#obiyukiweek17

[elliejoys]

Obiyuki Week // Day Four ↳ Free day

Bonus:

[vfordii]

Obiyuki Week Day 7: Protect

making sure the nightmares stay away

[lalesath-blog]

Obiyuki Week//Day IV: Free Day ✿

[youseimanami]

-Now you’re safe, Miss. -Don’t speak, Obi, save your energy... -At least I could protect you one last time... -Don’t you dare die! Do you hear me? -Don’t cry, Shirayuki. It’s all right... -....you said my name!  -It’s funny how many times I wanted to call you by name, but I’ve never dared to let myself say it out loud, I was afraid it’d be followed by other words... -What are you talking about? -I love you. I love you, Shirayuki. -....Obi....Obi! OBI! ...

Obiyuki Week 2017 - Day 7 - Protect So, today I picked a new technique I’ve never tried before, another technique where I’m not allowed to erase, this is why I drew something simple. I hope you like it anyway :) Let me know what you think. :)

[another-miracle]

“...Obi, when will you tell me how you got that scar?”

Obi freezes, mid-wipe of his blade. The table they are sitting at is packed with books, flasks, herbs, and he tries to avoid from the chaos by keeping his movements, and belongings, as small as possible. Gingerly, he looks at her, grin frozen. 

“Miss?” He asks, unsure.

The books strewn around her are flipped to similar topics, all covering the characteristics of a certain Lyrias herb only found to grow in the dead of winter. Apparently, one of its functions is an antiseptic of sorts - usually used for rubbing around open wounds for disinfection. Shirayuki is focused as she flips through the encyclopaedia in her hand. Swiftly, she closes the book and pitches a stare at him. Her eyes hold a determination he’s seen often, as if tackling an obstacle too great for her. 

But why would she ask this? A moment causes Obi’s brow to furrow, but he immediately wipes it off with a grin. 

“Why, Miss. Are you curious? Well, if you really wanted to know that badly, all you had to do was ask me!” He laughs, leaning back on the chair, arms crossed behind his head. 

The encyclopaedia hits the table with a loud bang, and Obi flinches, alert. Shirayuki’s fingers are clenched over the book, and her fringe covers her eyes. For some reason, she is trembling, and Obi almost stands to his feet, wanting more than anything to wrap his arms around her and tell her she’s alright.

“I-” her voice wavers, “I didn’t ask, because I didn’t need to.”

She looks up at him, face flushed, eyes tearing. “You told me yourself, Obi.” 

He does stand, now, as she walks around the table to him. Before he can react, her arms around him, and Obi combusts.

“M-Miss, I really don’t think this is approp-” She squeezes him harder, and Obi coughs on an exhale. Hands twitching and hovering over her shoulders, he fights the urge to pull her close as he wanted to just moments ago, when it was an improbability - Obi isn’t used to getting what he wants. He blinks down at her, and feels his face flushing. Somewhere in his mind there are alarm bells ringing, and he is about to take a step back from her when he hears a sob. 

Liquid seeps through the front of his shirt. Her red mop of hair is pressed against his chest, and she is pulling him closer and closer, as if imprinting something into his chest. His scar stings a little from the pressure, but it is moreso disturbed by the running of tears down his skin. 

Slowly, he places his hands on her shoulders, curls his fingers over the narrow joints, and pushes. Automatically, her arms unravel from his form and hang by her sides. Her face is downcast, and Obi notices her ears camouflaging with her hair. He bends down and quirks his head towards her, fingers brushing her hair away for a better view of her face. Her teeth are clenched with a frustration of sorts, and Obi is completely confused. His knuckles nudge her cheek, prompting her to look at him. She does. 

Obi gives her a small smile. “What do you mean?”

Her eyes shine, and it hurts. 

“I listened to you, Obi,” she whispers hurriedly. “I listened to you for three days. You told me about what they did to you, how they laughed when the drew that line slowly across your chest, how they chose to attack your face because your eyes were ugly. They’re not ugly, Obi, they’re beautiful, the prettiest I’ve ever seen. They were lying-”

“Shh,” he coos over her, two hands now cupping her face. His thumbs trace repeatedly under her eyes, catching the tears as they fell. Her breathing is heavy, and he tries his best to calm her down. 

For the life of him, he cannot remember when he told her these things, much less the words he used when describing his past. But it is probable that the particularly bad case of the Lyrias flu that attacked his untrained body, combined with the hallucinatory effects of the medicine fed to him, had dredged up certain memories. It probably triggered in him defence systems that caused him to babble - not uncommon from what he has witnessed in the pharmacy at its peak. 

Shirayuki’s tears are still spilling over his fingers, and she continues choking on her words. “You were screaming, Obi. I’ve never seen you like that. We couldn’t get you to stop. Suzu tried holding you down. We gave you an extra dose to knock you out.”

Ah, no wonder I felt like shit when I woke up. He presses his lips together and stoops down so their eyes meet. Hiccups escape her as she attempts to calm down, and Obi laughs softly. 

“Miss, I’m alright. I’m here in front of you, aren’t I?” He squeezes her cheeks. “And look, my scar is all healed up nicely. No blood at all alright?”

“...it wouldn’t have scarred if you took care of it,” Shirayuki mutters. 

Obi presses their foreheads together. “Well, I didn’t have Clarines’ most brilliant pharmacist at my disposal at that time, did I?”

A small laugh passes her lips, and her tears fall one last time as she squints her eyes in a watery smile. “The chief pharmacist wouldn’t be happy to hear that though.” 

She is radiant under the palms of his hands, and it hurts to have her so close. He forces his throat to work. “What Garack doesn’t know won’t kill her.”

She laughs in earnest now, the tension under her cheeks melting with every giggle, and Obi can’t help but poke at the little dimple that dances near the right corner of her mouth. Just as he begins to retract his hold on her, her hands fly up to encircle his wrists. Her skin slides smoothly against his, her fingers branding him, and he burns without his permission. Her eyes are soft as she gazes at him, her brow furrowed in a way that makes him want to smooth the creases away.

“Don’t get hurt like that anymore, okay, Obi?” Her hands travel up his and she mimics the way he cups her face. 

“I’ve told you before, Miss. I’ll try not to come back with injuries like that anymore. After all, I don’t want to face your wrath,” Obi teases.

She giggles quietly, the vibrations travelling up his arm through to his chest. “Just don’t, okay?”

He leans his forehead a little more on hers, closes his eyes. Breathes. And lets go. He smiles down at her.

“Don’t worry Miss,” Obi quips. “A knight always listens to his mistress.”

[owlsshadows]

Day 7: Wife (protect)

“Even though everyone thinks of her as your betrothed,” Ryuu says one day out of the blue, startling Obi, “she always avoids the topic of marriage.”

He is right.

It’s not like Obi never noticed; no matter in what connotation marriage comes up, Shirayuki always manages to change the topic or escape the scene swiftly – but it’s different when he notices something and when Ryuu is bothered by it so much he decides to speak up.

It gets Obi thinking.

He knows that Shirayuki does not avoid speaking of marriage because she rejects the idea of marrying him – but it outright enrages him to think that it is most probably because she thinks she is not worthy of happiness. Because she thinks that her years on the streets have tainted her, making her something ugly and undeserving.

She’s been a girl who knew happiness. She was not born on the streets. She was someone her parents wanted and expected; someone who was loved, whose wishes were listened to. Someone who could laugh openly – whose mischief was always forgiven, because no matter how tough Mukaze looks, he has always had a soft spot for his daughter. She was once a carefree child, someone her parents cherished a lot.

If not for the cruel twist of fate which led her to live the way she did, she would be flirting with young men just like Yuzuri.

Yet Shirayuki feels dirty, for she killed to survive.

Obi knows that he can’t undo the past – but he is determined to do anything within his reach in order to free her from her ghosts.

 Izana

 Obi barges into the room before the footman could announce him. The king looks up, signaling the servant to leave.

“Obi-kun. What a rare sight. What brings you to Wistal?”

“I want you to refrain from sending Shirayuki on missions to the slums ever again.”

“I wonder if this is the tone a court pharmacist shall talk to their king,” he muses, waving Obi closer to his desk.

“You’re not my king,” Obi says, bobbing his head to the side. “I’m a citizen of Tanbarun. To me, you’re just the brother of my friend.”

“I wonder, whether you came here with the intention of talking to the ‘brother of a friend’ or the king, though. From your request phrased so kindly, it seems the correct answer’s the latter.”

“I came today to speak to you, the employer of the knights of Clarines, asking you to free a knight of yours,” Obi reiterates.

Izana gives him a look.

“She is one of my favorite knights. She saved my life.”

“She saves my life every day.”

“But you are no king.”

“But I could be,” Obi hisses.

Izana raises an eyebrow, intrigued.

“I assume I’m speaking with Obi Shenazard, then,” he says, inciting nothing but a wicked smile out of Obi. He is not denying a thing. Izana pauses long, eyes never leaving Obi’s face, before he starts talking again. “I knighted Lady Shirayuki upon her tremendous help in the Bergatt uprising and she has been a great help since.”

“I’m not asking you to never call her to your aide again. That would hurt Shirayuki, too. But I want you to never send her to places that can remind her of her… upbringing.”

“And what is the merit for me, her employer,” Izana smiles, all but amicable, “in this? Why would I go along with this seemingly selfish request of the bastard of the neighboring king?”

“I plan to marry Shirayuki,” Obi says. “Which also means that I will no longer cause a threat to your brother’s reputation.”

 Garrack

 “How do you get someone believe in your love if they think they are not worthy of it?”

“I thought you have a question about your work schedule,” Garrack comments, putting her papers away, “but what makes you think I can give you an answer?”

“You managed to marry Shidan.”

“Well, that was a tough nut to crack indeed. He didn’t want to court me until his rank was higher than mine…”

“But you are the highest ranking pharmacist in Clarines.”

“That’s it.”

“So? How did you do it?”

“Just between the two of us, Obi-kun… I seduced and threatened him.”

“Is that so?”

“Oh, so unbelieving, you are so not cute. But I did threaten him. I told him that if he is not going to ask me within a year, I will marry someone else.”

“That… won’t work,” Obi says, sighing softly. “If I told her I’m marrying someone else, she would congratulate me and wish me the best.”

“That, I can imagine. Good luck,” the head pharmacist nods. “You will need it.”

 Suzu

 “So… today I kissed Yuzuri.”

“Congratulations,” Obi says monotone, not looking up from his book.

“Not gonna ask how it went?”

“How did it go?” he asks obediently, much to Suzu’s displeasure.

“Thanks Obi, for asking,” he says, flashing a fake grin. “I got slapped. At first. But then she returned my kiss, and we got a little… hot.”

“Sounds great.”

“What about you?” Suzu creeps on him from behind, curly blonde hair tickling his ears as his friend clings onto him, laying his head on his shoulder. “You seem to be moody nowadays. Something wrong?”

“Hmm.”

“Oh yeah, totally. I get the ‘hmm’ too, sometimes, and it makes me forget meals and gets me grumpy for days.”

“Shirayuki,” Obi starts, pushing Suzu’s chin off of his collar, “she doesn’t… treat me as equal.”

“Do you feel oppressed?” Suzu asks, stunned.

“The opposite!” Obi lets out a short, not-so-happy laugh. “I feel like she puts me on a pedestal. She rejects my love, thinking she doesn’t deserve it.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Well…” Suzu starts, walking around Obi like a well-fed cat, to stop right in front of him and grab him by the shoulders. “As a friend, I must admit that I’ve always found you had some weird taste in women. Shirayuki is a good kid, she is just… a bit lethal, you know, with all her knives and poisons. Not really the type people would normally want to cuddle all day. I get that you want, I get it. The thing is, she is not your average girl. The way she sees things may be different from how you and I do.”

“So? What is your advice, Mr Finally-Kissed-the-Girl?”

“You can’t just be all smooth with Shirayuki. She’s way too invested in her role. You need to tell her why things happen, otherwise she would assume that it’s all part of your little guard-game.”

“… so?”

“Did you hold her hand?” Suzu turns his own question against him. Obi huffs, ruffling his hair in frustration.

“Yes.”

“But did you tell her that you are holding her hand because it makes your heart go crazy?”

“Well…”

“Did you tell her you love her?”

“I did…”

“With these exact words?”

“No, but it doesn’t really…”

“Oh yes, it matters. If you think she would get your hints, you are mistaken. To get your hints, she would need to have confidence in herself, and believe me, the man with the least confidence in town, Yuzuri could invite me to her room and make me sit on her bed, but I wouldn’t even dare to think that she was trying to seduce me. Subtle just doesn’t work, when you love someone but you are sure they wouldn’t see you the same way…”

 Ryuu

 “You were rejected again.”

“Thanks for pointing it out. I appreciate the support.”

“Maybe you should change tactics.”

“But how? I tried the honest method, holding her hand and looking into her eye, kneeling before her and she still thought I was joking!”

“It’s your fault, you know,” Ryuu says, undoing the buttons on his winter coat. “You brought up marriage way too many times lightheartedly, now she can’t take you seriously.”

“But… I just… feel the urge to say something funny when I get nervous.”

“Well. I feel like hiding when I’m nervous.”

“I’ve never seen you truly nervous.”

“I’m just very good at hiding.”

 Shirayuki

“Shirayuki,” Obi says one day, when she sets out their plates to eat. “Let’s get married!”

It’s not the first time he proposes – maybe the third in one week, but at least the thousandth overall.

“I’m not marrying,” Shirayuki says, just as always. “This one’s absolute.”

“Why?” Obi asks unfazed, so used to rejection now that he can’t be bothered. “You don’t find a court pharmacist to be a good match? Would you be happier to marry a king? Should I go back to Tanbarun and challenge Raji for the throne?”

“No! It’s not about…”

“But now that this option has come up, it’s worth mentioning that it might make our father happy. He has always worried for his country if Raji was to inherit the throne… I advised him to crown Rona, but never thought about the possibility of myself as the next king…”

“Obi!” Shirayuki slams her spoon in her soup. “I. Am. Not. Fit. For. Marriage. Please stop joking.”

“Shirayuki,” Obi replies in kind. “First of all, I appreciate that you finally decided to use my name, I would’ve been devastated if we jumped from ‘Mister’ to ‘Husband’. Secondly,” he continues, raising his voice, “I think it’s up to me to decide whether I find you worthy of my love or not.”

“Yes, it is!” Shirayuki raises from her seat. “But you should choose someone who is…”

“You! I choose you. I chose you ages ago and I will always choose you! Get this through that thick head of yours, for once and for all: I am in love with you. I want to marry you. I want to put babies in your belly. I want to get old by your side. And never since I met you was I considering anyone else.”

Shirayuki looks at him as if she has seen a ghost.

“I’m afraid it’s not possible, Mister,” she says, trembling.

“Shirayuki. Please,” Obi breathes.

“I can’t.”

That’s all it takes, the next moment she is out of the room.

“As if I’d let you,” Obi grumbles, leaping to the door in one huge step, ready to run for his life – only to bump into her right in front of his doorstep, sweeping her off of her feet and landing on top of her in the snow.

“Ouch,” the girl says, looking up at him. Her face looks puffy – almost as if she cried. She may be the fighter skilled enough to win tournaments; she may be the sole woman knighted by Izana for her achievements – she is still very much a girl, shivering in the snow.

She is the girl he loves.

“I’m sorry,” Obi moves, brushing the snow out of her hair. “Are you hurt anywhere?” he pulls her in an embrace, cradling her small frame against his chest.

“I’m fine,” she breathes in in huge, hiccup like gulps. “It’s just… a bit too much. I’m just… I’m so… inadequate.”

“You couldn’t be more perfect,” he kisses the top of her head. “You have no idea how worthy you are. You would make the best wife, if you let me, I would make you the happiest wife.”

“Are you sure this is not a joke, Mister?”

“It’s Obi,” he stands, carrying her back to the room.

“Are you really fine, marrying me… Obi?” Shirayuki asks, clinging to him like a baby monkey until he plops her down on her chair.

“I wouldn’t be fine marrying anyone else,” Obi replies, kneeling down beside her. “I’m deeply hurt that you don’t believe me.”

“I… I do. But I can’t. But I do!” Shirayuki exclaims, confusing herself.

“Now, which one is it?” Obi snorts.

“Both,” the girl replies. The gentle touch on her chin makes her look up, losing herself in his deep golden eyes.

“Shirayuki.”

“Yes, Mist… Obi?” she squeaks.

“Please be my wife.”

“I would like to,” she says, in a voice so small Obi has to focus hard to hear it. “But I don’t dare to.”

“Is it frightening? The thought of marriage?”

“No…”

“Then, are you not happy with me? Would you like me to become a king? I was joking before, but if you ask me to, I would more than happily make you my queen…”

“I always… feel like a queen by your side.”

“So?” Obi looks up, hands clasped around hers. She shrugs, slowly melting off the chair to hug him.

“I’m sorry,” she says.

“Still no?”

Shirayuki leans back brushing through Obi’s hair to have a better look of his face.

“I’m sorry I rejected you so many times. I’ve always… always wanted to marry you.”

“But?” Obi asks back, slightly panicked.

“There’s no ‘but’,” Shirayuki plants a small, shy kiss on his forehead. “Marry me please.”

[goldenrose101]

OBIYUKI WEEK COMIC, PART 1: LISTEN

So @obiyukiweek! This is my first time taking part in a “ship-week” for anything, and I’m really looking forward to it! However, due to my schedule, I won’t be able to update this daily this week. At best, it will be... weekly? Luckily, the week doesn’t have a deadline, so I can keep submitting whenever :)

This can be seen as a sequel to my previous comic, Enough. Click for quality!

Yes I went for an odd choice with the “Listen” theme sue me I’m weak. Also what length is Shirayuki’s hair... eh, let’s say this is a liiittle farther in the future from where the manga is currently.

DO NOT REPOST.

[sabraeal]

Betwixt Tooth and Vein

Mitsuhide, Master’s voice echoes, not just in the annals of his memory, but it the open air of the arcade. I will leave Shirayuki’s safety to you.

In the night’s silence, he probes at the memory like a tongue to a rotted tooth. It is as if his anger makes it real, makes him relive the same moment in bell-like clarity. Days have passed since the words were spoken, but time has not dulled the wound.

It’s an insult. An insult.

The Mistress is his to guard. Not some...half-cursed monkey.

He gathers his grievances on a sigh, and lets them breathe into the night air. There’s no use being mad at the tide; it only acts as it ought.

“I give up,” he murmurs, head tilting back on the column. He is only as he ever was, a mutt begging for scraps at a table, at the whim of the hand that feed. He rages with no hope of changing what falls at his feet.

He is, after all, a loyal hound to his master.

In the courtyard below, the soft susurration of conversation carried up on the breeze. He turns to look, finding one fair head and one dark, bent toward each other in confidence. Their pace is matched and slow; a stroll rather than a purposeful stride. The perfect gait to link arms and speak sweet nothings.

Oh ho ho. A lovers’ tryst, before being parted? He hadn’t thought Sir bold enough.

His eyes narrow as his grin widens.

“Miss Kiki! Sir!” He hits the ground light, balanced on his toes before rocking back on his heels. “Where are you going at this time of night, together --” He opens his eyes.

No linked arms, no guilty faces. “Eh?”

Sir blinks at him, tilting his head just like a hound. “What’s that for?”

He does not flinch at the sting; it’s an old friend by now. “What do you think it’s for, Mister?”

Sir takes his dodge as well as always, a warning growl rumbling from his throat, but Kiki is quick to step between them.

“We’re going to get Zen,” she tells him. “He’s in out the training yard still.”

“Master?” Obi echoes. He’s been under the impression Sir didn’t allow that sort of behavior. In at dark, up before dawn for young fey princelings. “Out still?”

“Come,” Kiki tells him, in that tone aes sidhe are so good at. He wants to roll belly up when she uses it.

“Ai yai yai,” he mutters, trailing after them. “I’m coming, I’m coming.”

Steel sings, a choir of ban sidhe above the heavy heaves of Master’s breath. He’s been at this a long time, with a blade better meant for display than swordplay.

He grins. Style over substance; that might as well be the words to the wards for this castle.

Master makes a pretty picture, stripped down to his waist and glistening in the lamplight. It’s unfair the way they look, these sidhe. A predator down to the teeth, but with such a pretty package. So easy to forget most would curse as easy as kiss.

“Zen,” Sir calls out, hands knotted on his waist like a cook after wayward scullions. “It’s time to come back.”

“I hear you,” Master replies, clearly having not.

“Master’s training by himself?” Obi asks, palms itching. His knives weigh heavy on his belt.

He shouldn’t. It’s not wise. Men who fight the tide only get swept into the undertow.

“He found out someone is looking for Shirayuki, only for her to be ordered back to the human world.” Kiki shrugs. “It’s understandable. He’s been doing this in the evenings, when the hours allow.”

Obi shifts. His heart picks up a steady pound; it echoes in his ears like war drums. “He doesn’t want to let her go, huh?”

It’s Sir who answers, “He wants to protect her himself.”

Heat flares in his veins.

Is that so? The master wants to protect the mistress?

A long breath rushes out of him, and he moves.

“Obi,” Sir says, as if he could call him back. He should know better than anyone -- a hound doesn’t give up when it scents blood.

“Obi?” Master echoes, finally dropping his form. “You’re here --”

“Master.” He makes his voice strident, makes it fill the training yard. “I invoke the right of challenge.”

It is as if a cog has snapped into place; the knowe’s magic pulls taut, expectant.

“A challenge?” Master repeats incredulous, watching as he picks up one of the scarred blades in the barrel.  “Your terms?”

He barely feels the sting.

His smile bares teeth. “What do you think they are?”

Master grimaces. Ah, they always forget. “Good ones, I hope.”

He acts as if he’s disinterested, but the magic has taken notice, and it’s the sidhe can never resist a wager. Still, Obi makes it good. “If I win, I will be at Mistress’s back in Tanbarun.”

“And if I win?”

So sloppy tonight, Master. “What do you want most?” His heart stutters. “If you win, it will be you instead.”

This is the tricky part. This isn’t his knowe; he can’t promise to break His Majesty’s rules.

A frisson runs through him, a shiver down his spine. The knowe accepts his terms.

“The condition.” Master reminds him, almost desperate now. “You need the condition.”

Obi grins, a dog off his leash. “First blood.”

“I accept.”

The words are hardly out of his mouth when Zen surges forward, blade lashing out at where Obi stands. He draws the shadows in tight and they hold him close, pull him out of its path and away. When he steps from them, it is from a shadow that exists only between one flicker of flame and the next.

His breath is still steady. He hasn’t lost his edge. A good thing; it would be hard to put two halves together.

When he moves, Master is not even looking. It is only his innate speed that keeps Obi from ending the game. He follows his dodge with a swing, slow and heavy-handed, and it misses Obi by a mile.

Ah, how messy. The master is impatient, not gauging his strength. He’ll have to be careful. So easy to draw blood when you’re not particular about the shape you leave your adversary in.

Master will be embarrassed to know he lost himself like this, that magic and bloodlust over took him.

Obi laughs. The prince should know better -- that sort of thing’s in the blood. It’s in his nature. It’s a stain that never washes out.

Master’s next attack is better controlled, but still easily evaded. He’s starting to think now, staying close to where the light’s the strongest, and shadow the weakest. He’s not going to give him any place to run.

Obi swaps his swordhand. Now is no time for play; he needs to end this quickly, before --

Master swings out, all his strength behind the blow --

His blade slices through steel. Ah, ah, he had forgotten about the inhuman strength, a miscalculation --

He may panic, just slightly.

His foot kicks out, and then he is running, tacking Master to the ground, pulling from the geasa as the chains choke tighter and --

His teeth stop just above Master’s jugular.

“Sorry, Master,” he pants, eyes slanting away from the fear that darkens the other man’s gaze. “Human teeth, you know. Can’t draw blood without a mess.”

“I yield,” Master says, catching his breath. “It’s yours.”

He adds a moment later, as easy as if it was torn from his chest, “You are the better choice.”

Obi rolls back to his haunches, looking anywhere but at the sidhe that stand before him. “Ah Master, it was you who chose me as her guard anyway. I only wish to obey.”

“Oh,” Miss sighs, stepping out into the daylight. She’s vibrant in her Cunning green. “It’s you.”

“I hope you’re not too disappointed, Miss,” he says with a smile, as friendly as a man like him could make it. “I hear Sir cuts a more dashing figure in his blacks.”

She laughs, cheeks rounding sweetly. “Oh no.” she says, far too kindly for the likes of him. “I’d been hoping it would be you.”