like that. And then old man oak back there said they should have sent more – something about an insult? – and now they’re all debating…philosophy.”

The old man shouts something, and Obi coughs with surprise. “Uh, and history, it seems.”

The younger man extricates himself from his companions with an apologetic expression.

“Excuse them,” he says. “Come this way.”

Master stares, mouth flat. “I thought you spoke Samese fluently. That was the whole point of sending you.”

“Yes,” Obi allows, biting back his irritation. “But the Hounta don’t speak Samese, strictly.”

“Oh, yes!” Miss warms now, anxiety melting away in the face of details. “It seems that this tribe of Hounta have remained geographically distinct from the influence of the Samese, and –”

“Right,” Zen sighs, rubbing at his forehead. “Sure. Let’s just…skip to the wedding.”

There is…a lot of wine.

Or at least, some type of liquor. Elejas tries to explain – something about reindeer, or maybe mountain goats? – but Obi can draw a conclusion from how Rafi refuses, hand pressed over her belly, and from how Henddo scoffs, pushing it away with a scowl.

There’s dancing too; a bunch of stomping and hooting and the rattling of bead work all along their boots and belts and collars. They’ve dressed him like one of them, though instead of his gakti being a vibrant blue or red, it’s a deep black, its designs picked out in white and silver. Even the fur of his boots is black; a dappled color that he finds himself growing fond of with every passing cup.

“Wolf,” Elejas tells him with a grin. “For cunning. For quickness.”

“Am I going to need those?” he teases.

His guide laughs. “On the Longest Night, you must be quick to catch the sun.”

Well, that’s….cryptic.

A hand claps his shoulder, and he looks down into the pale, ice-blue eyes of Rafi. Her smile takes the bite from her gaze.

“The sun has risen,” she tells him, even though the evening is black as pitch, creeping towards the dead of of night. A laugh huffs out of her at his confusion, and she sweeps her arm to where the unmarried women bed down, and –

And there is Miss, gakti a blinding white, threaded through with gold. It must be an heirloom, a costume the village has mended a thousand times to fit a thousand girls, but now it is pristine, fitting like it was made for her.

Obi swallows. He shouldn’t have had so much of this wine stuff.

She sees him, smile spreading her lips, and she makes to call out, but –

But her gaze hooks on his body, eyes rounding. Her lip press together, pink rising high on her cheeks. Shyly she weaves toward them, the white fur of her boots melting into the snow.

“Fox,” Rafi tells him with a sly look. “For fleetness of foot. And for luck.”

He should probably read some meaning in that, get some message. He doesn’t though, not when Miss stops just before him, eyes lifting to meet his.

“Obi.” His name forms in the air between them, hardly more than a breath. “You look very handsome.”

His heart gives a treacherous and wholly expected pound.

“Ah, Miss,” he says, a moment late, “you’ve stolen my line.”

Her gaze is steady when she says, “I know.”

“Here.” Rafi shoves an end of a woven belt into each of their hands. “Don’t let go.”

“We can’t let go?” Shirayuki asks dubiously, thumb passing over the cunning weave of the belt. “Not to eat?”

“Not to eat,” Obi tells her, verging on exasperation. He’s spent a quarter of an hour trying to understand the elders’ garbled, and at times, conflicting instructions. “And definitely not to drink.”

“What if…” She flushes. “What if I have to pee?”

Obi grins. “Then I will valiantly try not to peek, Miss.”

She slaps her free hand to her cheek. “Oh my.”

A man and a woman – slightly younger than her or Obi by the look – come to set a wide platter in front of them, as well as a cup that would take at least both of her hands to hold. Elejas and Rafi thank them – she thinks, her Samese is shaky even on that point – and turn to Obi, presumably explaining their purpose.

His brow furrows. Ah, it is more of that Hounta dialect that stymies him.

“Those two were originally going to do…our roles, I guess,” Obi says, his annoyance with his slow translation obvious. “But now they’ll wait a year. For some reason.”

“Oh, should we apologize?” Shirayuki searches the crowd for them, but she had been hardly paying attention when they’d come, and finding one blond head among many is not a skill she excels at.

“No, apparently this is an honorable role too. They’re going to bring us food,” he explains haltingly, “but we have to eat off the same plate? And drink from the same cup? Something like that.”

“And not drop the belt.”

“Oh yeah,” he says, watching with hungry eyes as they fill the goblet between them. “Definitely don’t do that.”

Henddo hobbles up and barks something at the both of them. Obi only blinks, reaching across to wrap his fingers around the stem of the cup. “He says it’s ceremonial wine. We have to help each other drink.”

There’s not enough space for her hand on the stem, and she wraps it half over Obi’s, his warmth bringing back the feeling in her fingers.

“At the same time?” she asks, giving the cup a dubious look.

“No, you first.”

She glances down at the dress they’ve given her, warm and perfect, and sighs. If only they could practice on Obi first; at least the black of his tunic would cover the stains of their mistake. On her, it will be clear as day.

They shakily guide it to her lips, and the sweet tang of the wine washes over her tongue; bog berries and orange rind and something else before the bitter hits. It comes on strong, for just a moment, and she coughs, sending wine down the corners of her mouth.

“Oh, Miss!” Obi helps her set the cup on the table, raising his thumb to swipe at the escaped wine, and he –

He licks it, right off the the pad of his thumb, slowing as he realizes what he’s done. He does not drop her gaze, their breaths mingling, and she can’t help but think of when she saw him in these ritual clothes, looking every inch like he belonged, like he was used to hauling a ram over one shoulder and an axe on the other, meant to marry the prettiest girl in the village.

A catch, they would call him.

“Now you,” she says, more breathless than she expects, wine sloshing over the rim as she shoves it toward him.

His hand wraps oh so slowly over hers, each knuckle lingering before it winds with hers.

When he drinks, his eyes meet hers over the rim, and all she sees is amber.

Master scoffs. “That can’t be legally binding.”

“Oh, absolutely it is.” His Highness crosses his legs at the knee, lounging in one of Master’s chairs like it was the throne of Clarines itself. “We are allies with Sama and the Hounta both, don’t you remember, brother? Their marriages are legally binding within and without our borders.”

A grin curls across his mouth. “But please, go on. I’m intrigued.”

It’s only once they’ve finished the cup, cheeks flushed, that Henddo hobbles up to them and says, “Now kiss.”

Obi nearly spits out his venison. “What?”

Henddo’s Samese is the worst out of all of them, but Obi gets the gist of what the man spits back at him: you heard what I said, boy.

A hand presses delicately against his sleeve. He turns, staring down into the endless green of Miss’s gaze. “What is he saying?”

“It’s…” He darts a look at the old man, who looks like he won’t be moving until he gets his way. “It’s not anything, Miss.”

“Obi.” Her voice takes a harder tone. “It’s important to Clarines that we do this right.”

“I –”

“Kiss,” Henddo shouts, in unmistakable Clarinese, and Miss goes red all over.

“Oh,” she murmurs, hand pressed to her chest. “Oh.”

“Miss.” His heart flutters sickeningly beneath his ribs. “We don’t have to.”

“No.” Her gaze meets his then, determined. “Obi, kiss me.”

He swallows his groan, leaning in. From one of the other tables, he hears cheering, hears, the sun yields to the moon on longest night!

Their lips meet, the air disappears from his lungs, and all he feels is the moment stretched between them as they touch.

He pulls away, gasping, though they’ve done nothing more than press mouths to one another.

It’s enough.

“Really.” Izana lifts a brow, skeptical.

He turned his chin just so, gaze catching on Shirayuki. She squirms. “Is that what you remember, too?”

Henddo’s words rise and fall in sing-song as he speaks, soothing to her unknowing ear, but Obi’s hand grows pale on the goblet, mouth pulling thin.

Her hand slips from beneath his, coming to lay on his tunic. It’s soft beneath her fingers; she can’t help but stroke the fabric, just slightly, drawing his attention to her. She feels dizzy when their eyes meet, like she needs only take a step and she’d drown in amber, like a fly on a branch.

Ah, maybe she shouldn’t have had so much of that wine.

“What is he saying?” she asks, pressing closer. They’re seated nearest the fire – a place of honor, so Rafi and Elejas have both assured them – but she’s still so cold, and Obi emits heat like a burner, drawing her like a moth to a flame.

“It’s…” His eyes dart away, cutting toward Henddo. The elder only thumps his cane on the stone, impatient. “It’s not anything, Miss.”

She frowns, annoyance creeping up her throat. They’ve come here to face this mission together, a test before Izana sends them out to the Northern Lords. He shouldn’t be – be protecting her.

“Obi.” She locates her sternest tone, the one she uses on her more wayward students. “It’s important to Clarines that we do this right.”

He looks trapped, caged between her questions and the elders’ demanded. “I –”

Henddo, in a single, crystal clear bout of Clarinese, shouts, “Kiss.”

Oh. Oh.

“Miss.”

She meets Obi’s gaze, so concerned, and she realizes she’s spoken out loud. “We don’t have to.”

But she wants to.

The realization hits her softly, like falling to a mattress after a long day on her feet. It’s not shocking, or difficult, but – expected. A relief.

“No.” She draws herself up, meeting his eyes. She sees the hesitance there, but also – also –

The hope.

She tugs on the belt, nearly yanking him off his seat. He just barely catches himself on the table. Their breaths mingle between their lips, so close.

“Obi,” she breathes, “kiss me.”

His mouth presses against her, gentle yet firm, and for a whole second her mind blanks; it tries to compare this against the ones she has shared with Zen and just – fails. She can’t do anything more than sit, lips slotted against his, and feel her stomach flip, feel the way his touch is like wildfire under her skin.

He starts to stiffen, to retreat, and that – that is what moves her, what brings her free hand to cup his cheek, to bring him back down to her –

As soon as she moves her mouth, he groans.

Oh, she wants to make him sound like that again.

The wanting sets her ablaze, dragging him closer, mouth opening beneath his when his tongue traces her lip. Distantly, she’s aware the Hounta are catcalling, but it’s all just music in the back of her mind, meaningless words that only urge her toward him, letting him consume –

Someone clears their throat. When they disentangle themselves, Rafi is giving them a thoughtful look, rubbing at the round of her belly.

She says something to Obi, and he blushes from forehead to collar. Clearing his throat, he says, “I didn’t quite get all of that, but apparently it’s time for all good ritual couples to go to bed.”

“Oh.” Her heart skips its beat. “That sounds nice.”

Master pinches at the bridge of his nose, eyes screwed shut. “It’s – fine. You may be married, but without…c-consummation, we can just…get an annulment. It will be like it never –”

“Ah.” Obi feels sweat prickle over the whole of his body. He can safely say, this is the most nervous he has ever been. “About that…”

Henddo has not stopped yelling since Rafi marched them from their hut, clothed in their undergarments.

Obi barely understands any of the argument that follows – he’s distracted, already thinking about how they’ll have to present this – this marriage to master – but a few salient points seem to present themselves.

“They’re, um…” He coughs, turning his head from Miss’s intent gaze. “They’re upset we didn’t….act out the whole ritual.”

“Whole…ritual…?” Her eyes widen. “You don’t mean…?”

“Have sex, yes.” He holds up the belt. “The moon is supposed to, er, catch the sun.”

She eyes the cloth dubiously.

“Don’t worry, Miss.” He waves a hand. “I’ll explain this was all a misunder –”

“Obi.” Miss looks worryingly thoughtful, hand tracing down the beading of the belt. “Would it appease their gods if the ritual was completed a night late?”

His mind tumbles back to the night before, shrieking and cheering outside the hut as the villagers fought off evil spirits – other masked Hounta – that would try to keep the sun from rising. He could pick out a word or two, silly things, but his mind is occupied – and his hands, as Miss squirms against him, humming pleasantly against his lips as he kisses her again and again, soft and pliant beneath him –

He cough, heat riding high on his cheeks. “I’ll ask.”

#escapingtheirony #obiyuki #my fic #Holiday Promptathon #ans #the ritual is completely made up #drawn from a few different traditions but none in specific #but the gakti are traditional saami regalia #which are the nomads of northern scandinavia #i had a few ideas for weddings #but unfortunately i was quite ready for the ones planned in fics #(i'd hoped to get a little closer on a couple of them #but that didn't quite happen!)#but i figured #who doesn't love a good accidental marriage really

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traditional-with-a-twist · 7 years

Text

The Love of Flowers for the Rain

Chapter Masterpost

Day 6 – Flirt

Obi let himself relax to the sound of the popping fire and the little circle of warmth carved out of the northern winter. It was a rare luxury, just like the thick carpet and plush cushions covering the cold stone of the Seiran home or that sensation of having eaten too much in his belly. He and Mitsuhide were sprawled in their seats, with their wives curled up close to the fire. Only the children were unaffected by the somnolence of the evening, the little lady pulling Shigure by the hand from one luxurious piece of décor to another and chattering the whole time. Obi saw his son’s eyes light up when she stopped in front of a wall lined with intricately carved wood panels, imitating scenes from forests and mountains not unlike the ones his family had wandered through all his life.

“You look like the cat that stole the cream,” Mitsuhide commented. Obi was surprised to find his mouth had curved into a smile without his permission. “It’s good to have you and Shirayuki here, Obi.”

Obi slid a glance at him and found Mitsuhide’s gaze on Kiki and Shirayuki, his face glowing with more than firelight. Obi shifted, suddenly feeling that he’d let himself get too comfortable.

Sure enough, Mitsuhide turned that warmth on him a moment later. “You should stay. It’s almost winter and Shirayuki’s far along already.”

At the reminder, Obi’s eyes darted to his wife’s rounding belly. He could just hear Lady Kiki’s soft questions: “Have you been getting enough rest?” “How far do you travel each day?” and “Are you eating well?” Shirayuki’s answers were only evident in the bob of her head, her bright smile, and her hands encircling her belly like a cradle.

As they watched, Shirayuki started and beamed up at Kiki. “The baby kicked!” Kiki gave her a quiet smile.

“Of course we have plenty of room,” Mitsuhide continued. “I know Kiki has missed you both, though she never says. My daughter has been longing to meet all of you, the more we tell her. She’d be ecstatic if you stayed longer.”

He was warming to his theme, blithely ignoring Obi’s silence. Time to change tactics. Obi stretched luxuriously. “No need to cover it up, Mitsuhide, sir. Just tell me if you have a job for me.” He smirked at the man’s dumbfounded expression. “Though��I never thought the day would come when Sir needed unsavory help. Maybe there are dark secrets I don’t know about?” Obi waggled his eyebrows.

The confusion slid off Mitsuhide’s face. He closed his eyes and sighed. “Obi…”

“Now, now, what could it be?” Obi tapped his chin. “Are those nobles still bothering Lady Kiki? Do you want me to scare someone? Nothing like a cold northern winter to make me more frightening.” He made the mistake of meeting Sir’s eyes as he pantomimed his conjectures.

Mitsuhide was gazing at him with the earnest face of a concerned older brother. “Obi, Zen believed in you. I also want to have faith that you can give Shirayuki everything that Zen wanted for her.”

Obi forced a laugh. “Sir, telling me I need help to protect her because it’s getting a little cold doesn’t feel like faith.”

Mitsuhide reeled back. “That’s not what I meant!” He put up his hands. “Obi, part of taking care of Shirayuki is turning to others when you need them.”

“Because I could never take Master’s place all by myself, of course.” He knew he’d gone too far as soon as the words left his mouth—but so much the better. Maybe Sir would throw him out.

Mitsuhide hadn’t yet gotten over his shock when their conversation was interrupted by a chill up their spines. Instinctively they both turned to see Lady Kiki’s glare boring into them. Eyes still fixed on the men, she stood very deliberately to lift up a blanket and wrap it around the drowsing Shirayuki’s shoulders. Her head nodded onto Kiki’s shoulder as Kiki sat down again. Kiki held their gazes for a moment more, and then pointedly turned her back.

Mitsuhide crossed his arms and slumped back into his seat, looking away from Obi. That was just unfair, taking a blow from these two one after the other. Lady Kiki’s back was still looking dangerous. Obi’s hand crept up to his shoulder.

“Hm, I’ll…think about it, Mitsuhide, sir. We…might stay.”

Mitsuhide glanced at him. “You should ask Shirayuki what she would like,” he answered coolly.

Obi winced. Mitsuhide wasn’t pulling his punches anymore. He let his gaze wander the room, no longer feeling as warmed by the fire or the splendor. He found nothing promising until the children caught his eye.

They sat on the edge of the scattered cushions, Fujiko watching with rapt attention as Shigure unwrapped something from the little satchel Shirayuki had given him after they left Tanburun. Carefully, he laid a large book on the floor in front of them.

“What are they?” Fujiko gasped when Shigure opened it.

“Oo-ra shigooree blooms.” Shigure turned a page and Fujiko clapped. “I grew them and Mama showed me how to press them.”

“So pretty!” Obi could see Shigure’s cheeks pink even in the firelight. Now there was something.

With a grin, he elbowed Mitsuhide. Obi hoped he looked properly contrite as he gestured towards Shigure and Fujiko.

“You like them?” Shigure’s voice was shy but happier than Obi had ever heard him when talking to someone who wasn’t his mama or papa.

Fujiko bounced. “Oh, yes! Such good treasures. Even better than mine.” She clasped her hands together. “I wish I had something so, so pretty as these.”

Shigure smiled. Carefully, he pulled a page from his book and held it out to little lady Seiran. “For you.”

She gasped. “A flower of my very own?” She held out her hands and Shigure placed the sheet of pressed flowers into them. Even faded by the drying process, the red of the blossoms shone. Fujiko hopped to her feet to set them in a place of honor, on the nearest mantle in front of an engraved copper platter that was probably a family heirloom. “They’ll be safe, right there!” she assured Shigure.

They smiled at each other again. Obi saw Mitsuhide smile, too, out of the corner of his eye.

Fujiko put her hands behind her back, tucking her chin and rocking back and forth. Obi cocked his head. From the way she was acting, it looked like—

“Thank you for the flowers!” Fujiko squeaked out. She darted forward to plant a kiss on Shigure’s cheek.

“Fujiko!” Mitsuhide roared, exploding out of his seat.

Shigure vanished, streaking to his mother’s side. Fujiko looked up at her father, lip pushed out in a pout. Shirayuki’s eyes fluttered open at the noise. “Oh!” she exclaimed at finding Shigure buried in her skirts.

Mitsuhide froze, looking stricken. Kiki raised an eyebrow at him. Obi watched Mitsuhide deflate, his head still spinning from the surprise eruption.

“Ah, Fujiko.” Mitsuhide knelt next to his daughter. “When someone gives you a present, the right way to thank them is to give one back.”

“But…Papa, he gave me flowers. And he’s a boy! So my present was a kiss.”

Obi saw Mitsuhide’s smile become strained at his daughter’s response. “Especially if it’s a boy giving you flowers, you should give him a present like this.” He pulled something small and wrapped from his belt. “Isn’t this a good thank you?” he asked, giving it to Fujiko.

“Oh! Mmm-hmm.”

“Then you should go give it to him,” Mitsuhide instructed, relaxing visibly.

Little lady Seiran skipped over to Shirayuki, who was still looking sleepy and bemused. “Shigure, my Papa told me to give you one of his sweets to thank you for the flowers. They’re really good!”

Shigure emerged, peering at Mitsuhide dubiously. Mitsuhide, still kneeling, waved and smiled. Fujiko waved back and held out the candy to Shigure.

“He gave me flowers, Mama,” Fujiko stage-whispered as Shigure accepted Mitsuhide’s peace offering.

“Oh?” Obi couldn’t be sure but he thought Kiki was smiling.

“But Papa said not to kiss him.”

“Of course.” Kiki put her hand on her daughter’s head. Mitsuhide breathed a sigh of relief. With the crisis passed, Obi got to his feet, brushing himself off. He strolled in Mitsuhide’s direction.

“But I liked it!”

“That’s fine.” Kiki shrugged. Obi almost choked at the expression of betrayal on Mitsuhide’s face.

“Huh?” Shirayuki looked up from Shigure. “Umm, Kiki…” She petted Shigure absently as he pressed against her with his cheeks full of candy.

“But,” Kiki continued, “he’s young.”

“Oh.” Fujiko peered at Shigure’s face. He blinked back at her.

Kiki bent to murmur in Fujiko’s ear: “Wait for a good one.” The little lady laughed.

Mitsuhide groaned as Obi reached his side. “Obi! Look what… That son of yours…” he grumbled under his breath, collapsing into a chair.

“Oh? My son? Poor little mister hardly knew what hit him. Isn’t your little lady a bit small for such womanly wiles?” He grinned at Mitsuhide’s horror, dropping languidly to the floor next to him. “I suppose you won’t be wanting us to stay the winter now, Sir. Just imagine how much practice she’ll get, corrupting men.” He gave Mitsuhide his best cat smile.

Mitsuhide blinked. His face closed as he caught on and he stared flatly at Obi. “Hmmmph.”

#battlecrown #obiyukiweek17 #obiyuki babies #Day 6 #flirt #mitsukiki babies #cherish #limping to the finish line #I am pretty happy with this one #for all that it took me weeks to write #because Mitsuhide is my favorite #and that made me nervous #only one more

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littleaverill · 7 years

Text

Then Somebody Bends - Beauty and the Beast AU

Before Shirayuki, on a small pedestal, was a rose - beautiful, red, dying. It needed no water, no dirt as it floated, but still the delicate petals fell one by one. They laid shrivelled at the bottom of the glass cage. It was one of the few plants left alive in the capital. The curse had affected more than the people; the entire landscape had frozen, covered in a thick layer of ice and snow, the winds blowing ever fiercer. Never had she thought she would consider Lyrias warm. The rose had been secure in Izana's chambers before Haki and her entourage of scientists and cursebreakers had arrived. Now it remained in the lab, a small room off of the library, for testing. Obi entered the room with her dinner, his brass feet clacking against the stone floor. Even as a coatrack, he walked with grace, wooden limbs moving fluidly. Some of the curse's victims complained of stiffness and lack of mobility, but he seemed unaffected. She glanced back towards her work, then up at him. He gestured expectantly toward the food. "You have to eat." He found her eating habits appalling, and she had only been here four days, only known him for three. She wasn't sure what he thought about her sleep schedule, but it couldn't be flattering. She dragged her chair closer to the platter, sniffing it cautiously. Her stomach grumbled in impatience. She raised her fork, poised to spear an unknown meat, and paused. Obi was looming. "How spicy is it?" She asked. He laughed and backed away from the table. "Not as spicy as last time, I swear." Her mouth tingled at the memory. She ate the first bite slowly, then dove in. She was ravenous. Obi crossed his arms smugly. He was an old friend of Suzu's; she only knew of him because of the letter that had sent Suzu toppling out of his chair with laughter. Supposedly, Obi visited often, but she hadn't been in Lyrias long enough to meet him. Obi wasn't a healer by profession, she wasn't quite sure what he did, but he managed to keep up with the science flying around the room. She'd been skeptical at first, but Ryuu, one of Garrack Gazelt's staff and a robin-blue tea cup, had vouched for him. She finished her dinner swiftly, deciding to pack it in. She couldn't do much right now without Suzu; between them, he was the better cursebreaker. "Do you think they can do it in time? Haki and Izana, I mean." Obi asked. "They might." Love wasn't her area of expertise, but it seemed unlikely. "We'll probably break it well before that point." Neither Izana or Haki seemed eager to fall in love, even to break a curse - even though they've been engaged for a year. "Honestly, they might be resisting on principle." "Maybe they don't know how to love freely." Shirayuki paused, considering. Often, Obi would speak so casually, but something in his voice made her certain he wasn't being straightforward. The grooves and scars in the wood that made up his face made him hard to read, and she doubted it would be any easier once the curse was broken. She wondered what colour his eyes were - the bright blue she's come to associate with Clarines, grey like the stormy ocean her grandparents had taken her to see, or dark as the pepper he insists makes everything taste better. She wondered if his skin was the same deep brown as his cursed form. She wondered if she wondered too much. After all, as soon as the curse was broken, she would be heading back to Lyrias: frozen most of the year and soggy the rest, home to primarily scholars, and - apart from the occasional outbreak - uneventful. No one would follow her there - not a prince, and not Obi. "They'll figure it out eventually," she said and wondered if she believed it.

#obiyuki #ans #obiyukibingo #beauty and the beast au #more of that mess #this is a mess #but it's a slightly longer mess #Izana got cursed #because of course he did #and Haki can't let her betrothed and his entire castle be cursed for eternity #so she fixes it #I did it folks

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thecatwhogrins · 5 years

Text

To Be Human (part 3)

Part 1 / Part 2

Okay last one! I’ve been studying for my finals next week, so I’m sorry if this wasn’t up to the usual standards TwT I might rewrite some of this later and post it on my AO3, but for now please enjoy this trainwreck haha.

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From then on, Obi started to live with Shirayuki at the tavern, in case Raji’s men were to bother her again. Upon seeing him, most of the men steered clear, especially since the first batch to have gone up against Obi came back limping and groaning in pain.

Obi helped in the tavern, jolly and always ready to spin a tale, usually of his own repertory of stories he had been part of, or so he claimed. The women came by more often than usual to admire Obi’s roguish good looks. Business was good and Shirayuki felt almost drunk with happiness.

One night, after the tavern had closed for the night, Shirayuki sat on the tatami mats, cleaning the tables, humming to herself. Obi entered the room carrying a bottle of sake and a set of glossy cups.

“Fancy a drink, little miss?” he laughed, eyes glinting.

The way he was looking at Shirayuki stirred something inside of her. Her whole body tingled, awareness taking over, making her blush.

“Sure, let’s drink to this beautiful night” she cheered, her gaze on the brightness of the full moon outside.

They sat side by side silently, absorbed in their drinks, unspoken words hanging between them, the moment so peaceful until Obi broke the quiet with a question.

“Miss, will you miss when I go back to the mountain?” his voice was barely over a whisper.

“Yes, Obi, more than you’ll ever know,” she answered, almost as quietly.

Shirayuki almost unleashed a squeak when Obi’s hand covered hers, gaining a loud laugh from Obi.

“Oh dear, miss, I’m sorry for scaring you!” he exclaimed, his hands up, “don’t worry, I’m not leaving for a while yet, I still have to fulfill my share of good deeds.”

“It’s okay Obi, I was just surprised,” she smiled, “yes, we still have time,”Shirayuki said this, but her heart said otherwise, an unseen pain gnawing away inside of her.

Both of their hearts were thundering away.

“Let me bring these to the kitchen,” muttered Obi, deftly getting up. At the same time, Shirayuki stood up as well, trying to reach for the platter.

“Woah there!” Obi tried to stop her from falling but let go of the sake bottle and the cups.

As a result, both collided and ended up in a heap on the floor, laughing till their stomachs ached. Obi was almost crying, he was chuckling so hard. Shirayuki’s cheeks were redder than her hair, her laughter was intoxicating, all dimples and giggles.

The laughter had barely started to die down and before she could stop herself, Shirayuki had reached out and kissed Obi. He swallowed his mirth and shock took its place. The kiss was short and Shirayuki looked at him, appraising her dearest friend’s reaction, full of hope and trepidation.

She was pleased when he swept her up into his arms sweetly, her hands grasping his yukata, her lips almost curved into a smile. He kissed hesitantly at first, then with abandon, gentle but passionate. He bit her lip gently and she shivered, gasping. He kissed down the column of her neck, and she tugged the hard bristles of his hair softly, breathless.

The smell of something burning brought them back to earth.

Obi had located the source of the fire but by then the highly flammable wooden inn was already halfway burnt, the shell of what once was.

“Someone’s has set fire to one of the rooms!” cried Obi, running out of the tavern, cloth in front of his mouth and nose to protect himself from the fumes. Shirayuki had done the same.

Confusion and fear rolled around Shirayuki’s head, her eyes were watering.

The instigator made himself known once Obi and Shirayuki turned around, it was of course Lord Raji’s men.

Seeing Obi fight was not something Shirayuki was accustomed to. His lithe body and grace now made sense, as she witnessed his precise movements, his accuracy while he almost danced around his opponents. Obi had no weapons on him, nothing to parry the blows, but he never gave in, the cuts his enemies administered seemed to only be minor inconveniences. He was eerily beautiful.

More importantly, Obi didn’t kill even one of them.

He simply incapacitated them, rendered them unconscious. The scale was decidedly tipped in the enemies’ favor, but he fought valiantly. Shirayuki helping in the best way she could. She hit a few men with a branch she had found on the floor, her fighting style slow but efficient.

It felt like an eternity until all of the men were lying on the floor, the only sounds Shirayuki and Obi’s panting breaths. Calm came back, almost unnerving after the chaos of the fight.

“Uh, I remember them being harder to beat, seems humans have grown soft,” he chuckled.

Shirayuki stared in horror as Obi started to fall forwards. His eyes met hers calmly, his whole body already going limp.

“No! Obi!” she grasped his strong frame with shaking hands, her mind reeling. She rested him on her lap carefully. She knew just by one look that her healing skills would not be enough, he had been cut so many times/ Obi seemed to know this too.

“Miss, look. I didn’t kill even one of them low-lives,” he gasped, his breath rasping. Shirayuki wanted to tell him that she was proud, that she had always known he would be able to do it, but she could only sob, one hand clamped over her mouth.

“Oh no, you’re crying…Please don’t cry,” his fingers hovered by her face, but he finally touched her cheek, cupping her face and wiping one of her tears away.

Shirayuki sucked in a breath, wiped her tears hastily and was about to tell him she wouldn’t cry anymore, but her words got blocked in her throat like dam blocking the flow of a river.

He wasn’t breathing.

To her horror, his cold body started to disintegrate into ashes, like dandelion seeds dispersing through the air. Shirayuki tried grasping onto the fragments but they disappeared. Obi had told her his soul would disintegrate if he died.

How unfair. It’s as if he had never even existed.

Shirayuki wept like a child, like the whole world could swallow her and she wouldn’t care. The pain in her chest was acute, like a bird pecking repeatedly at an open wound. She didn’t know how long she stayed in the meadow, but she stayed till night draped itself over the sky and her breath exhaled white against the still air.

In the end, Obi hadn’t turned back into a Tengu. Even if he had turned into one, it at least meant he was still alive, out there, somewhere, sailing on the winds. But he was dead. She would never see his cat-like grin ever again. She would never hear his teasing voice or see his clever eyes analyze everything. There was still the slight possibility that he would reincarnate. Had they done enough good deeds? Could he reincarnate? Her questions remained unanswered.

When the moon finally bathed the meadow in its pearly luminescence, Shirayuki finally moved, as though she had just been wakened from a long dream. She shivered and turned towards her home that had been burned to the grounds. The night was fair, the peaceful end to a spring day.

“Where to now?” Shirayuki whispered, looking around.

The wind blew into the inky sky, sweeping away the last of her tears with it.

“I will live on, Obi. Until we meet again,” she whispered, desolate but alive.

Shiayuki lived.

She opened an herbalist shop in town. After the fight, Raji’s men did not bother her anymore. Much like her grandmother, she kept up the tradition of bringing offerings to the temple that was on the path up the mountain. Black lacquered bowls, brazed meats, rice and incense.

But the bowls were always full when she came to fetch them at night.

Many a night she’d wake up before dawn, shivering, dreams of a tall man with amber eyes pervading her dreams. When she’d awaken he was gone, like smoke. Most days were spent in a similar manner, wondering, hoping.

One night, as Shirayuki came to fetch the bowls, she noticed a figure standing in front of the temple, praying. She did not wish to disturb the stranger but noticed that the food was gone. She rushed towards the offerings, grumbling. Had a forest animal eaten them all? Or maybe a vagrant? As Shirayuki pondered in wonder, the praying man with the golden eyes spoke up.

“Thank you for the food, miss, it was delicious.”

Shirayuki nearly dropped the platter she was holding.

#obiyukisoundtrack #obiyuki #ans #fanfiction #last day #day 3 #song 3 #omg this one is bad you guys i'm sorry #i'll try editing this after my finals hopefully #myfics

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thecatwhogrins · 5 years

Text

To Be Human (part 2)

Here’s part 2 of the song challenge! Please enjoy!

(Part 1)

The years passed by, and even after Shirayuki’s grandparents’ deaths, she still went to the shrine every day after work because the ritual held meaning to her, even more than before, as she felt like she was honoring her grandma’s memory.

Everyday she came, and everyday Obi waited for her.

She told him how her day had gone, and he told her what good deeds he had done. Obi had refused Shirayuki’s offer to let him sleep in her house, as he seemed to prefer to sleep in trees, because he detested the feeling of being trapped. He’d help people passing through the forest whenever he could but seemed to have a hard time understanding what was right and was wrong, so Shirayuki tried to guide him.

“So, you’re saying I can’t take the food in the old lady’s bag? But I saved her life and went up against thieves!” he exclaimed, perplexed.

“Well yes, you did, but she didn’t give you that food herself. What if that was all she had to eat for a while? That means you’ve stolen her only means to live,” Shirayuki explained while she set out the dishes in front of the shrine.

“What should I do to then?” he asked.

“How about we give the food I usually cook for you to the old lady? I think she’ll be grateful,” Shirayuki smiled, confident that this would count as a good deed. Once she saw the disappointment on Obi’s face, she sputtered and laughed.

“I don’t want to give her the food you made me, I like it,” he whined.

“Well next time, you’ll think twice before stealing someone’s food,” Shirayuki said triumphantly.

Obi grumbled a little at this but did as he had been told. He desperately wanted to become a Tengu again.

As time passed, Shirayuki’s childhood was left behind, her red hair becoming brighter, more vibrant, like her smile. Everyone in the village knew her and were very proud of her for keeping her grandparents’ tavern afloat. But the more she grew, the more she attracted unwanted attention, especially from Lord Raji and his men. They skulked in her tavern, lascivious gazes on her body and red hair. Shirayuki never let them get too close, though.

Obi seemed to age too, like Shirayuki. His lanky body became more lean, stronger, his boyish features becoming sharper, making him look even more intimidating. The scars he collected throughout the years also added to the overall daunting impression he carried wherever he went. Rumors of a friendly forest sprite spread throughout the village and its surroundings. Friendly, but also mischievous and always eager to eat.

Shirayuki’s daily visits were now something Obi looked forward to. Obi was proud to tell her what good deeds he had done.

But one day, she did not come.

Obi waited till the moon was high in the sky, surprised and to his own dismay, worried.

At first, he had been slightly annoyed by the red headed girl who kept visiting him every day. But as time passed, and his heart opened up, his annoyance grew to tolerance, then amusement and slowly but surely, against his better judgment, he realized with horror that he cared.

So, with a trepidating heart, he went to go look for her. He knew that she worked at the bar, so he headed in that direction.

He skid to a halt when he saw Shirayuki on the outskirts of town, her platter of offerings spilled on the floor, along with her outstretched body lying on the floor, unconscious, on her forehead an open gash, her hair like a puddle of fire upon the dusty ground. Retreating in the distance, a gaggle of men boisterously laughing. Obi was about to run after them but decided that Shirayuki needed his help more.

“Little miss!” he knelt by her side, trying to assess what to do. Shirayuki had taught him a few things about medicinal herbs and treating ailments. He checked if she was still breathing, holding his own breath. He heard a rasping, rattling breath come from her and the tension in his body snapped like a string on a bow.

He could tell she had been hurt by some blunt weapon, he had had a wound similar to this one a few years back, and Shirayuki had cured him with herbs and by watching over him, mopping his brow and feeding him broth, nursing him back to health. She had done so for him till dawn broke.

He would do the same for her.

Shirayuki woke up in a cave, confusion and fear gripping her heart.

“You’re awake” a voice full of relief sounded in the darkness, accompanied by glowing eyes. It felt surreal, like something out of a dream.

“O…Obi?” she tried sitting up but her whole body shivered. A wet cloth that had been placed upon her forehead fell to the ground.

“Hi there, miss, I think you were hit with a club,” Obi explained, unsure, “but who would do such a thing?” his visible anger was a surprise to Shirayuki. She had never seen Obi this angry, he was usually always so aloof.

“It’s lord Raji. It seems I’ve angered him by refusing his advances too many times,” Shirayuki smiled ruefully, “so he sent a few men to intimidate me.”

Obi felt his ire rise again, like a wave ready to wipe everything away in its passage. It had been a while since he had felt this bloodlust. If he saw the man who had done this, he knew he would tear his limbs off. But Obi then remembered that the monk had told him that if he killed anyone, he would disintegrate, and his soul would not reincarnate.

Obi felt disgruntled.

“Obi?” Shirayuki’s voice was small, raspy, “You know, you’ve never told me what bad deed you committed to become human…” she didn’t continue, waiting for his answer. The only sound in the cave was the trickling of water from stalactites and the sound of their mingled breaths.

Obi had seen his fair share of fights. The amount of blood he had seen spilled would have appalled anyone. During his Tengu days, he had been known as a terror, a bloodthirsty winged monster. Back then, it had been a source of pride. Now, before the little miss, Obi suddenly felt a twinge of guilt.

She wanted him to tell her his story, unveil his terrible past. But once she knew, would she shun him? Be afraid of him? The possibility of it frightened him. To shatter her image of him took a lot of courage and faith, something Obi wasn’t sure he possessed.

But he did trust her.

“I killed a lot of men, during my day. So many, in fact, that the humans on this mountain started to try to appease me with offerings. Many were innocent, many were not. It did not matter to me.”

Obi spoke softly, so unlike his usual self that Shirayuki made sure to listen, to be open, to show him she was there.

“One day, I killed a local lord’s son who had been hunting on my mountain. The lord called upon a famous monk to stop me once and for all. The monk, upon seeing me, decided to give me one last chance, to make me human,” he said.

“I’m so sorry for everything I’ve done,” it was barely over a whisper, but the regret was palpable.

The silence was heavy. Obi’s heart was racing in anticipation.

“It is true you have done bad deeds in the past, I will not pretend that they do not exist,” Shirayuki whispered.

“Obi, look at me,” Obi looked up, feeling shame permeate every corner of his body. Shirayuki touched his shoulder lightly.

“What you’ve done in the past does not define who you are now. I’ve seen you struggle everyday to become better. That is enough for me,” she smiled, “doing good deeds now is more important as ever, prove to yourself that you are who you want to be.”

Shirayuki embraced him softly, muffling his crying into her shoulder.

#obiyukisoundtrack #obiyuki #fanfiction #ans #day 2 #song 2 #myfics

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sabraeal · 6 years

Note

remember that one prompt where obi got his own mansion and a title and everything??? coz i need more of that please

Desert & Reward: Chapter 3

Mrs Carre is suspiciously pleased with herself when Obi sits down to dinner.

“Did you do something to the chairs?” he asks, eyeing them askance. “Are they…new?”

“No!” she cries, hand pressed to her breast. Her gaze settles thoughtfully on the dining set. “But should I have new ones ordered, my lord? These are looking a little shabby ‘round the edges.”

Obi stares at the pristine furniture. There’s no chance Mrs Carre will ever see the some of the places he’s lived, and he’s glad. She’d probably get palpitations just looking at the neighborhood.

“If it’s not new furniture, then what’s with that look?”

She does a poor job of concealing her smile. “What look, my lord?”

“If that’s what you think passes for a poker face, Mrs Carre,” he sighs as the doors open, “don’t go to Wistal.”

A flood of footmen washes over the room. Mrs Carre makes a great show of watching them; she half-turns to catch the last dish being laid on the table, a transparent attempt to conceal her expression. “I don’t know what you mean.”

He huffs out a breath in annoyance. “I’m sure you –”

One of the footmenwhisks off the cover to his tray. The savory scent of spice hits his nose, his mouth watering at the smell. Spicy shrimp. Another tray opens: potato cakes, fried to acrisp, golden and glittering on their platter. One after another the dishes arerevealed to him – soups steeped with the deep umami flavor he prefers, beefmarinated and cooked until it falls off the bone with peppers alongside, chickenbreaded and fried and served in a sour sauce.

He doesn’t havewords. “But…”

“The mistresspicked up a correspondence with the groundskeeper nearly a month back,” MrsCarre explains. “She said she didn’t think you were conveying her ideasproperly, though it seems more like she wanted to interrogate Aubryon his stock. I merely…asked if he could pass along a question for me.”

Obi stares down athis plate, the gold whirls along its edge blurring in his vision. His eyes arehot; he lifts up a hand it comes away wet. Gods, he’s leaking.

Her gaze is softwhen he finally dares to lift his head. “I hope you enjoy the dinner, my lord. Cookworked quite hard on it.”

His throatsqueezes, constricting his words, but he manages a nod.

“I’ve been meaningto ask, my lord,” Mrs Carre asks the next morning, over breakfast. “What room I should prepare for themistress’s visit?”

Obi blinks. Miss’s visit is still new in his mind, still part of this nebulous future he can’t quite reconcile himself to happening. Time’s almost meaningless in the country, and two months seems closer to forever rather than now.

“Isuppose…one of the guest rooms?”

“One of the…guestrooms?” Mrs Carre darts a dubious glance at Morel, who merely heaves a heavy sigh. “Wouldn’t you rather her in your wing?”

A half year ago he’d spoken servant fluently, fishing gossip from stable boys and scullions and whoever else would give a cat-eyed knight the time of day, but now he sits in his dining room, surrounded by wait staff, and wishes he had Master to translate for him.

“Should she be inmy wing?”

It’s not the right thing to say.

Mrs Carre lets outa huff, picking up his empty dishes. Morel looks ready to scold, but she gives him a glare that verges on withering and sweeps out of the room, saying stuffily, “Clearly you’re not the person to ask.”

Dear Obi,

I’m glad to hear you won’t be doing anything rash with those books before I can get my hands on them. Lata has been telling me that Cacciatore’s library is extensive, if eclectic, and he’s certain I can find quite a few things that would be beneficial to our research, as long as its lord allows us their use…

Also…is there a reason your housekeeper thinks we should share a bed?

“Mrs Carre,” Obicalls out as his housekeeper bustles past him.

She halts in hersteps, a gaggle of young maids clustering up around her skirts like ducklings. “Yes, mylord?”

He gestures to thestudy. “A moment?”

She nods. “Ofcourse, my lord.”

When the doorcloses behind them, he blurts out, “Is there a reason you asked Shirayuki if she would like to stay in my bed?”

Mrs Carre blinks,not even fazed by the question. “You told me to put her in the guest quarters.”

“Yes, but – my bed?”

“It was anoption,” she says, so calm, as if heis the one being absurd. “I offered the best of the guest rooms to her as well,and some of the rooms in your wing.”

“Like mine?”

Her mouth purses. “Was she offendedby the question, my lord?”

“I…” He’s not surehow to answer that question. He hadn’t…thought to ask. “No?”

Mrs Carre tilts her chin, smug.“Then it seems it was the right question to ask.”

Dearest Mistress,

I’m glad to hear that some part of Cacciatore may be useful to someone, as I’ve found at least a solid three quarters of the grounds entirely useless. I’ll see to it that the library remains undisturbed, save for Morel’s fretting over my threats to the hardwood, and Lili’s vigorous dusting. Though I will warn you, I’ve heard the estate’s lord is extremely hard to deal with…

I have spoken with Mrs Carre, and she said she had heard how youhave been languishing in the cold hinterlands of Wilant. She thought thateven as you arrive you will be frozen, in much need of your knight to warm you.I promise that my bed is quite soft, and my body the same as you left it…

“Did the Mistress ever sing ‘The Ages of Man’ to you, my lord?”

Obi blinks away the numbers that flood his vision, finding Lili by the bank of windows, lifting long fronds to wet the soil beneath. Mrs Carre had ordered the footmen to bring a load of pots from the greenhouses once it had become clear the lord’s study would not go unused. To lighten up the place, she’d told him, ignoring his protests.

Men, she’d muttered, always trying to live in caves.

“I don’t think so.” He lifts his pen from the page, careful to not leave a mark. It wouldn’t do to have to start over now.

Lili clucks, disapproving. “What sort of Tanbarun girl is she? We’re famous for our laments, you know.”

“She’d be the first to tell you she’s the daughter of a bar.” He means to grin, but longing burns in his chest when he thinks of his miss cheerfully frying shrimp to order in Wistal’s kitchens, and it rounds into a wistful smile. “I don’t think she knows a single song without a euphemism for sex.”

If there’s one thing he’d miss, leaving Cacciatore, it’s Lili’s laugh. She’s a pretty girl, ripe to be a lady’s maid for a real lord’s wife, but her laugh –

It’d be better suited to a donkey, when she forgets to force it. And she’s sent into gale of it now, wiping tears from the corners of her eyes.

“That can’t be true,” she huffs out between brays. “You’re having me on.”

He runs his finger over his chest, and then turns to cross it. “I swear,” he says, solemn, and for a moment it’s as if he’s sitting across from Ryuu, promising not to laugh as he blurts out ideas about roots and seeds and priming.

Ah, so it is not just Miss that he misses. He’d suspected that was so.

“Hum it for me,” he tells her. “I used to be part of a traveling band, maybe I know it still.”

“No!” Lili practically leaps across the room. “You? Did you sing? Play an instrument?”

“Ah.” Heat creeps to the tips of his ears. He should know better than to say that, by now. “No, I was just – just the guard.”

The look she turns on him is dubious, but she hums a verse for him, lilting and in minor key.

“I know the tune,” he tells her. “But it wasn’t about a man.”

“Then I’ll teach it to you.” She flounces back over to the windows, sending him a smile over her shoulder. “And then you can show off to the Mistress, when she comes.”

With Lili’s soft voice serenading him, Obi leans back over his work, letting the melody lull him as he forged the last steward’s hand.

Dear Obi,

I’m sure Caccatore is as lovely and useful as any other estate its age. And don’t worry about its lord – if you haven’t forgotten, I have a way with ornery nobles…

Are you quite sure you are as I rememberyou? It seems that a guard captain at Lyrias is a world away from being a lordat his seat. Lord Makiri said if you’ve been eating like a southern lord,you’ll have gained a stone, and none of it muscle. Though perhaps that willmake you a more comfortable pillow at night…

My Most Cutting Mistress,

You most of all should know what fare Ihave been having, seeing as you keep funneling Mrs Carre recipes to give tocook. And you may tell His Lordship that I am as fit as when I left, more thanready to demonstrate what good southern air might do for one’s training…

And as for you, Miss, I assure you, yourpillow is as firm as it ever was. You may feel free to try it when you arrive…

Apropos to nothing, Obi asks, “What is it people do around here to – for athletic enrichment?”

“Is climbing on the roof not enough?” Yori mutters into the laundry. Morel’s too sharp to miss something as pedestrian as a whisper, especially so poorly concealed, and he sends Obi’s valet a look heavy with censure.

Obi smothers a laugh.

“There’s the gardens, of course,” Morel offers, as if taking a turn or two around the greens was somehow taxing. Maybe for the last lord, but it’ll take more than a hedge maze to get Obi’s heart rate up. “And the horses, if you’re fond of riding.”

Fond was a bit of an overstatement, but it was at least better than a walk.

“There’s the game preserves too, now that there’s no hunting,” Yori adds. Morel’s gaze snaps to him, and Obi can read the how could you in his butler’s eyes as clear as day.

“The game preserves?”

Yori winces, caught between a rock and a slippery lord. Obi doesn’t envy him. “Yes, there’s – acres of land. Hardly walked, save for a few paths. Wooded.”

“It’s not safe,” Morel is quick to append. “I’m sure there’s poachers, even if the lord is not –”

“Sounds perfect,” Obi gushes, mouth twitching as he tries to hide his grin. “I’m sure I’ll love it.”

Morel heaves a weary, but not altogether surprised, sigh. “If that’s what my lord wishes.”

Dear Obi,

I relayed your invitation to Makiri, and hesays he is eager to find out how soft your skills and your – he said somethingvery impolite here – has become. I take him to mean he looks forward to facingyou again on the training grounds.

Curiously I do not remember this firmpillow, I do remember a hard and boney one that often poked me in the morning…

“You know,” Yori pants, leaning against the trunk of Obi’s tree. “Most lords just…take up fencing. Or calisthenics.”

“I already know how to fence.” He prefers his own style. “And this is like calisthenics.”

Yori sends a glare up into the tree cover. Obi’s knows he can’t be seen, but he appreciates the effort. “Are you even human, my lord?”

He grins. “I wonder…”

The valet drops against the tree, letting himself sink slowly to the ground. “Couldn’t you just….tumble a maid?”

“Oh goodness,” Obi drawls, dropping down beside him. “Are you offering yours?”

It’s not until Yori’s lips thin that he realizes – that is not quite as funny a joke when a lord makes it. He grimaces.

“I brought you out here for a reason, you know.”

“I gathered,” the boy grunts, taking the water skein obi offers him. “And I have to say, if you’re going to be like this until the Mistress arrives, you’ll have to find another valet. I’m going to drop dead at this rate, my lord.”

Ah, now there was the other way to his his blood up. Her visit’s only weeks away, less than a month, and he –

He’s fine. It’s fine. “I – that’s not. It’s not about Miss.”

Yori’s eyebrows raise to his hairline. “Then there were easier ways to make a fool of me, my lord.”

“Of course.”

Something beneath his skin quivers as he reaches into his shirt, as he brings out a rectangular, flat parcel, wrapped in unobtrusive butcher paper. Handing it to Yori feels like nothing more than throwing himself off a cliff, and trusting there’s something to grab a hold of on the way down.

“I need you to send this to the capital.”

His valet stares, uncomprehending as he takes it in hand. He’s lucky he’s considered eccentric here; Yori takes the odd request in the same stride he’s done every other strange thing Obi’s done. “My lord?”

His heart pounds; it’s been so long since he’s done this, since he’s taken a chance on someone he can’t be sure of. “It has to be someone you trust. Not from the house.”

“Shouldn’t you ask Mr Morel to –” Yori’s eyes pulse wide, his hands shaking – “You don’t think –?”

“I don’t know,” he says, and is frustrated to find it’s true. “But I know I can leave this to you.”

Yori stares at the brown paper, fingers clenching hard at the leather beneath. “Yes,” he says with a nod. “Right. I won’t let you down, my lord.”

Dearest Mistress Without Mercy,

Your pillow would like to point out thefact that this did not seem to deter you from using it.

Dear Obi,

No, it didn’t. It won’t.

I miss you.

“The mail hascome, my lord.”

Obi startles inhis chair. Her last letter had only come yesterday.

He’s agonized about sending one back, about whether he should laugh off the implication, or – or –

It doesn’t matter. There’s no point in sending a letter that will arrive after she’s left.

She’s coming. Another week and she’ll have left Wilant, and then – then –

She’ll be with him. Having said – that.

“My lord?”

Morel stands over him, every line of his grim face set in concern. Obi can’t imagine what he thinks, two letters from Miss in a row, Obi in clear disarray, and –

And he finally sees the letter, sees the heavy-weight of the paper, much nicer than a pharmacist could afford.

The wax is blue,the seal a wisteria branch. It’s not from his miss.

Lord Obi,

You have our thanks for the gift. However, we some issue has arose in how to use it. You will be expected at Wistal as soon as possible.

I do hope I have not scuttled any important plans.

His Majesty, Izana Wisteria I

#nebluus #obiyuki #desert and reward #my fic #Holiday Promptathon #ans #MERRY CHRISTMAS #ENJOY SOME EPISTOLARY STYLE FLIRTING #LIKE YOU ALL ARE WEAK FOR

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