Consider an obiyuki wedding. Zen goes up to give the little Best Man speech (also read: groom roast) and is like, "I remember when I knew Obi here was well and truly cooked."
Obi: pls don't
And, gleefully ignoring this plea as any good Best Man should, Zen goes on to tell the story about the time that Obi challenged him to a duel because Obi couldn't bear to be separated from Shirayuki for a month and was all, en garde, I'm her protector, bork bork.
Zen: Man doesn't even know how to hold a sword, he's handling it like it's a gd baseball bat...
By now Obi is sinking UNDER the table
Shirayuki is looking on like
She's NEVER HEARD THIS STORY BEFORE BUT IT SOUNDS VERY EXCITING KEEP GOING
Zen starts talking about how, like, he couldn't just knock the sword out of Obi's hand immediately (he could've, he assures his audience. It was just That Bad) because he could tell that this was IMPORTANT to Obi and he wouldn't want to demoralize him!
So they have their little happy sword slaps and Zen is just HORRIFIED by the way Obi is holding that sword, just downright distressed that he'd rather break the thing than let it continue to be dishonored that way. So he swings enough to snap it! Problem is, he's so relieved to put the sword out of its misery that he loses focus and BAM!! Zen's own sword goes flying!
At this point, Zen turns to Obi, who has become one with the floor and is like, "I really wasn't lying when I said I couldn't beat you at hand-to-hand, you're still the MPV there.
And then our Good Prince gets a little misty eyed as he says, "But that night was how I knew you'd always take care of her."
Queue collective "awws" and Shirayuki being all 🥹 as she successfully spatulas Obi off the ground. Obi is using his whole arm AND Shirayuki to hide his face.
Then Zen turns back to the guests gathered in attendance and is like, "Anyways, when Obi came back from that trip we started him on sword lessons--"
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The wide expanse of stars twinkle outside her window, glittering like goldstone. Shirayuki wonders if it’s her imagination or if the skies in the North truly are more arresting. The nights of Wistal were beautiful, yes, but fogged by firelight, paler perhaps than the shades of blue and purple she can make out here. Or was she just not looking? Her impressions could be shaded by the rarity of a clear evening in the North, or perhaps the memory of those early years in Clarines have faded. And yet-
And yet something about this night sky in particular strikes her.
She hugs herself, the heat of another body still soaked into hers long after they’ve returned to their respective rooms. Long after she has changed into her nightgown and set aside all the accoutrements of professionalism, brushing her hair until it crackled with static. Long after she stationed herself at this window, looking up to once familiar stars for answers.
Emotionally exhausted, but... happy. So, so happy.
It must be her imagination how she can still smell the wool and leather and wild that never quite left him. Can still feel his broad hand alighted upon her back, tentative as if anything more might break him. Can still feel the shape of his words murmured against her ear.
“Keep this?”
Shirayuki’s eyes squeeze shut, tight as the fist in her chest. Always, always, she would never think to do otherwise. She would keep it, treasure it, honor the bravery it took him to offer it.
Her grip tightens on herself, but it’s- not the same, not enough.
She can bear it no longer.
Shirayuki spins on her heels, flying towards the door connecting their rooms. Without a moments pause, she flings it open and there—
There are two wide eyes, staring into hers, hand hovering in the space between them.
“Oh. Miss. I—”
“Obi! I- Earlier. We were interrupted and I just thought—”
…that our hug wasn’t finished.
Embarrassment starts to creep up her neck, disbelief at her own reasoning. Hands flutter helplessly in that too large of an expanse between them, and she grasps at nothing for words, hoping to catch a more rational thought. But then she looks up at him, helpless. Between the two of them, he was always the better one at reading her meaning when she didn’t know what to say, and—
His eyes are red at the corners, glossy in the dim light.
The air pulls out of her lungs. He hugged her before. Just an hour ago. Held her, even. So she doesn’t think, she just… flings herself forward, arms wrapping themselves around his middle. He must’ve taken his night gown from Eisetsu’s place, the silk feels familiar. Far better than either of them could afford. She’s half a mind to scold him for stealing from their host, but—
But his ribs collapse under her hold, spine rounding as his body curls over hers. He pulls her closer. So, so gingerly. She doesn’t know how to tell him that her body can take his strength, too. That he can- that he can hold her the way his body needs.
He sucks a breath next to her ear as if in pain and alarm spikes up her spine. Did she hurt him??? Shirayuki braces her palms against his arms, arching backwards to take a look—
His hand tangles in her hair, pressing her face tight to his chest.
“Obi?” Her voice is muffled against his collarbone, sight blocked by the dark fabric of his clothes.
“Miss,” he breathes, voice hoarse, and it’s only now that she feels how he shakes, how he trembles, and—
Wetness spills onto her cheek. It’s not hers.
Not yet at least.
“I thought--” she chokes, wrapping her arms around him once more-- “that we weren’t done hugging it out yet.”
Laughter rattles out of him, his thumb stroking a line along the nape of her neck. “No, Miss.” Obi sniffs, his cheek resting against the crown of her head, and her eyes well. He can’t cry because that means she has to cry, too. “I don’t think we were.”
The moment comes to a screeching halt. Endless calculations, contingency plans, and probability formulas slide off the rail, careen sideways, and plummet down a sheer cliff side. Heavy silence follows, the weight of gravity dragging them to the canyon far below, then an explosion. No survivors are found.
He scrapes two words together from the rubble. “What? I--?”
“I don’t have much experience.” The tip of Yor’s ear is blindingly red, her face obscured by the curtain of her hair. One solitary nail traces the lip of the countertop. “But I thought. Since you’ve been married. And have a child. You’d have a better idea of what to… do.”
He certainly does. He has endless schematics of the best approach with any number of partners, but—
His brain scrambles for purchase and only finds crumbling detritus.
“It’s… been a while,” he lies, grabbing hold of the one thing he has faith in being able to do well even on his deathbed. He flounders over the next words, disturbingly close to the truth. “I don’t know, really. I can’t remember.”
“O- Oh.” The light from oven range hood catches in her eyes just so. Before her, he didn’t think burgundy eyes existed. His chest does that tricky thing again, reminding him to schedule a checkup at the hospital. When it was just his bowels, he could excuse it as a poor diet – rich Ostanian fair mixed with Yor’s unique cooking techniques did not make for a settled gastrointestinal experience. But if his vascular system was also compromised… “Then how will I know if I’m doing it right?”
His breath catches in his throat.
“Perhaps we might figure it out together?” he offers, voice unusually high. He might be having a medical event.
It shouldn’t be possible, but her blush deepens further. Yet her face lightens, shoulders dropping from their perch next to her ears.
He's not a boy, hasn't been for quite sometime - maybe even ever - but his throat aches and his eyes swell before spilling over. Gods, what a mess his heart makes.
Her voice calls out again, more familiar to him than his own skin, more beloved than all the riches he has broken glass and jaws for. She's calling for him, and he doesn't have the power, doesn't have the strength necessary to pretend that he didn't hear. That he doesn't know.
Those moments that meant something to him, meant something to her, too.
Nights like this are made for confessions, and before her is more of a confessional than he deserves.
"Miss." How to tell her everything that word has come to mean to him? He couldn't possibly. So instead he tries to stuff every last feeling into that single syllable instead. Obi points to his chest. To the scar she would have never let become a mark, and that stone meant to guide him through the darkest night. His heart. Still bleeding, still helplessly limping along.
Ice crusts their window, small crystals dusting the corners as the storm howls outside. The fire, already a mere ember when they arrived, has gutted out, giving up the ghost long ago. But the inn holds - creaking with each new gust of wind, but steady. Stable. Safe. These northern lands would accept nothing but what is strong enough to survive. It’s a miracle they managed to beat the storm here, a blessing to find a place to ride out what has already lasted for days.
Yes. It is freezing out there, fingers of cold constantly trying to slip into their bed. But beneath the layers of furs and blankets, the air is as thick and humid as the Yuris.
“Miss.” Damp hands, slick with sweat, tangle with hers. Somehow, he’s lost his stone to the blankets with all their tossing around, its muted light illuminating the pinch of his face as he stills, not even a quarter of the way seated inside of her. She whines in complaint.
Clumsily, he presses her palm against that hard knot of flesh slashing over his heart. “Keep this?” he begs, not the first time, not the last.
Keep me?
“Always.” She takes his face between her palms, his hips nestled between her legs, and tilts up, moaning against the choke of his breath against her ear. “I’ll take you, Obi. All of you.”
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Arcane, Ekko, realizing Powder is well and truly gone
Imagine a single night passing. A night in which there were no stars, no moon, no celestial bodies. Because the air was so thick with toxins outsiders couldn’t even breathe it. Imagine, in that single night, your friends, family, home.. all of it washed away in a flood of fire and blood.
No newspaper articles were written mourning the dead, no police came to investigate. But those people—
They were yours.
And then. Somehow. Years later and under a rain of fireflies that sounded more like gunfire than wings, the girl you lost came back.
Completely out of context collection of words from @onedivinemisfit's camboy!au. Enjoy!
He’s heavy, dead weight, and even a youth of carrying in crates of liquor from the back of her grandfather’s pickup truck hasn’t prepared her for his noodily flopping. Also. He stinks. Of booze and god knows what else. Which is why she’s dragging this incapacitated lush straight to the bathroom even though her couch is right there.
Thud.
The dead speaks. “Ow, fuck.”
“Sorry,” Shirayuki grimaces, and presses her back against the door frame so she can wedge him through the narrow turn of the century opening, as opposed to knocking his face against the molding. It’s a difficult transaction. For someone so skinny, he weighs a whole lot more than he looks.
Obi lands gracelessly on the closed toilet seat with a grunt and it is only when the bright fluorescent light above the sink stutters to life that she’s able to take stock of him. He’s a hot Saturday night mess.
Long legs squeak inside their shiny pleather pants, the button of his fly unsurprisingly undone and giving her the faintest peak of curly hair before she quickly redirects her appraisal north of the bellybutton. His chest is bare beneath the leather jacket, rose ink mixed with faint bruising that crawls up his neck. His makeup has smeared. Or maybe it’s someone else’s. She would imagine a professional would invest in smear proof. Or not. What does she know?
“Busy night,” she remarks dryly.
“Say that with a tad more judgement,” comes the hazy response. “I want to feel even more like shit.”
Shirayuki manages to hold back her sigh. Barely. “What happened to the live stream?”
“Did it.” There’s only the barest hint of gold between his lashes before he winces, slamming them shut again. The light must be a bitch. Too bad. “It was a little slow and the transaction fees are eating up my bottom line. Landlords don’t care if my clients’ stocks are down.”
She may or may not have heard Zen make mention of market volatility on Tuesday. She didn’t understand it then. Still doesn’t, to be honest. “Don’t you have savings?”
His dry, mocking laughter tells her that was… uninformed. “Savings?” he says, and embarrassed guilt lands like cold lead in the pit of her stomach. “Oh, look at our fierce social justice warrior, ally of sex workers. Thinking the job comes with savings.”
Heat creeps up the back of her neck and she squares her shoulders. “Well. I read--” Her teeth click together and she turns neatly on her heel, fiddling with the water faucet before she can walk into another debate about data versus lived experience. “I thought you’d put something aside for a rainy day.”
“Oh, Miss,” he sighs. “They’re all rainy days.”
That really isn’t helping her sudden bout of indigestion. Thankfully, she’s unlocked the correct combination of half and quarter turns and water sputters and spits before flooding out in a steady stream. “How hot do you want it?”
“Eh?!” His whole face is wincing against the light, but he seems compelled to battle it if only to let her see his horror. “What the hell are you doing?”
“You stink,” she says over his shoulder, giving him a… less than kind one over. “You’ve got to want a bath.”
“Your soap probably smells like rainbows and butterflies,” he complains, and no it doesn’t. Chemical fragrances give her a headache. “How am I supposed to sleep knowing that I smell like… unicorn mating musk?”
Fine. If he’s not going to give her an answer, luke warm it is. “Unicorns aren’t real.”
“Just leave me in here.” His eyes are closed again, hands gesturing vaguely at nothing. “I’ll clean up any vomit before I leave.”
“Why did you even come here anyway?” Shirayuki runs a wrist under the water. Maybe a touch warmer. “Not satisfied with contradicting everything I say during two-hour seminars twice a week?”
“Wanted to give you a sneak peek at what the business looks like outside your glossy books.” He peers at her beneath heavy lashes, the thin bands of gold nearly as vivid as his hoops. “See if you're still so keen to write your glowing reviews of the trade.”
Heat surges up from her chest, burning her throat and she just manages to bite her tongue before she falls habit to her fundamental need to be right. “Look," she grits through her teeth. "I think we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot.”
He snorts, and the steam is making the room humid, making her skin clammy in precisely the way that sets her teeth on edge. She opens the window by the sink and cold winter air pours in. She’ll be useless if she loses her temper here. Diplomacy is what is needed.
“You are in my house." She's careful to enunciate every word, measuring them out syllable by syllable. "Therefore, you are my guest and I am here to take care of you.”
He’s staring at her, frowning in a way that’s hard to look directly at. But he's quiet (for once) so she presses on. “Because you are under my care, you are going to take a bath.” This was a non-negotiable. “Then you are going to drink some water and maybe eat something before brushing your teeth and going to sleep. I’ll go digging to see if I can find something clean for you to wear."
"Who even talks like this?" he mutters, almost to himself. She ignores him. "Are you from a video game or somethi--"
"Also!" She reaches under the counter, pulling out a fresh towel. "Also. I have a cat that may or may not decide to sleep on your face. There’s nothing I can do about that last part.”
“Wait.” He’s looking towards the dark living room with interest. “You have a cat?”
“Yes. Her name is Shadow and she’s cooler than you,” she informs him, placing a toothbrush, still in its packaging, atop the towel next to him. “Now are you sober enough to handle taking a bath or do you need my help?”
“I—” He looks around the bathroom like he’s not entirely sure how he got here. “Can I take a piss first?”
“You’re in luck!” Shirayuki’s voice echoes through the dark apartment, her socked feet padding against the hallway runner. “My neighbor is awake, and is willing to let you borrow a change of clothes.” Suzu is a life saver. And a clothes saver. While Shirayuki doesn’t think Obi would bat an eyelash at wearing some of her pajama shorts as hot pants, she doubts she’d be able to look at them the same way again.
There’s no response. The silence stretching from the bathroom is… concerning.
