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notchesandbullets · 3 years

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Saving Her (Ojiro Mashirao x Wolf!Reader)

A/N: dedicated to the anon who wanted me to write a oneshot about ojiro giving the reader a gift, this fanfic is for you 💖💖 this is incredibly self-indulgent and ive been working on it for over a month now. its almost done but i’ll post what i have so far, i hope you like it!!

Contains reluctant Aizawa to soft Dadzawa, annoying brother Shinsou, pure Eri-chan, bakugou's notorious cursing, sweet and innocent fluff between reader-chan and Ojiro. First friend Ojiro to best friend and then lover. Featuring the rest of Class 1-A and them acting like hooligans.

Part 1: Crashing into Ojiro, Room Competition, meeting Class 1-A and Aizawa, who has some bad news for you when you’re discovered.

Word Count: 7k

The sun was setting, casting a golden glow over the busy city of Musutafu.

Ojiro had planned on taking Tokoyami with him, but his friend was still in the middle of unpacking as he was leaving.

He was on the way back to the dorms from the grocery store with a bag of ingredients and sweets as per Sato's request. It was a bit longer of a walking distance since he was so used to coming from his house and would take some getting used to, now that Heights Alliance was his home.

The streets weren't any busier than usual, but when he saw something flicker out of the corner of his eyes off to the side, he couldn't help but feel as though something was wrong.

Maybe it was his hero blood or something stronger but he didn't waste any time diving into action.

As he rounded the corner, his eyes widened as someone crashed into him, nearly toppling him over. He caught his balance just in time, steadying the person that had collided into his chest but not before he saw it.

Blood matting down your hair had his heart dropping in horror. You were trembling in his arms, positively terrified and it didn't take long to figure out what the cause of your stress was when two more figures slinked out of the shadows.

Ojiro acted quickly, using his tail to whisk the two of you higher until you were out of sight. He curled his arms tightly but carefully around your waist, making sure that you wouldn't fall.

Thanks to Ectoplasm's guidance, he had refined his skills and learned how to be unpredictable.

It wasn't until you two were safely on top of the nearest roof did he loosen his grip. Leaning over the edge cautiously, he watched the strangers bolt off in opposite directions, presumably to look for you. He was pretty sure they didn't see him take you away but he wasn't completely certain. Pulling back, he released you from his hold. But he didn't take any offense to the way you practically flew from his touch.

He could see it in your eyes. Fear as deep as yours shouldn't ever be allowed to get that far, for anyone.

You hugged your trembling body with your arms, desperately willing the anxiety to die down so that you could think straight. All you could think about was running. Far, far away where no one could get to you.

"Ah... sorry to take you away so suddenly like that, but it looked like you seemed to be in trouble." Ojiro apologized.

His sheepish tone made you finally break out of your thoughts and for a moment, the two of you didn't say anything, both of you enamored with the other as you got a proper look.

He didn't think he had ever seen anyone as beautiful as you before. Round orbs blinking up at him curiously, your fuzzy ears perched on top of your head perked up as you met his gaze, bushy tail twitching behind you.

As for you, your mouth dried at the sight of your savior. His golden hair and kind smile made your heart skip a beat for reasons unknown to you. You couldn't stop your tail from thumping excitedly against the rooftop when you saw his tail.

It was much bigger and looked much stronger than yours was and you couldn't stop from bounding over to it eagerly, stretching out a tentative hand to touch it.

But you halted at the last second and recoiled, expecting to be punished for your behavior.

Ojiro frowned, taking notice of your trepidation and offered you an encouraging smile. "It's okay, you can touch it if you'd like."

He lifted his tail slightly, inviting your curiosity forth and a bit nervously, you reached out your hand once again. A wide smile split your features as you felt the soft, short fur underneath, your other hand going up to pet your ears, as if to compare the softness.

Ojiro couldn't help but match your smile at that, finding it adorable. Tucking his legs underneath him so that you could still play with his tail, he breached the topic sensitively.

"What's your name?" He asked quietly. "Who were those guys that were after you?"

At first, you seized up and for a minute there, he was worried he went about asking you the wrong way. But a deep sigh left your lungs and testing the waters, you timidly introduced yourself and began to explain in a concise way, your current situation.

You honestly weren't entirely sure how you got there.

But one bad thing after another landed you in a pretty rough neighborhood notorious for Quirk Traffickers. They looked for people with unique abilities that would sell well on the black market. People paid a lot of money to own those they deemed exotic, particularly kids and teens with quirks that had an effect on their physical appearance.

You were no exception, having been cursed with an extremely rare wolf quirk. All it ever brought you was trouble.

You had heard that quirks were hereditary but yours definitely wasn't. You don't know which ancestor it came from when it appeared out of the blue.

Tiny fangs, fluffy ears and a tail emerged one day. But your excitement of discovering it was short-lived when you were abandoned by your parents the very next day. They had found it disgusting.

Young and innocent, you wandered the streets, not sure what you were supposed to do. That's when they caught you.

You bounced from one owner to another, never staying in one place for very long. You had been brought back to their base of operations in Japan, your last master less than satisfied with you since all you did was hide out of fear of everyone, lashing out when he tried to approach you.

You may or may not have bitten a guest when they tried to touch your ears.

Back in your homeland, that's when you saw your opening.

You didn't know what propelled your legs to start running from the men but pretty soon you were out of breath and out of options. Alone in the alleyway, but not for long, you frantically scanned for an escape route.

And that's when you crashed into him.

A shadow fell over Ojiro's face as he heard you explain your past, hands balling into fists at his sides. He wouldn't stand behind while someone was tormenting you. No hero would allow something like this to continue.

Coming to his decision instantly, he stood up, extending a hand out to you.

"Y/N, will you come with me?" He asked, gaze unwavering. "I think I know where you'll be safe, at least for now."

You paused, skeptical. "I-I... I don't know."

He squatted down beside you, patting your head gently. If there was more time, he would've been more patient but he couldn't help but feel uneasy the longer you guys stayed out in the open. Even if you were out of sight, a rooftop wasn't a permanent place for you to hide out in.

Your eyes went wide but you didn't shrink away. You didn't know why. Anytime someone reached for your head, they always had this glint in their eyes, but this time, he looked desperate.

Desperate for you to believe him.

"You must have a hard time trusting people after all you've been through." Ojiro empathized before urgency seeped into his tone. "I really don't want to leave you alone. My sensei might be able to help you but only if you come with me."

You still didn't look entirely convinced but he didn't blame you.

"If you don't like what he says, then you don't have to listen." Ojiro reassured you easily. "No one's going to force you to do anything. You can make your own choice but let me at least give you more options."

That was what finally made you drop your guard, still wary but choosing to trust him for now. After all, he did save you earlier.

You put your hand in his, cheeks warming as he squeezed it slightly.

"Okay."

The two of you traveled to Heights Alliance, the dormitory for Class 1-A of UA High School. He immediately found his teacher, Aizawa, and told him of your circumstances. The man's rough and rugged appearance caused fear to flash through you but only for an instant.

He concealed it well but he seemed kind. Not outwardly like Ojiro, but it was enough to reassure you for now.

All throughout Ojiro's explanation, you hid behind his broad back, shivering at the way his tail curled around your waist to keep you close to him.

It was weird. It didn't feel restricting like you expected it to, it almost felt protective. You kind of liked it. You giggled as the furry tip of his tail tickled your nose playfully and you batted at it, eyes shining as you momentarily forgot where you were.

Aizawa was silent as his student finished explaining why he had a wolf girl attached to his side, scratching the back of his neck as he racked his brain to come up with a solution that wouldn't land you back in that same place again but also without compromising the safety of his students.

Since you were an orphan and a minor, the police would most likely take you to an orphanage, in which case the people looking for you would certainly find you. Aizawa called Principal Nezu and got permission from him to house you at the dorms until the threat hanging over your head was dealt with by the authorities.

You blinked when he asked you if you wanted to stay with them for the time being while they ironed out all the details and see what could be done for a more permanent residence but accepted his offer with a shy and grateful smile.

Then was the matter of actually carrying it out.

The two wanted to settle you in a room of your own but your ears flattened against your head in distress at the suggestion so they quickly dropped that idea.

Aizawa ran a hand tiredly through his hair, unsure of how to resolve this when you clearly were in danger but didn't want to be left alone. The less people that knew of your whereabouts the better and even though he knew Yaoyorozu would probably do a good job looking after you, you clung to Ojiro's side like glue.

You seemed the most comfortable with him and he figured they could use that for now.

Needless to say, Ojiro was surprised when Aizawa suggested he take care of you until the man could figure out a way to accommodate you without you having an anxiety attack but he readily agreed with a slight blush on his face.

He just wanted you to be safe and happy and he was stunned that his sensei trusted him enough to be responsible for you.

Aizawa promptly handed him a small first-aid kit to take care of the blood smeared on your forehead after ensuring that it wasn't anything serious. It was just a slight nick, shallow enough not to need any stitches since it would heal relatively quickly. He told him to clean it before it got infected and his student nodded seriously.

"You can count on me, Aizawa-sensei!!" Ojiro said, bowing respectfully to thank him for all he had done before leaving.

With Ojiro guiding the way, the two of you snuck through the back door and up into his room for you to get settled in. The other students in his class were bustling around the common floor, moving all their things into their respective rooms, hoping to get it done before dark.

It was loud and chaotic, or maybe that was just your sensitive ears picking up on it more. Curiosity peaked, you peeked around the corner after you ensured you were out of their sight, gaze falling on the activity going on below from the second floor.

Ojiro softly pointed each one of them out, telling you their names as they talked over each other.

"I can't believe we get to live together!!" Ashido exclaimed happily, doing a little dance in front of Hagakure and Uraraka. "This is so exciting!!"

"I can't believe my parents agreed to it!!" The invisible girl commented, undoubtedly puffing out her cheeks.

The red-haired and yellow-haired boys who were wrestling in the corner paused for a second to join in on the girls' conversation.

"Did you have a hard time convincing them?" Kirishima asked, only to be smacked upside the head by Kaminari. "Ow, what the heck man?!"

"Why are you asking such a dumb question?" The electric boy retorted, kicking up his feet and smirking. "She could've always just snuck out of the house if they said no. You know, invisibility quirk and all."

He leaped up with a yelp as something shocked him from behind, whirling around to glare at Jirou, who was twirling her earphone jack around a finger nonchalantly.

She sighed, retracting the other one from where she had send an electric pulse through him. "What an idiot."

Kaminari gripped his hair, nearly tearing it out in frustration. "That's what I'm saying!!"

Sero, who was passing by with a box full of his things, stopped and raised an eyebrow. "You know she's talking about you, right?"

"That's not true!!" Kaminari shouted incredulously.

"It's true." Jirou retorted flatly.

The others in the vicinity burst into laughter and you couldn't help but giggle a bit along with them, muffling the sound behind your hand in fear that they would catch you spying on them.

Ojiro's tail twined around your waist gently, steering you towards the elevators. "C'mon, this way."

That contraption alone was the most nerve-wracking thing you've experienced so far. Luckily, the ride wasn't long but that was the only upside. Your tail swished nervously behind you and you didn't relax until the door to his room on the third floor softly clicked closed behind you.

Ojiro breathed a sigh of relief, glancing up at you. You had made it without being spotted by anyone. Thankfully.

He didn't have many things, so moving in wasn't a problem for him and it didn't take too long. He was one of the first ones to finish, along with Shoji, and helped Sato unpack his things until his friend noticed he needed some more ingredients for the cake he wanted to make later on.

The plastic bag crinkled as he took out the snacks he had found while he was getting Sato more flour and sugar. Your nose twitched cutely and he had to refrain from poking your cheek, lest he scare you off.

Your tail was less frazzled now and he took it as a sign that you were getting accustomed to your surroundings.

His eyes softened as you took in his room, pawing at the neat collection of books on his desk before your attention flitted up to the high shelving above your head.

This time, Ojiro couldn't contain his fond smile as he reached over you to grab what you were longingly looking at.

Your eyes went wide as his chest pressed against your back, he easily reached it since he was taller than you. A small giraffe plushie landed in your hands not long after.

He tilted his head, eyes crinkling at the edges as he smiled at you. "Cute, right?"

His little sister, Holly, gave it to him as a going-away present when he moved into the dorms. He missed her so much already but the presence of this little stuffed giraffe soothed his heart.

You held it so gently, as if you were scared you would destroy it.

"Yeah..." You trailed off quietly and he beamed.

It was his first time hearing your voice so unrestrained and free from the fear that gripped you earlier but nothing could have prepared him for how pure and precious it was. He ruffled your hair gently, being mindful of your fluffy ears and looking out for any signs you were uncomfortable with the affectionate gesture.

But his heart skipped a beat when you closed your eyes at his touch, clearly enjoying it and even going so far as to butt your head against his hand in a silent plea for more pets.

You flushed when he chuckled, obliging you for a minute longer until you were like putty in his hands.

The both of you jumped when a loud crash came from downstairs, accompanied by a flurry of enraged shouting and colorful insults even through the many floors. Ojiro casted a worried glance at you but all his concern melted away when a little giggle left your lips.

Relieved that you didn't seem to be too shaken by the noise, he offered the snacks he bought earlier, taking the package and ripping it open for you when you fumbled with it.

Thanking him quietly, you nibbled on the food gratefully. The flavors exploded in your mouth and you positively beamed, radiating the same pure energy you emitted earlier when you had spoken to him.

Ojiro maneuvered around you, finding what he was looking for pretty quickly.

You looked up curiously when he came back, shifting your weight on your knees, unsure of why he was holding a water bottle in your field of vision.

"I need to treat your cut, is that okay?" He asked, unscrewing the cap and pouring a little bit on the cloth he got from the first-aid kit. He didn't want to startle you, so he narrated what he was doing.

You nodded, setting down your half-eaten cookie carefully and brushed back your tangled hair as much as you could so that it wasn't in the way.

Your breath caught in your throat when he moved closer to you. He angled your chin up, gazing into your eyes as he wiped the blood away first to assess the damage done.

"It's going to sting a little bit." He murmured, preparing the antibiotic.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you gripped onto the lapels of his blazer, practically ripping it as your claws came out when he dabbed the cut. You whimpered in pain, tears leaking out of the corner of your eyes at how much it hurt.

Ojiro faltered, your whimper sending a spike straight through his heart and he hastened, not wanting you to be in pain any longer. But he was thorough, well aware that if he didn't do a good job now, there was a chance you would have to endure it again. As soon as he disinfected it, he applied a couple butterfly closures to aid the healing process.

It wasn't bleeding anymore and he sighed in relief.

You panted heavily when he was finally done. Rubbing your eyes furiously, you blinked through your blurry vision, frantically scanning the room as his warmth suddenly disappeared.

"Y/N-chan?"

The voice was close by but not close enough. Your breathing started to pick up, hands clammy and tail fluffed out. An obvious sign you were stressed.

"Y/N-chan!!"

This time, it was a lot closer and you sank back, relieved beyond belief as the familiar sensation of his tail encircling your waist returned.

You stammered out his name, blindly reaching for him.

"Where did you go?" Your whispered, fingers trembling uncontrollably as he pulled you into his chest.

"Just had to put away the bandages." He reassured you, concerned with how quickly you were to losing it. "Are you okay?"

Your ears flopped back and forth at how vigorously you nodded, as if you needed to convince him like your life depended on it and his mouth twisted into a small frown.

"You don't have to do that." He said, going to pet you once more, smiling in relief as your tail finally stopped lashing behind you.

"... 'm sorry." You mumbled sadly, clutching onto the front of his jacket.

"It's okay." Ojiro replied, stroking your hair to calm you down. "You didn't do anything wrong."

Just how much pain had you endured?

This time when he stood up, you were okay. Somehow comforted that he wasn't going to go anywhere anytime soon, you polished off your snack as he got something else from the closet.

"Here."

You perked up at the sight of the blue hoodie in his outstretched hand.

Ojiro laughed at your expression of awe as you accepted it and ran your fingers over the material. "You seemed cold so how about you hang onto this for now?"

It was one of his lounging hoodies that he didn't wear too often but it was rather warm and would hopefully stop you from shivering. That tattered dress you were wearing looked like it was about to go any second. He didn't want to know how weak your immune system was to be freezing cold in the middle of August.

You beamed happily, bowing repeatedly. "Thank you, Ojiro-san!!"

It had gotten stuck over your head when you tried to pull it down though and with a muffled squeak that gained his attention, he tugged down the hem, smiling when your ears and flushed face popped through.

Just when I thought she couldn't get any cuter... He thought to himself as you began to run around the room, climbing on anything and everything once he told you that he didn't mind.

His clothes swallowed your smaller frame and he found it incredibly endearing with the way you would flap your arms around, claiming you had sweater paws. It fell just above your knees, keeping it modest.

He steered you away from the balcony for now, wanting you to stay where he could keep an eye on you.

After a few more hours of you getting adjusted, you had tuckered yourself out and curled up into a ball on the floor at the foot of his bed.

Ojiro frowned once he noticed you taking a nap on the hard surface, abandoning his studying at his desk to take you in his arms and placing you in his bed.

You stirred, heavy eyelids struggling to open as you croaked out, "W-What? Ojiro-san, what's going on??"

"You can't sleep on the floor, Y/N-chan." He chided lightly. "It's not good for your back."

Sleepy haze diminishing, you bolted upright, nearly smacking him in the face when you realized where he had put you.

"I can't sleep in your bed!!" You burst out incredulously.

Ojiro hushed you, worriedly glancing at the door as if his friends would come barging in without any warning but luckily they didn't. He didn't put it past them but this was one time where he didn't want them to do that.

He tried to ease you back down but you wouldn't obey.

"Don't worry, the sheets are new." He reassured.

His eyebrow furrowed when you shook your head violently from side to side, wondering what you were so worked up about. You tried to climb out and he let you but didn't let you go too far.

"What's wrong?" He asked quickly, the possibility that he had offended you coming to light. "I didn't mean to—"

"I'm not allowed to!!" You suddenly blurted out.

He did a double take and you looked over his shoulder, your eyes darting everywhere else besides him.

Crouching down to your level, he soothed you gently. "Hey, it's okay. What do you mean you're not allowed to?"

You absentmindedly picked at the wound closures on your forehead, swallowing thickly when he took your hand in his to prevent you from messing with the bandages.

"Y/N-chan?" He prompted.

Your mutter was so quiet he had to strain himself to hear you right and when he did, he asked you to repeat it because by All Might was his blood boiling if he heard you correctly.

You gulped, intimidated by the brazen anger in his eyes, fiddling with the hem of his hoodie.

"They said we're animals and called us dirty. We're not supposed to sleep where humans do." With each word, you got quieter until his face was right in front of yours. "They were right... weren't they?"

Squeaking as you got engulfed in a hug, you tensed up and he broke it, apologizing profusely.

"I'm sorry, I just," He ran a hand through his hair, conflicted. "They couldn't be more wrong."

He didn't touch you but he didn't need to for you to feel his warm presence extending out towards you and covering you in the most love you've experienced since your parents left.

"You might have an animal quirk but you're human just like the rest of us and don't deserve to be treated any less than that by anyone." He emphasized, then pounded a fist to his chest. "From now on, I'll look out for you and show you what it's like to be treated like an equal, as a friend, if you'll let me."

Ojiro held out his hand. "Deal?"

You sniffled, unbelievably moved by his kindness after only knowing you for less than a day. "Deal."

You sealed it with a handshake and he gestured to the rumpled bed behind him.

Waving his hand grandly, he proclaimed, "Your napping space awaits."

He internally winced at how corny that sounded but hearing your laughter ring in the air more than made up for it. As he helped you settle beneath the covers, he reassured you constantly but patiently that you really were allowed to sleep in a bed and no, you weren't bothering him or being a burden.

After that, you couldn't fall asleep right away and he really didn't want to study anymore so the two of you talked.

He told you about his family, how he got into UA, stuttering nervously a couple of times only to shoot you a grateful smile when you didn't judge or make fun of him. He told you about his little sister, a cute, precious little girl who was growing up faster than he liked to admit. Retelling and entertaining you with stories of his classmates and their adventures, his tail flicked up excitedly when you started to chime in with experiences of your own.

Things you could remember from your past. Foods you liked, hobbies you had, friends you liked to play with, and he listened attentively through it all. When you started to drift off, you sleepily mumbled offhandedly how you liked it when he patted your head or rubbed your ears.

And you especially liked it when he would hug you with his tail.

Ojiro just smiled softly, tucking the blanket around you before brushing the hair away from your face. You looked so peaceful. He got to his feet and stretched his arms over his head, jaw dropping in surprise when his gaze landed on the bag discarded on the floor. He had completely forgotten about that.

Shaking your shoulder to rouse you from your tranquil state, he whispered apologies when you finally opened your eyes.

"I'm so sorry I woke you up but I have to go to Sato-kun's room really quick to give him the flour and sugar I bought earlier, okay?" He rushed out, tripping over his words to get it out faster so that you could go back to sleep.

"Can't I go with you?" You mumbled, still half asleep.

Ojiro shook his head, remembering what Aizawa said about exposure. Sure, he trusted his classmates but there was a big difference between what he wanted and what was logical. Your chances were better off with the less that people knew you of your whereabouts so he refused, even though it nearly broke his heart when you trained your wide orbs on him.

Pushing out your bottom lip slightly, tears collected at the corner of your eyes. "You don't want me there?"

He was quick to kneel down by your side, unable to stop himself from pressing his forehead to your temple in a desperate attempt to make the sadness in your voice fade away.

"No, no, princess, it's not that at all." The pet name slipped out faster than he could stop it but he didn't even stop. "You're safer here for right now. And I'll only be gone for a minute."

He rubbed the back of your hand with his thumb. "Okay?"

You mustered up a wobbly smile for him. "Okay..."

He wanted to text Sato to come to his room to pick it up so that he wouldn't have to leave you but that would stir up questions, especially since he wouldn't allow his friend inside and that would undoubtedly create a mayhem within his peers at what he was hiding. For aspiring heroes, they were still teenagers after all. And they loved to bug each other like it, too.

Ojiro sighed as he forced himself to detach from you, tucking the blanket securely around you before he stepped quietly out the door.

For once in his life, he kind of wished he wasn't living with his classmates.

After he left, you tried to quell the anxiety and insecurities. Twisting and turning, your mind raced, spiraling out of control. He didn't abandon you, he was just returning something to his friend. He would be back soon. He promised you.

But as the minutes ticked by, it felt like hours and you couldn't wait any longer. Throwing off the covers, your legs shook as you stepped towards the door. However, you froze in place and your ears twitched, picking up the sounds faster than the average human which normally would've given you an advantage but you couldn't move in time.

The door flew open with a bang, slamming into the wall and making you jump nearly five feet into the air. On the other side stood the girl with pink hair and skin that you had seen earlier, along with the electric boy and a few others you didn't recognize.

You shrunk back as the group exploded into chaos, directing questions towards you faster than you could process or fend off on your own. Your panic rose as they flooded in, clutching your hands tightly to your chest at the overwhelming amount of people in the cramped space.

Then, your eyes widened as someone shouted frantically for them to move, shouldering his way through until he came to you. You willed your feet to move but they wouldn't obey no matter how hard you tried, your body still frozen in fear. It didn't matter though because he reached you within seconds.

"Guys, seriously, back off!!" Ojiro shouted above the clamor, his tail pulling you close and tucked you under his arm. "You're scaring her!!"

At the strain in his usually light tone, his friends started to quiet down one by one and he turned his full attention on you.

"You okay?" He murmured, cradling your jaw and inspecting your face for any hint that you might've been hurt.

You didn't say anything, just threw your arms around him and brushed your nose against the crook of his neck, scenting him. His warm scent eased you and brought you back down bit by bit until your feet were planted firmly on the ground.

Even though he had no clue what you were doing, it was making the tension wound in your body disappear fast so he didn't have any issues with it. But his breath hitched as a soft rumble emitted from the back of your throat in contentment, squeezing you once before letting you go. He didn't detach his tail from you though, using it as a wall to keep his overeager friends from coming too close.

Ojiro let you do what you needed in that moment and in the minutes that followed, his friends began peppering you with questions. He let you keep your face nuzzled into his chest as you shyly answered them but he answered for you whenever you hesitated so that you wouldn't be put in an uncomfortable position of refusing them.

He had already seen what you were like when something that was normal for them went against what was ingrained into you and his arms curled around you tighter in an effort to protect you.

You were thankful for him taking most of the pressure off of you, timidly straying from his side when he encouraged you to talk to the girls a little bit more. You warmed up to them much faster than the rest, your eyes brightening up excitedly when they told you there was a girl among their friend group who had a frog quirk.

He sighed as Yaoyorozu and Ashido led you away from the boys with the rest of the girls in tow to go to a space where the environment would be better for you. Feeling bad that the secret had gotten out already, he winced as he thought of the penalty he would face once he told Aizawa.

Kaminari smirked, leaning against the doorframe after you exited. "Man, where have you been hiding her?"

Ojiro shot him a look that told him to keep quiet, not in the mood for playing around. "That's not funny."

"C'mon man, we're just teasing." Kirishima added on, not picking up on the tense energy of the room. "You could've at least told us you had a girlfriend, she's really cute."

"If not a little shy." Sero grinned, elbowing him in the ribs teasingly. "Don't worry, it's not like we're going to steal her away or anything."

"You should not have a girl in your room, Ojiro!!" Iida declared, chopping his hands in the air to emphasize his point despite the inconsiderate snickering occurring on the other side of the room by the three of them. "It is not appropriate!!"

Shoji, Sato and Koda all elected to remain silent, studying their friend's shadowed expression as their other classmates relentlessly teased him.

Forehead creasing in annoyance at the continuous jabs, Ojiro blurted out, "Guys, stop!! It's not something to joke about!!"

He sank to the floor, head in his hands and for the first time since they burst in, the guys finally took notice of the way his shoulders shook and how anxiety seemed to roll off of him in waves.

"She's in real danger." Ojiro told them quietly. "There are bad people looking for her so you guys can't talk about her, alright?"

"Please." He begged, not caring how desperate he sounded.

All he wanted was for you to be safe. All he wanted was for you to live the life you had been robbed of without having to look over your shoulder to see if someone was following you or not.

Shoji uncrossed his duplicate arms, stance broadening. "We won't."

"Yeah," Kirishima inserted, rubbing the back of his neck, ashamed of his behavior earlier. "Sorry man, had no idea."

Scattered apologies followed his and reluctantly, Ojiro raised his head, mouth set in a determined line. He didn't answer too many questions about your situation, wanting to keep as much of it as he could private until he knew how you felt about telling them and stood up. Now that damage control had been dealt with, all that was left was to tell Aizawa.

Piece of cake.

Back with the girls, you were dragged back to the elevators to get to the girls' side. Since Jirou's was the closest, you guys went there. Your expression filled with awe at the many instruments that hung on the walls, wanting to touch them but you didn't want to get in trouble so you kept your hands stiffly by your sides.

Ashido enthusiastically led you to the plushiest spot on the floor and for a second, you were reminded of the little stuffed giraffe Ojiro let you play with when he caught you looking at it. A smile tugged at the corner of your lips and you jumped when the girls squealed.

"Who are you thinking about?" Ashido pried, eyes glimmering with mischief. "It's Ojiro-kun, isn't it?!"

Your mouth opened and closed, unable to form a response to that. You covered your ears when she shrieked excitedly, taking your silence as your answer and dancing around the room.

"Mina-chan, calm down, you're a little too loud." Yaoyorozu told her gently before reaching over to pat your shoulder. "Where did you come from?"

Mouth parting in shock at how blatant she was being, you twiddled with the strings of Ojiro's hoodie. "Um, well, they told me that my breed is mixed so I don't sell as well as a purebred but I'm fast and—"

"Oh goodness no!!" Ashido interrupted, eyes widened in horror and if you looked around you would've seen all the other girls wearing that exact same expression. "That's not what she meant!!"

Tilting your head to the side clueless, you frowned. "It's not?"

"No!!" Yaoyorozu exclaimed, horrified by what you had to have been through to respond like that on instinct. "I meant how did you get in the dormitory, in Ojiro-san's room nonetheless!!"

"Ah, well... that, um... I—" You cut off your stammering with a frustrated sigh. "I'm not sure how much I'm allowed to tell you."

"That's okay." Uraraka reassured you easily.

Her energy reminded you of Ojiro.

"Is it true that you're in danger?" Jirou spoke up for the first time since the gang of girls invaded her room.

Your jaw dropped in shock but your expression cleared when she waved her earjacks around pointedly. That must've been how she could hear and judging by the timing of her question, you concluded that Ojiro must have been the one talking about your circumstances. And since you didn't feel like he would knowingly put you into danger, you told them what you told him.

Their expressions crumbled before you, losing all semblance of their happy-go-lucky personalities as disbelief took over.

Yaoyorozu's eyes filled with tears. "You had to endure all of that alone?"

"That's horrible!!" Ashido cried out.

"I'm so sorry!!" Uraraka and Hagakure shouted simultaneously.

"I can't imagine what that must've been like." Jirou said, her eyes sad. "You're here now though, so Aizawa-sensei must've given you permission."

You nodded, knees tucked under you as you gripped the hem of the blue sweatshirt. "Yes, but it was only supposed to be a temporary solution and no one else was supposed to find out."

Hesitating, you gulped. "If... If this gets out, I—"

"Don't worry, Y/N-chan!!" Ashido exclaimed, shooting to her feet and pumping her fist in the air. "We'll definitely protect you."

Jirou nodded, fueled by her friend. "Yeah!!"

"You can count on us!!" Hagakure jumped up beside her.

"They won't be able to touch you anymore now that you've got us!!" Yaoyorozu declared determinedly.

"Let's go!!" Uraraka cheered. "Plus Ultra!!"

You burst into sobs at their overwhelming support despite only having just met them and the girls crowded around you in the best group hug you've ever received.

After that emotional roller coaster, they were going to bring you back to Ojiro's room since that's where you wanted to stay for the night but they heard your stomach growling and collectively decided to feed you with whatever they could find in the kitchen.

Yaoyorozu was pretty sure there was some leftover pizza that the guys had bought earlier that day.

Your protests fell on deaf ears as Ashido and Uraraka dragged you all the way there, Jirou trailing behind as Yaoyorozu and Hagakure ran ahead.

"You don't want your own room?" Jirou questioned when they finally released you.

You shook your head. "I... I don't really like being alone and Ojiro-san is my first friend I've had in a long time, so I... I trust him."

She nodded understandingly. "I get it."

"That is soooo cute!!" Hagakure swooned, balancing several boxes of various packaged Japanese snacks in her arms.

You blushed beet red, flushing further when the girls cooed at how cute you were. Pulling the collar of the hoodie up to hide your smile, you pleaded for them to stop embarrassing you. Tea kettle whistling on the stove as Yaoyorozu prepared some jasmine tea, Uraraka brought out the pizza box she had just found from the industrial-sized fridge, handing it to you after heating it up.

"Isn't this someone's food?" You questioned, not touching it. You didn't want to eat it if it belonged to someone.

Jirou pushed it towards you encouragingly with her earphone jack, smirking. "Trust me, Kaminari won't miss it."

You decided to take her word for it.

You had barely finished half a slice when the front door opened and the chilly night air blew inside. Turning around, you hopped off of the stool you were perched on and ran to Ojiro, who had an extremely exhausted Aizawa in tow.

Ojiro caught you easily, wrapping his tail around you out of instinct. It was getting to be a habit by now.

"Are you okay?" He asked as he checked you over.

You giggled, prying his hands away from their dutiful inspection. "I'm okay."

He breathed a sigh of relief but the two of you stiffened when Aizawa cleared his throat from behind him.

"As much as I don't want to interrupt whatever that is," He droned monotonously. "This has gotten a lot more serious."

You shared a worried look with Ojiro and gasped when his tail tightened around your waist ever so slightly.

"You can't stay here." Aizawa told you, fixating his eyes on the students who moved to object, more flooding in as their sensei's voice carried clearly. "You need to come with me, I'll find you a place to stay for the night."

Taglist: @katsukis-sad-angel

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enumakis · 3 years

Text

YUJI ITADORI

M E T A M O D E R N I T Y

𝘀𝘆𝗻𝗼𝗽𝘀𝗶𝘀: 𝘆/𝗻'𝘀 𝗯𝘂𝗰𝗸𝗲𝘁 𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝗳𝗶𝗹𝗹𝗲𝗱 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗺𝗮𝗻𝘆 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 𝘀𝗵𝗲 𝗸𝗻𝗲𝘄 𝘄𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱 𝗸𝗲𝗲𝗽 𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗯𝘂𝘀𝘆 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗲𝗿, 𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝘀𝗵𝗲 𝗻𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝗿𝗲𝗺𝗲𝗺𝗯𝗲𝗿𝗲𝗱 𝘄𝗿𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗱𝗼𝘄𝗻 𝗮𝗻𝘆𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗮𝗹𝗼𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗲𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝗯𝗲𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗱𝗿𝗮𝗴𝗴𝗲𝗱 𝗼𝗳𝗳 𝗯𝘆 𝗮 𝗽𝗶𝗻𝗸 𝗵𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗲𝗱 𝗯𝗼𝘆— 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘀𝗵𝗲 𝗱𝗲𝗳𝗶𝗻𝗶𝘁𝗲𝗹𝘆 𝗸𝗻𝗲𝘄 𝘀𝗵𝗲 𝗻𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝘄𝗿𝗼𝘁𝗲 𝗱𝗼𝘄𝗻 𝗯𝗲𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗮𝗶𝗹𝗴𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝗯𝘆 𝗮 𝗯𝗮𝗿𝗿𝗮𝗴𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝗺𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘀 𝗲𝗶𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗹𝗼𝗻𝗴 𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 𝗼𝗳 𝗵𝗲𝗿𝘀.

𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲: 𝗺𝗼𝗱𝗲𝗿𝗻!𝗮𝘂, 𝗳𝗹𝘂𝗳𝗳

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝗻 𝘀𝘄𝗲𝗮𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗽𝗼𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗯𝗹𝘆 𝗯𝗮𝗱 𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿/𝘀𝗽𝗲𝗹𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗲𝗿𝗿𝗼𝗿𝘀

++ 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗶𝘀 𝗮𝗻 𝗮𝘂 𝗺𝗲𝗮𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗮𝗹𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗻𝗮𝘁𝗲 𝘂𝗻𝗶𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘀𝗲 𝘀𝗼 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗯𝗲 𝗻𝗼 𝗷𝘂𝗷𝘂𝘁𝘀𝘂 𝗼𝗿 𝗮𝗻𝘆𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘀𝘂𝗸𝘂𝗻𝗮 𝘄𝗼𝗻’𝘁 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘆 𝗮 𝗿𝗼𝗹𝗲 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝘀𝘁𝗼𝗿𝘆.

it was a hot summer day and the h/c haired girl laid in bed with her legs dangling off the edge of the mattress, idly staring up at the ceiling as if she stared long enough, the boredom would somehow miraculously fade away into nothingness. she slightly shifted her head to the right in order to get a clear view of the piece of paper with the words “SUMMER BUCKET LIST” scribbled messily across the top of the page in big bold letters. the only thing keeping it up was a piece of washi tape she found lying around and the girl made a mental note a while back ago to buy a whiteboard in order to replace the system she currently had going on (although that mental note was now long overdue as it had been exactly 2 weeks since summer break started.)

a wave of deja vu washed over y/n as she watched the tape slowly peel itself off her beige walls. she let out a loud groan before sitting up and dragging her feet over to the flimsy piece of paper she called her bucket list. as she grabbed it, she flipped it over to the side she had written on and stared at it in contemplation.

“i should probably go get that whiteboard now, huh...” she thought to herself.

y/n wandered into a small store located around the less populated area of the mall. funnily enough, the girl had a distaste for overly crowded places and hated the stuffy feeling it brought upon her. but unfortunately, she had no other choice but to suck it up as this was the only store she was certain would have what she needed and for a good price as well because no way in hell was she going to drop over $5 on something she would most likely end up shoving into her closet by the end of summer.

it was a nice and quiet store honestly: there were only 2 other people browsing around— 3 including the white haired cashier but he seemed to be off in his own little world as he was scrolling on his phone, all while munching on what y/n could only assume to be kikufuku.

“i could literally walk out with a pile of merchandise in my hands and he wouldn’t even notice.” y/n thought as she proceeded onto the next aisle.

jackpot.

on her left sat the small abundance of whiteboards the store had in stock, but the only problem was that each design had caught her eye. y/n took a few steps forward as her hands reached out for the two whiteboards she took a liking to. the one in her left hand was the perfect size to fit her entire list, although the only downside was that the design of it was a bit plain— having only a black border around it. whereas the one in her right hand was a lot smaller but on the flip slide, it had a yellow border with various colors and sizes of flowers.

the girl bit her lip as her eyes darted between the two whiteboards in her hands. she was so deep in thought that she failed to notice the pink haired boy dashing towards her at an alarming speed. it was only then that she snapped out of her daze when she found herself forcefully dragged out of the store going over 25 miles per hour.

she stared at her wrist, then to the owner of the hand grabbing onto it.

“W-WOAH!” she tried to cement her feet onto the ground in order to prevent the male from dragging her any further than they had already gone, but his strength was almost overbearing.

just as you were about to voice another complaint, you turned your head back a little and gasped when you saw 3 mall cops running right behind you. you two kept running until you guys reached the busiest and most crowded part of the mall.

“great, the cops think i’m this dude’s accomplice and he drags me into the part of the mall i hate the most. couldn’t have he just gone the other way?”

your inner thoughts were interrupted when you were suddenly yanked into the bathroom, giving you time to catch your breath.

“what the fuck dude?!” you whispered loudly. “you don’t just grab someone and then run off without an explanation!”

the boy turned around and once you got a good look of his face, your anger soon shifted into confusion. you were expecting an apologetic expression to be plastered onto his face, but instead of that, he had a cheeky grin dancing across his face.

“y-you!” your words were caught in your throat.

“hi!” his voice wasn’t deepest, nor was it too high. “sorry about that! my name is itadori yuji but you can just call me yuji, i don’t really roll with honorifics.”

you weren’t going to lie, he was actually quite cute. but that wasn’t the point. cute or not, this guy still dragged you into whatever stupid situation he got himself into and there was no way giving you the privilege of calling him by his first name was going to fix this problem. who did he think he was? a celebrity?

“first of all, i don’t care what your name is,” you stepped closer and poked his chest with your index finger. “and second of all, what the hell were you thinking dragging me into whatever mess you got yourself into?”

his smile faltered and it was soon replaced by a nervous expression, accompanied by a nervous scratching of the neck.

“you see... my friend nobara dared me to shoplift but then she saw you and told me she’d add an extra $20 if i took you along for the ride.”

your jaw hung low. “am i really only worth $20?”

“what? no!” yuji shook his hands in denial.

“that’s besides the point!” you quickly came back to the reality of things. “you should be grateful i don’t have the cops on speed dial right now because i’ll let you off the hook.”

“really-”

you covered his mouth with your hand before he could finish his sentence. “only on one condition though.”

he raised an eyebrow, prompting you to continue.

“you have to treat me to lunch, oh! and you also have to go back to the store from earlier and buy me that whiteboard.” you stated.

“but what if the cops get me?” he asked worriedly.

“well... you can decline my offer and i can go ahead,” you slid your hand into your back pocket before pulling out your phone and flaunting the device in front of the pink haired boy. “and give those nice cops a call, or you can take the safer route of having a 50 percent chance of not getting caught.”

“fine! i’ll go back and buy that whiteboard for you.” he pouted.

“nuh-uh-uh, don’t pout at me, shoplifting is a serious offense dude,” you shifted all your weight onto one foot and crossed your hands. “so? what are you waiting for? times ticking y’know.”

with that final comment, he scurried out of the bathroom as you managed to stifle a laugh. you went back into your back pocket and pulled out a slip of paper, unfolding it as your eyes scanned down the page.

12. find someone to complete the rest of the list with.

“this is going to be a fun summer.” you thought to yourself before shoving the piece of paper back into your pocket.

A/N: this was just a little one shot idea i had stuck in my head after i made a playlist dedicated to this cute boy haha. it was originally supposed to be a one shot but it turned out to be a lot shorter then i expected so i came to the conclusion to make this a little drabble heh

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk #jjk x reader #itadori yuuji #itadori x reader #anime #itadori #yuuji itadori x reader #yuuji #itadori yuuji x reader

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storyofmychoices · 4 years

Text

Plan B: Once a thief...

[Mal Volari x Daenarya Masterlist] [Mal’s Orphanage Series]

Characters: Mal Volari, Daenarya (F!MC, human), Rayden (OC), Lydo (OC), Vayne (OC); Threep, Loola

Warnings: brief allusion to child endangerment; some violence (adult/adult)

Setting: Mal tried to rescue Lydo through negotiation; Vayne, the leader of the Thieves Guild said no. This is Plan B.

This follows Welcome Home

(This is the fifth part of Rayden & Lydo’s story.)

Synopsis: After failing to rescue Lydo, Mal regroups and comes up with a new plan. With the help of Daenarya, Threep, and Loola, can he succeed?

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

“Wait!” Threep scoffed, holding his paw over his chest, feigning offense. “You invited me as… a distraction… As if I were bait?”

Mal pretended to consider it a moment longer, his fingers stroking his beard. “Yup! You’re really only here because we need your girlfriend.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.” Threep puffed out his chest. “And, I’ll have you know I—”

Mal cut him off. “Your girlfriend has ice magic, Daenarya has light magic, and I’m a legendary outlaw and hero who knows that complex better than anyone else. Remind me again what you do beside deliver mail.” He chuckled to himself, “drink milk?”

“Why you!” Threep hissed, the fur on his back standing up, his claws extending, ready to pounce.

“KITTY!” Rayden popped in the room, rushing toward the nesper.

Threep tried to move away from the child, but Rayden scooped him up, pulling him closer. “Hey, watch it!”

The light glistened off of Rayden’s widened eyes as his mouth fell open. “You can talk?”

“Of course! I’m a nesper, an ancient being of noble ancestry that should be worshiped and—oh, that feels quite nice. Oh!”

Rayden scratched between Threep’s ears as the nesper’s eyes closed stretching into the child’s warm embrace. “Cute magic kitty!”

“I am quite adorable!” Threep nestled further against Rayden enjoying his pets, blocking out the Rogue’s deep guffaw.

“Can we keep him?” The boy turned to Daenarya hugging Threep snuggly.

She knelt beside him. “He’s not a pet, sweetheart. He is a special creature who deserves to be free.”

Rayden’s lip quivered slightly as he looked down at his new friend. “But I love him.”

“I know.” She caressed his cheek. “I’m sure Threep will come to visit some times, won’t you?”

The nesper purred contentedly, “It would be my honor.”

“Oh, great! You mean we have to see more of the mangy cat?” Mal scoffed.

Daenarya shot him a look, before turning her attention back to the child. “Rayden, we need Threep to go rescue your brother. So, I’m going to need you to put him down.”

“Aww,” the boy and the nesper whined almost simultaneously.

“Oh, Threep. Have a little respect for yourself,” Loola rubbed her paw over her eyes.

“Let him stay,” Mal shrugged. “We can do without him. Besides, babysitting sounds far more his speed.”

“Threep, what do you want to do?” Daenarya questioned.

“I’ll go where I’m appreciated. Since that is not with you lot, I’ll stay with the boy!” Threep shifted under Rayden’s touch. “A little to the left. Right there. Ahhh.”

“Be careful! And, don’t let him leave the house,” Daenarya instructed.

“I think we will manage just fine,” Threep purred, looking up to Rayden. “Got any cream cakes?”

“Loads!” Rayden nodded, carrying his new favorite friend off to the kitchen.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

The dim light they carried flickered against the rough, stone walls of the underground tunnel. The path turned and curled deeper into darkness, the cold of the earth prickling at their skin. Daenarya shuddered, her heart beating faster with each step they took. It wasn’t as though this was their first adventure, but they had been so focused on fixing up the orphanage, that adventuring sort of fell away. Her stomach tightened, hoping this plan would be enough, she couldn’t bear the thought of going home without Lydo, Rayden would never understand. He had already set aside some of his things for his brother. A smile crept across her face, hidden by the shadows. She hadn’t known Rayden long, but she loved him dearly.

“Okay, this is it.” Mal held up his hand.

Loola fluttered softly landing on his shoulder.

“Remember the plan. You find Lydo and bring him back here. Loola and I will buy you as much time as we can. You got this, Kit,” he reassured her, before turning out their only source of light. “Meet back here in 10 minutes!”

“Mal?” Daenarya questioned, stopping him for a moment. Despite the darkness, her lips found his softly, her fingers tangling in the hair at the base of his neck. “Please, be careful.”

“Always,” he brushed a kiss on her forehead before turning away. The old latch on the door creaked and clanked, the noise echoing through the abandoned tunnel behind them. “Good luck!”

The door opened into a small room, stuffed with what could only be described as junk. They had to shove it, pushing away a pile of broken furniture, to even make enough space for them to slip in.

As they reached the next door, Mal motioned Daenarya to the left, as he and Loola turned right.

Daenarya took calculated steps, careful as she turned corners, staying close to the wall in the unfamiliar space. She had memorized the directions Mal had given her, now she just had to hope the kids still stayed in the same room they did ten years ago.

“Vayne! I know you’re here.” Mal called, as he made his way through the building. He opened any door he passed by giving him multiple escape routes for his retreat, or at least, letting them think he could be in any one of them. It would buy him a little time. There was actually only one room he needed to make a quick detour to.

His voice grew louder and more urgent. “VAYNE! Come out and fight, old man.”

Loola fluttered safely above the Rogue, near the high ceilings, keeping watch and ready for his signal.

The heavy footsteps of guards from all over the compound headed in their direction, exactly where he wanted them.

“Come and get me.” Mal challenged, his fingers already flirting with the hilt of his daggers, ready for whatever awaited him.

Daenarya drew in a sharp breath ducking into an alcove as a guard rushed by. She counted to three, steadying herself. She was starting to wish she hadn’t agreed to let Threep stay behind. She wasn’t used to not having back up.

Swiftly, she swept through the long corridor peering in each open room, to make sure it was safe before proceeding. She found the place she was looking for near the end.

The large room revealed more than a dozen children sitting or lying around the room on scattered piles of dingy blankets and pillows. All of the children darkened with dirt, faces worn and tired, desperately needing more than they were getting. They quickly averted their gaze from the stranger, moving closer together for safety.

“Lydo. Lydo?”

A boy with the same shaggy dark hair as his brother caught her attention. From Rayden’s description, she expected the boy to be closer to twelve or thirteen, this child was less than ten, possibly only a year or two older than his brother. She knelt beside him. “Are you Lydo?”

He quivered, shifting away from her. “Yes.”

She held out her hand to him. “I’m here to get you out of here.”

“I can’t,” he cried, his eyes welling up in fear. “They have my brother. They said if I left, they’d kill him.”

“Rayden? He’s safe. Come with me and I’ll take you to him.”

“They said you’d say that. They said they’d kill him,” he whimpered. “He’s all I have. I won’t let them hurt him.”

Daenarya could easily grab the child and carry him out, but that would risk causing a scene. Her fingers tapped nervously at her side as she thought of a way to convince Lydo of the truth. “When it rains and there’s thunder, you sing a song to make it less scary for Rayden.”

“How do you know that?”

“He told me.” Daenarya held out her hand again. “I promise, if you come with me right now, I will take you to him.”

“Is he okay?” His face lightened, as he breathed fully probably for the first time since being taken all those weeks ago.

“Yeah.” She took his hand. “He just misses his brother.”

“What about the rest of them?” Lydo questioned, his gaze shifting to the other children, who still turned away from them, knowing the punishment for trying to escape.

A tear fell from her eye, knowing that the hard choice was the right choice. For now, they were safer there. It wasn’t a good life, but Mal had always said it was better than living and dying alone on the streets. “We’ll come back for them. I promise. We don’t have enough time or resources right now.”

She took his hand and guided him through the compound heading back to their meeting spot.

“Now then.” Mal quirked an eye and twirled his daggers, eyes trained on the two guards closest to him.

With a flick of his wrist, the smaller one sailed through the air behind him, landing with a thwack in the guard’s leg, causing him to fall on the spot. He lashed out quickly in front of him, the larger dagger clutched tightly in his fist, pierced the guard’s side between his armor; Mal immediately kicked his weapon away. As more guards headed his way, he let a few further blades shoot through the air, each one easily finding its target.

“LISTEN TO ME!” He whistled loudly to get their attention. “You and I are no different. I was where you are once. I served Vayne every day as you do. And what do you get for it? Huh? Nothing. He promises you a better life, but he takes everything you have. Look around. Is this what you want? I am proof that you can leave this place. There is a world out there waiting for you. Why serve a self-appointed king. Take a stand today, and be a pawn no longer. What do you say?”

The men looked at each other, their weapons holding steady toward him, but none advancing.

A slow clap echoed behind the guards as Vayne moved closer. “Nice try, Volari, these men will not accept your lies. Unlike you, they have loyalties. Now, I believe I made you a promise?”

“A promise to return the gold you took the other day?” He countered, reaching behind him to grab a bag of coins from his belt. “Because, I already helped myself to your treasury. You really think you’d change the location after the last time.”

“I’ve been waiting a long time for this.” The old man sneered. “Kill him.”

“Wait! Just one moment.” Mal held up his finger. “It looks like this bag of gold does not belong to me. I guess you’ll be wanting it back. He threw the bag into the air above the guards’ heads, gold coins showering around them. Each thinking the same thing. “NOW!”

As the guards clamored around the fallen coins, Loola’s eyes brightened, flashing white as the floor beneath the guards turned to ice.

“He’s getting away!” Vanye yelled. “After him.”

As Mal and Loola made their escape, they heard the cacophony of armor clashing against armor as the men slipped and fell over the ice. Loola left a few other patches of ice along the way, just in case any guards happened to make it off her skating rink.

“I can’t believe you got rid of the gold,” Loola marveled.

“As if I only took one bag,” Mal smirked.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Lydo barely got in the door before Rayden ran, jumping into his brother’s arms, almost knocking the frail boy over.

“I thought I’d never see you again,” Rayden cried. His little arms wrapped tightly around his brother, refusing to let him go. “I was so scared.”

Lydo held his brother equally as close, his eyes swelling with tears. “I’m sorry, Rayden. I shouldn’t have left you. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t ever leave me again,” Rayden sniffled into his brother’s shirt. “Please don’t leave me.”

“I won’t,” Lydo breathed, burying his head in his brother’s hair. “I love you, Rayden. I’m so sorry.”

“I love you, too, Lydo!” Rayden smiled, happier than they had ever seen him.

Mal wrapped his arm around Daenarya as she held back tears of her own. She knew better than most the love of having a brother, and what being separated from them feels like. Luckily for both of them, they were reunited with their brothers.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Perma tags: @lilyoffandoms ; @raleighcarrera ; @mfackenthal ; @the-soot-sprite ; @virtuallytakenby ; @zeniamiii ; @kaavyaethanramsey; @choicesobsessed; @xjustin-ethansgirliex ; @caseyvalentineramsey; @trappedinfandoms; @anotherbeingsworld ; @tyrils-star

Blades Tags: @princess-geek ; @brightpinkpeppercorn ; @missameliep ; @mvalentine; @walkerswhiskeygirl ; @nyastarlight

#Mal Volari #Mal Volari x MC #Blades of Light & Shadow #Threep #Bolas #Loola #Mal x MC #fanfiction #daenarya #mal x daenarya #Rayden #Lydo #Vayne

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ikesenrambles · 5 years

Note

Hi, if you're doing headcanons, how about this? The MC (and probably Sasuke) hand-draw memes to entertain themselves, but the warlords find them hidden in her room while MC is away. How do they react? Whichever warlords you want to do is fine. :)

Thank you so much for sending in a request! I love memes, and I absolutely loved doing this request. I’m sorry that it took so long to do - I wanted to make sure I did it justice~ I hope that you enjoy it and that I was able to deliver!

If you enjoy my work, please consider supporting me on Ko-Fi, ikesenrambles. I don’t have much spending money for Ikesen since I’m saving my paychecks to cover college. Supporting me on Ko-Fi would mean that I have pocket money for the little things that bring me joy, like Ikesen. I would be able to buy premium routes, which in turn means that I can learn more about the warlords & write even better stories for you to enjoy. ♡ It would really ~meme~ a lot to me.

MC’s Doodles: Nobunaga and Hideyoshi

Sitting on the dais, a thoughtful smile plays on Nobunaga’s lips as he carefully studies a lost page of your sketchbook. “Hideyoshi, come here,” he commands. Immediately, Hideyoshi rises to his feet and approaches.

“Our new chatelaine is rather entertaining, don’t you think?” Nobunaga muses. “She captures my likeness quite perfectly. Even the emotion behind some of my deepest desires and my most intimate whims…”

“If you would allow me to see…” Hideyoshi’s voice trails off. Nobunaga hands him the slip of paper only for Hideyoshi’s eyes to widen in flustered disbelief. “Is this… k-konpeito!?” he blurts in a panic, shaking his head furiously at your seemingly blatant disregard for Nobunaga’s health. “My sincerest apologies, my lord, but I will not allow this kind of provocative propaganda in the castle!”

“Stand down, Hideyoshi.” The simple command from his master is enough for Hideyoshi to bow deeply in apology. “It’s a rather tasteful portrait of me,” Nobunaga tells him. “I would like to see it displayed in the castle.”

With a hesitant sigh, Hideyoshi nods in reluctant resignation. “As you wish, my lord. I’ll see it done.”

MC’s Doodles: Ieyasu and Mitsunari

“Mitsunari–!” An astonished, overemphasized gasp penetrates thoughtful silence as Hideyoshi comes swooping in between Mitsunari, Ieyasu, and Masamune, who are snooping through your private sketchbook behind the closed doors of your chamber. “Don’t you know how rude it is to look through another person’s belongings without permission?” He scolds the three with a firm shake of his head, grabbing the book from Mitsunari. “I expected better from you two especially,” Hideyoshi puffs in frustration, turning a pointing finger toward Ieyasu and Masamune.

Ieyasu rolls his eyes sarcastically in response while Masamune chuckles softly to himself, shaking his head at Hideyoshi’s overreaction. Per usual, it takes a few moments for Mitsunari to fully return to reality, his eyes continuing to scan the space in front of him despite his hands being empty. When he finally does, he cocks his head to the side in curious consideration, mulling over the words written on the page he had just studied. “I don’t quite understand,” he admits with sheepish innocence. There is not an ounce of offense or annoyance in his voice.

“This is…” Hideyoshi stifles another sound of surprise as he allows himself a peek at the contents of your sketchbook. His face reddens at your unexpected profanity. At a loss for words, he quickly closes the book shut and tucks it back under your pillow. “Lord Mitsunari, please be assured that she was only joking–!”

“Don’t even bother,” Ieyasu interrupts Hideyoshi with a scoff as he attempts to explain the illustration to Mitsunari. “It’s a joke, Mitsunari. Someone as dense as you couldn’t possibly understand.”

Mitsunari’s face softens at what he interprets to be gentle reassurance from his close friend, Ieyasu. “Of course, Lord Ieyasu would never say something with the intention to harm,” Mitsunari says confidently, flashing an even wider smile at Ieyasu, much to Masamune’s amusement and Ieyasu’s utter disgust.

MC’s Doodles: Yukimura

It’s a hot, summer afternoon. You and Yukimura are lazing under the cool shade of a tall tree, enjoying the rare luxury of idle time, when inspiration for a new kimono design suddenly strikes you. You ask Yukimura if he would retrieve your sketchbook for you, which you left in his room.

Yukimura agrees, finding your sketchbook tossed on your futon. Curiously, he flips through a few pages of your designs to admire your artistic ability. Before long, however, a particular doodle of yours catches him off-guard and captures his attention.

The illustration seems to depict Yukimura himself. He spends a few moments just staring at it, trying to decipher what it could possibly mean. “I don’t get it…” he murmurs to himself, stumped.

“Of course you don’t.” Yukimura hears a soft sigh behind him as a hand clasps him gently on the shoulder. “Please tell me didn’t call her this right after you two…” Shingen’s voice trails off.

“Right after we…?” Yukimura repeats thoughtlessly, not quite sure of what Lord Shingen meant to ask him. Shingen only raises an eyebrow in response until the young vassal, finally understanding, cringes. Embarrassment appears all over Yukimura’s face as his cheeks flush bright pink.

“O-of course I wouldn’t!” he says defensively, shutting the sketchbook closed with a loud thud. “Anyway, it’s none of your business what we did–uh, or didn’t do–!”

Shingen can’t help but smirk at Yukimura’s denial. “Ah, so my little Yuki is now a man,” he muses teasingly. “Had you paid more attention to my habits, perhaps you would better understand how to please the second sex.”

“The what now–?” Yukimura groans at Lord Shingen’s unsolicited advice, marching out of the room. “It wouldn’t make sense to compare her to a summer’s day. They have nothing in common,” he grumbles under his breath on his way out.

“I really failed you, didn’t I?” Shingen mumbles with a disappointed sigh.

MC’s Doodles: Kennyo

“Looks like the Oda princess left behind her valued notebook… how foolish of her,” Kennyo speaks in a grim tone, a sinister smile appearing on his scarred face as he picks up your forgotten sketchbook. “Now…” The vengeful desire in his darkened voice is tinged with self-satisfaction. “What precious secrets could Nobunaga’s favorite woman be hiding?”

The man’s husky voice cracks slightly as he stammers out in confusion, “Is that… me?” He coughs loudly to counter the bewilderment - and even slight embarrassment - in his speech, forcing a frown to mask the sheepish expression on his face as a warmth begins to spread across his face. “As if the hatred in my heart could be distilled by such simple means,” he mutters with a bitter scoff as though offended by your uncanny ability to read him.

“Abbott, is everything alright?” One of the disciples peers into Kennyo’s shed, concern in his eyes. “We are all set for the ambush tomorrow.”

“Excellent,” Kennyo whispers, a sickeningly twisted grin appearing on his face. “Tomorrow, we will take back the dignity that was stolen from us at Honno-ji. We will purify our perished brethren with the spilled blood of the Oda.”

Once the disciple leaves, Kennyo turns his attention to the little weasel curled up in the corner. “Come here, Hozuki,” he calls to it in a soothing voice. It nuzzles into the palm of his hand, enjoying his gentle touch.

Suddenly coming to terms with his predictability, Kennyo sighs in frustration, crumpling your drawing and discarding it on the floor before continuing to pamper the tiny animal.

Sasuke’s Doodles: Kenshin

Yukimura and Shingen stand around Sasuke’s study table, completely in awe of a hidden treasure they’ve happened to stumble upon in Sasuke’s room: the ninja’s precious research journal.

Sasuke’s handwriting is hurried but clean: nothing less than they would have expected from the genius ninja. On lined pages are complicated mathematical formulas and comprehensive calculations that neither Yukimura nor Shingen know what to make of.

From behind the two, the sliding doors are roughly thrown open as Kenshin strides toward them impatiently. “What’s taking so long? I’m thirsting for the thrill of battle,” Kenshin mutters with a disgruntled sigh.

“Hold on just a moment,” Shingen orders, beckoning Kenshin to take a closer look at Sasuke’s notes.

Ever stubborn, Kenshin firmly refuses. “I will not.” Forcefully, he shakes the journal from Yukimura and Shingen’s prying hands. As the three tug on the notebook’s pages, the journal falls flat on the floor, opened to an even more perplexing illustration.

A doodle depicts Kenshin casually choking Sasuke, who, even in his precarious position, wears a mask of nonchalance. Written in bold text underneath the drawing are the words, “You’re weak Sasuke.”

Upon seeing the drawing, Shingen laughs softly. “It looks to be a friendly joke about the Dragon of Echigo’s peculiarities,” Shingen muses aloud.

“A joke?” Yukimura scoffs and shakes his head. “This happened for real. I would know. I was there!”

Kenshin’s frown soon softens into a smile that, though genuine, is somewhat terrifying given the context of the illustration. “Ah, yes,” he murmurs in a voice that almost carries with it a sense of nostalgia. “I remember Sasuke’s first days with us.” Picking up the journal, he reminisces fondly of the ninja. “There’s nothing like some good-natured sparring. I wonder, perhaps Sasuke is trying to tell me that he would like a rematch.”

Sasuke’s Doodles: Ieyasu

You are out shopping with Ieyasu when you catch Sasuke stealing glances at the two of you from behind a gingko tree. “Just a moment, okay?” you reassure your boyfriend, squeezing his hand softly as you let go to hurriedly rush to Sasuke’s side for a quick conversation.

When you don’t return soon enough, Ieyasu becomes suspicious. Both you and Sasuke can feel his hot gaze observing from where you left him, his fingers curled in a fist around the baskets of groceries that he’s been carrying for you.

“What were you talking to him about?” Ieyasu asks as he possessively wraps his arm around your waist in a show of territory in front of Sasuke. You can’t help but giggle at Ieyasu’s inability to hide his jealousy. His face flushes at your soft laughter, and he avoids your gaze, embarrassed.

“It’s not me that he’s interested in,” you tell him, retrieving a piece of paper from the sleeve of your kimono. “Here. He wanted me to give you this.”

Ieyasu snatches the note from your hand. The pink shade of his cheeks deepens as he reads over it “Ng–!” A quiet sound of surprise escapes his lips, followed by an uninterested scoff. “This… I…” He sighs, tucking the note away. “I don’t understand why you hang out with that weird ninja.”

“Yasu, he’s my friend. Be nice,” you scold him teasingly, tugging on the sleeve of his kimono. “Come on, I told you, didn’t I? There’s nothing to be jealous about.

“Who said I was jealous?” Ieyasu scoffs again only for the timid blush of his cheeks to betray the annoyance in his voice. “Whatever, it doesn’t matter who he’s interested in, anyway.” He pulls you even closer. “You’re mine and mine alone, okay?”

Bonus Meme:

All of the above memes were made by yours truly! The alignment chart above was found here & filled out by me!

If you want, tag yourself for the alignment chart~!

✧༝┉┉┉┉┉˚*❋ ❋ ❋*˚┉┉┉┉┉༝✧

A special shout out to @mythiica for reviewing my memes for quality! It gave me the confidence I needed to be myself with these! (＾▽＾)

#ikemen sengoku #ikemen sengoku fanfiction #ikemen sengoku fanfic #ikesen headcanon #headcanon #ikesen shingen #ikesen nobunaga #ikesen ieyasu #ikesen masamune #ikesen kenshin #ikesen mitsuhide #ikesen kennyo #ikesen hideyoshi #ikesen mitsunari #ikesen yukimura

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mneiai · 4 years

Text

Under the Read More is the first part of that weird Modern Westeros AU that I can’t figure out what to do with lol I’m not sure I can give it enough of a plot to do a full standalone fic but I have like more ideas than I normally put in a drabble. Also some of my ideas are like....ASOLAD and Broken Pieces... sort of weird and I don’t know how far to push it haha

Canon typical incest, dark!Targs, Sansa/Jon, Rhaenys/Aegon, Dany/Jon. (not really Sansa friendly, she’s like beginning of AGOT kind of Sansa)

"I can't believe you grew up here! And I thought Winterfell was antiquated!"

Aemon winced at her words, catching the servants in the shadows of the corridor that she seemed to miss. He knew they would not only take offense, many of them from families who had served his for generations, but that they would also report everything that was said to his father.

"Sansa..." he didn't know what more he could say to caution her, after multiple attempts on the way over.

On the mainland, he could take her sheltered upbringing with a certain amount of fondness. Perhaps her naivete was even part of what had initially drawn her to him, so different than the disaffected attitude of his family. Now, having finally brought her to Dragonstone, he was beginning to have his doubts.

He had met her family multiple times, had spent various breaks in the North with the Starks, getting to know them and pretending like their ways were not as foreign as they were. After all, he'd gotten a lot of practice with that since starting college, spending the first few months desperately hiding how little he understood of the Andal culture of the mainland.

That, too, had been something that had drawn him to her, at first, thinking she must feel similar, until he'd realized that she may be a Stark, but she had been raised by an Andal mother. She did not truly understand what it was like for him.

She tugged his hand, dragging him along through his own home, and he finally had to put his foot down. "You don't know where we're going," he said, softly, almost wishing they'd taken the ancient entrance that led to the throne room instead of the back entrance that had an elevator, if only it meant a faster route. "Have patience, we're not missing anything."

When she'd finally started to hint at marriage, he'd known he couldn't put this off anymore. Asking her father was a quaint, somewhat sexist, tradition to her. Asking his father, the head of his family, was a necessity.

Targaryens, he'd reminded her, had killed their kin for less. But she'd just laughed, thinking he was making a joke. On the mainland his family was mostly history and legends, even though it had been only a century since their rule had dissolved into little more than ceremonial.

She'd understood he'd had an odd childhood when he confessed to her some of the things he didn't understand at school, but seemed to think it was some quirk and not the culture of his family, of the ancient Valyrians that remained.

He'd spoken nothing but Old Valyrian until he was five, at which point High Valyrian and then Common were introduced. He'd been homeschooled and had only been allowed close contact with other Valyrians for much of his life. His hair and skin color made him look less like the typical examples of his people to outsiders, but he was still considered such.

His mother had been of the First Men, a sort of concession made every few generations to appease those who thought they could not inbreed every single generation. Sansa...Sansa would be a hard sell. Their children would be looked down upon, not given, or even allowed, the sort of sheltered childhood he'd had.

Away at college, something he'd begged his father for, he'd wanted that. Children who had "normal" lives apart from his family. Who went to school and played with other children unknown to him.

Now, back on Dragonstone, breathing in the air that Sansa would only be safely able to be in for a week, maybe, and feeling the thrum of energy from the always active volcano under their feet that he knew she didn't experience, he wasn't so sure.

"It's weird," she began, as he led her deeper into the castle, "to think if history had gone a bit differently, your father would be ruling over us all."

Aemon winced. "He's very aware."

Away as he'd been, outside of his father's confidence, he couldn't knew how his plotting was going. But he'd seen little signs in the politics of the mainland, in the fraying edges of the parliament and the rise of more traditional monarchists. Rhaegar wanted nothing more than he wanted the Iron Throne to not simply be a monument school children gaped at, but a symbol of power he and Aegon would sit upon.

"Sorry, sorry, I know you said to avoid politics. And history. And...a lot of stuff."

"Please. We only need to spend a week here, you're not Arya, you can be on your best behavior," he teased, trying to take the edge off.

She pouted, but nodded. "I can, I will be."

He knew she was nervous, he also knew it was for the wrong reasons. His family would never like her, what they needed was for them to see she was tolerable. Or that they should let Aemon go.

They reached the sitting room Aemon knew some of his family would be waiting within and he braced himself. At least his father had not insisted on the throne room, he tried to reason, as while he was no King of Westeros, he was still, legally and truly, King of Dragonstone and the ruins of Old Valyria.

Entering, Sansa had the presence of mind to curtsy, as he'd warned her to do, and they waited for his father to be the first to speak.

Rhaegar mostly ignored Sansa, studying Aemon with great intensity. It had been nearly a year since they'd last seen each other, after spending nearly every day together for Aemon's life, and the scrutiny was welcome. Beside him, Mother Elia sat, thin and weak looking as she'd been all his life. Aegon, too, was there, watching him just as intently, but no one else.

-Aemon, my youngest, you have finally returned home.-

-I was always going to return, father.-

-Yes, you deserved my trust. Though we did not expect you to bring home...that.-

He squeezed Sansa's hand, knowing that while she knew a little High Valyrian, enough to keep up as a tourist in Essos, she would not follow this. "Sansa Stark, kepa, of the North."

Sansa curtsied again, giving Rhaegar a charming smile. "It is an honor to meet you, your grace."

-You bring that here and allow it to pollute our ears?- Aegon muttered, making a quick hand symbol used by superstitious Valyrians to ward off corruption.

Their father did not scold him for talking out of turn, because they all knew he was thinking the same thing.

"Welcome, Sansa, we have heard much about you," Rhaegar replied to her in slightly accented Common, playing at courtesy.

Aemon stiffened, because he hadn't been telling his family very much at all and now he was left wondering what the source his father had was. There were many among their classmates who would gladly sell information for money, he was sure, and the Targaryens had seen the end coming and squirreled away much of the royal coffers by the end, giving the impression the kingdom was near bankruptcy. Good investments after had left his father one of the richest men in the world.

Aegon and Elia were introduced, each of them pretending at being nice, charm coming easily. He was glad that for this his aunt and uncle weren't present, they were far worse at hiding their feelings. This way introductions and their dismissal went quickly.

-Does she know she's temporary?- Aegon walked beside them, ostensibly escorting them to their rooms.

-Why would she be temporary?-

His older brother gave him an incredulous look. -You can't be serious about that thing, brother. What if you accidentally bred with it?-

-If Sansa and I have children, it won't be accidentally.-

The disgust on Aegon's face made Aemon feel hesitant, again, doubtful. There had been other Targaryens who had broken from tradition, but nearly all had been banished by the family or punished by the gods, often both.

-Does Daenerys know you're cavorting with an Andal?-

Aemon hoped not, but knew his father well enough to assume that Daenerys had been invited back from Volantis to meet his girlfriend.

-If I did such to Rhaenys, she would break my legs and lock me in the dungeon,- Aegon continued, listing what was surely one of the less horrible punishments their older sister would visit upon them.

Technically, Aemon wasn't engaged to Daenerys. His father had wanted to see which of them fit together best and then Aegon and Rhaenys easily paired off. For he and Daenerys, their relationship was rockier, their only commonality that they wanted to see the world. But Daenerys was caught up in mysticism and tales of magic, convinced the way forward was not through Rhaegar's manipulation of politics and policies, but sheer, terrifying power.

She had not been happy when Aemon had chosen Andal college over a pilgrimage to Old Valyria. For three years, they hadn't said a word to each other.

But she would still think of Aemon as hers, if they went a dozen years without speaking.

"Do you live here full time or have a residence of your own, Prince Aegon?" Sansa interrupted his thoughts and Aegon's mutterings about what torments Aemon had to look forward to.

Aegon paused, then replied, "We keep homes in Volantis and other cities, but I mostly stay in our estate in Summerhall." He gave Aemon the same look of regret he always did, the one that said it should be Aemon in Summerhall, with their father in King's Landing. "When I heard of Aemon's visit, I flew back. Most of the family will be here."

"I suppose hoping for a small introduction was wishful thinking." She laughed, leaning against Aemon. "Are you aunt and uncle, and your sister, returning, too?"

"Daenerys is here, though she is recovering from jetlag and travel at the moment. Viserys will be here tomorrow. Rhaenys came in with me, but had an appointment."

"I'll be happy to meet them, Aemon's met my entire family, now, we even went to the Vale to meet my aunt and cousin there."

Aegon smiled, but his eyes were hollow and dark when they met Aemon's. "We've heard all about your trips."

She grinned back at him, squeezing Aemon's arm. "I didn't realize Aemon spoke to you so often, I'm so glad you're so close."

Again, Aemon could only wonder who was spying. If it was many, or a few.

When he'd realized what his phone could be, he'd gotten a cheap one of his own, often leaving the one his father gave him in his dorm. He'd had his computer checked by a few friends he made who were more technically minded. He'd even frequently searched his things for devices that could be bugs or trackers.

To Sansa, it might have seemed paranoid, but he still remembered the first time he and Sam had found a camera installed in the overhead light of their room. After that, he'd requested a single, not wanting to draw anyone deeper in than they were, though the loneliness of the tiny empty room had driven him to call his family more often, despite his anger.

Kepa = father

#asoiaf #house targaryen #modern westeros #jon snow

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gascon-en-exil · 5 years

Text

FE16 Black Eagles (Edelgard) Liveblogging

Chapters 17-18, minus the colossal amount of Dimitri/Dedue content in the first chapter which I covered at length here.

Altogether I’d consider Edelgard’s last two chapters to be easier than Dimitri’s, in large part to due to far less long range magic. That’s actually quite reasonable in terms of story; as the nation renowned for its magic users - and, by the last chapter of the Lions route, openly allied with the remnants of Those Who Slither - Adrestia would logically field more of them. The knights of Faerghus and the church and Rhea’s “dolls” (more like fantasy-flavored mechs, but that’s what they call them) don’t offer as big a challenge by comparison.

The other obstacles unique to Chapter 18 weren’t much either. The fire makes the map hard to traverse for non-fliers, but it slows down enemies too. Rhea as the Immaculate One has a much smaller attack range than Hegemon Edelgard and only gets one attack per turn, in addition to being a bigger target that’s easier to surround. It makes sense that the climax of this route wouldn’t be as difficult if they used the number of chapters for scaling. The Strike Force has had four fewer chapters to grow compared to the Lions.

I liked that the last chapter plays out on a heavily modified version of the Fhirdiad map used in the Lions route for the Cornelia fight, although this does mean that I only got to see two entirely new maps on this route: the Petra/Bernadetta paralogue and the Tailtean Plains of Chapter 17.

Kill list: other than Dimitri and Dedue’s gay high tragedy, Sylvain and Mercedes in 17, Ashe, Gilbert, Annette, Catherine, and Cyril in 18. Catherine was much easier to take down from range with the fires limiting her movement, whereas Cyril (I thought he died in Chapter 12? I guess not) was surprisingly strong as a wyvern lord packing a brave axe. Wyvern enemies continue to catch me off guard.

Oh, yeah. Rhea shows up on the field in a Seiros cosplay in Chapter 17, but Edelgard one-rounded her (at a weapon triangle disadvantage, no less) and then she and almost all of the reinforcements she spawned with left the map. With everything else going on in that map, the church contribution was quite underwhelming.

Story/Character observations

Let’s get the small stuff out of the way first. There’s a few last bits of monastery dialogue worth noting. Shamir gets in some more heavy subtext re: Catherine, only now they’re enemies and you could potentially have Shamir kill Catherine. Dedue is a bear. Fleche, the girl who tries to kill Dimitri on the Lions route but instead kills Rodrigue, shows up one last time to show how curiously well-adjusted she is on this route after her brother’s death a few chapters earlier. It was interesting to see those two and the NPC general Ladislava show up during exploration and comment on ongoing events. I wouldn’t say it humanizes them too much since the most you get is an NPC fawning over how awesome Ladislava is or more pathos and less torture in Randolph’s death, but it’s appropriate for the alternative perspective this route offers.

I also need to call attention to a handy scholar NPC who appears in the library every chapter after the timeskip, dispensing info dumps that the books don’t cover and asking us to call into question the authorial intent of those books. Of course he’s obviously biased in favor of Edelgard and the Empire, but it’s a useful addition.

Onto supports. As a means of ensuring that I got the Hubert/Ferdinand paired ending I saved all their other A supports for the last minute, so that’s most of what I saw here. As per usual it’s Ferdinand who gets the more interesting stuff overall, with Hubert being more sedate and needing to be given practical reasons for marrying Dorothea or motivation to stop comparing Petra to Edelgard. Ferdinand’s high points come down even to something as mundane as what he’s drinking in various A supports - tea with Bernadetta, coffee (Hubert’s preferred drink) with Edelgard. Does Hubert/Ferdinand canonically happen before Edelgard/Ferdinand, and this is why the former’s paired ending has Edelgard jealous of them? Ferdinand’s A with Manuela is more theatre queen gushing, but his A with Dorothea walks a fine line between really sweet and really screwed up. Dorothea recalls bathing in a public fountain shortly after her singing talents were discovered and seeing a young Ferdinand staring at her and probably sporting his first erection. This is why she’s so hostile to him the whole time, and as said I don’t know how we’re meant to feel about that, or that this conversation resolves in romance. Or, rather, it would, if they didn’t then jump back to a confused simile about bees that’s now morphed into drones protecting a queen. From what little I know of insects male bees don’t have stingers and so can’t protect anything, so I do believe this metaphor subtly circles back around to lesbianism in the end. Everything with Dorothea inevitably does.

I’ve been neglecting it all this time, but I will say that Bernadetta improves slightly after the timeskip. She screams a lot less in her later supports, and in her dialogue in general she sounds more composed and less prone to immediately hiding herself away. Yay for actual emotional maturation.

I’m going to delicately sidestep the hotly-debated question of whether Edelgard’s goals justify her actions or whether this is in fact a bonafide villain route. The game itself wavers over this question at multiple points, not as shakily as Conquest does but still in ways that feel tonally off. The attempts at humanizing Edelgard by giving her a mundane fear of rats (that she acquired when she was being tortured as a child - totally normal circumstances!) and having her draw sketches of Byleth don’t land because they’re so disconnected from everything else, and her opinion of the religion of Seiros varies constantly. Sometimes she sees the value of spirituality in people’s lives and only takes issue with the corruption of the church, other times - including at the very end, when she’s about to cave Rhea’s head in - she’s declaring that humanity has no need for gods and will be better off without them. Having played her route it’s hard for me to call her a fantasy Protestant even in jest when she’s more of a dystheist (i.e. gods exist, but they are evil antagonistic forces) who will occasionally acknowledge that religion can have a positive impact on a strictly personal level. Even though she lays her plans out for Byleth early on, well before the timeskip, her ultimate aim remains unclear, not helped by the brevity of the epilogue which seems to be standard across all routes - just a short paragraph of text by the narrator over one of those stylized tapestries, cut to turn counts and character endings. Edelgard abolishes the nobility and the church after having conquered the other two nations by military force, and somehow we’re expected to believe that her regime will remain peaceful and stable and not collapse into anarchy in the space of a few years. Sure.

It does not help in the slightest that this route builds up Those Who Slither as a credible threat, only to shove them off onto an unseen postgame conflict. True, I theorized that allowing Claude and his various allies to live on the Lions route sets the stage for a massive Almyran invasion after the credits roll, but that’s more headcanon based on how FE doesn’t like to settle for unambiguously happy and resolved endings. Those Who Slither are the genuine antagonists of this route, and most of what Rhea has actually done is left unexplained. From a Doylist perspective I understand it, I really do: Those Who Slither take the focus for the Deer, and Rhea takes it for the church route, just as Dimitri’s revenge motivation only gets proper attention on the Lions route. However, these four stories are not all occurring simultaneously but are instead essentially AUs of one another, with Byleth choosing their starter Pokémon their house the catalyst for shaping all the events to follow. Looking at this route in isolation though it leaves Edelgard’s grand mission looking highly questionable.

One last thing, because I almost forgot about him: what happened to the Death Knight? He disappears from the game after the timeskip on this route. I assume you see him again if you recruit Mercedes and get her paralogue with Caspar, but it’s strange that one of Edelgard’s most loyal minions from Part 1 doesn’t even warrant a mention during her conquest of Fódlan.

Two routes down and two more to go - time to fear the Deer...’s lack of homoerotic content. Nothing makes me want to play something like knowing all the characters under my control are sexually uncreative prudes.

EDIT: Right, I remembered the DK but not the m!Byleth/Linhardt S rank. That should say something about how not particularly romantic it is. Really, the S rank with Gilbert and the one paired S rank with Alois where Byleth doesn’t marry someone else seem less offensive in light of how little there is to m!Byleth’s one “real” gay pairing. As always, you can get so much more out of conversations when both characters are allowed to speak and emote outside of irrelevant dialogue choices and stiff model gestures.

#Fire Emblem #FE16 #Fire Emblem Three Houses #Spoilers

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tablestoastandtime · 5 years

Text

What We Bring To The Table

AO3

It was with no small amount of irritation that John sat down at a table in the Continental’s lounge.

He had planned on stewing in his aches for the evening to ration the medication he’d been given to get an extra day out of it. Instead, he had to take the recommended dose for fastest mobility ( four pills ) because, the way he saw it, the odds were decent the Adjudicator was here to shoot him or give him notice of yet another kill order. The rules were the rules, but who would hold the High Table responsible for breaking them? The Elder? Maybe, if anyone could fucking find the guy.

More likely, he’d be declared excommunicado immediately and shot on principle. Hotel rules only arguably protected exiles.

No point thinking about maybes though. Not with the Adjudicator sitting across from him, at a prim and precise angle. It was like they were being held in place by the razor wires of the High Table as their weaponized puppet.

Or it was just the clear stick up their ass. One of the two.

“John Wick. You have caused a great deal of damage in the last few weeks. Enough to catch the attention of the High Table,” they said, eyes intent and hands folded.

This was not the time to seem anything but strong, injuries be damned. Instead of a shrug that might convey his pain, he gave a minute tilt of his head to show the bare minimum deference, “At no point has my intention been to antagonize the High Table. I’ve been handling personal matters, with the exception of fulfilling a Marker.”

A plucked eyebrow arched like the string of a bow taking aim. “Killing two members of the High Table, from the same seat no less, was not meant to be antagonizing? There are rulesagainst that kind of behaviour. And consequences for not adhering to them.”

“Those rules are not absolute. Especially not when one conflicts with another,” John wanted to just explain and go to bed, but if he offered information before the Adjudicator asked for it they’d likely assume he was lying. His circumstances were far enough from standard conduct to be pretty unbelievable.

The Adjudicator’s angle and gaze both sharpened, “In the last two weeks you eliminated the core leadership of a Bratva organization, leaving it directionless, but reasonably intact. Allegedly, over a puppy.”

“It wasn’t just a puppy,” John objected flatly, eyeing the tightened clasp of the Adjudicator’s hands.

“You also assassinated two D’Antonio heirs, likely forcing them to surrender their place at the High Table to another family. Presumably, but not necessarily, from the Camorra.”

Wait a second.

“The rules and sanctions on killing members of the High Table allow for coordinated efforts to remove a representative family from their seat.”

John could see where this train of logic was going, and he needed to say something before-

“Are you making a bid for the Camorra seat at the High Table in your name, or for someone else?”

John stared at them incredulously. “I’m a retired fixer. What would I even do with a High Table seat?”

The eyebrow was back. “Most fixers who live long enough to retire take up a management role. You’ve always been an exceptional anomaly in your work. Why would your retirement be any different?”

“Look-”

“Especially as there is no other way to kill more than one High Table member without facing its justice, and you’re not fool enough to not know that.”

Ah. Shit.

Could he work with this?

And if he could, could he live with diving deeper into the world he had worked so hard to leave? Did he even have a choice?

The hand John had placed on the table curled into a fist. He couldn’t take his eyes off of it. “I’m certain I don’t need to tell you the consequences of a failed bid for a Table seat.” Breathe. “Or the consequences of cards laid too early.” Eyes up. “Have you been given a deadline for your report?”

“I am expected to submit updates as my investigation develops. It seems to me the situation is still developing,” their eyes were inescapable and black, black, black . “However, after three days, I will have to provide as much information as I have.”

Bloody knuckles rested on polished dalbergia. “If anything relevant to your investigation comes to my attention, I’ll be in contact. Have a good evening.”

“I’ll be expecting your call, John.”

John rose from his seat, directing the tension his name in their mouth put in his shoulders down through his spine. It turned his stiff gait into something coiled rather than strained. Apparently, he was going to have to consider his image again. Especially if he somehow gave off the impression of aspirations for the High Table, what the fuck.

Except his clearest ticket to survival seemed to be actually challenging for the High Table.Which was ridiculous. John had one hell of a skillset, but not that one.

Mind churning, John fought the urge to return to his dog and his room and settled in a seat as far away from the Adjudicator as he could without seeming like he was running. He was unlikely to get any sleep tonight, despite being exhausted and jet-lagged, and Winston was probably going to come for that word sooner rather than later.

He couldn’t take a seat on the High Table, but if he wanted to bypass the consequences for killing the D’Antonios he was going to have to put someone there. And they’d have to be someone not just personally capable of sitting there, but also have the connections and backing of a significant group if they were going to have any chance of lasting.

They’d also have to not try and kill him on sight, since he wasn’t going to hand someone who wanted to kill him the power to do it, which narrowed the prospects significantly.

Maybe the Rusca Roma? They had no real interest in a closer relationship with the Table, but the Director couldn’t just turn away the possibility, turn away him . Not if he used his ticket. But. John had spent years trying to escape that place and if he took that route he’d be chaining himself back to it.

A last resort, then, but not a first choice.

Maybe he could convince-

“Jonathan!” and there was Winston, genial mask in place. “There is grave word on the resolution of your affair with Mr. D’Antonio. Is it true?”

A head tilt. “You make it sound like there was any other way it was going to end.”

“Jonathan. With Santino dead there is no space for excuses or explanations. You will have to face the full charge of your crimes,” Winston frowned. “I assume the Adjudicator informed you of the situation. And yet you are not running.”

This conversation was exhausting. And unproductive. “There are circumstances that allow for my actions. I just have to make them the case.”

Winston’s eyes widened in understanding and he sat back. “And who exactly is going to be retroactively aiming for a seat?”

John stopped fighting the wire-tight energy and gently rapped his knuckles on the table. “I haven’t decided yet. Is that an official inquiry, or a personal one?”

Flakes of blood stuck to the shining wood.

Winston was ever so slightly paler than when this conversation began.

“An official one. I’m not looking for that brand of excitement in my life.” John’s fist relaxed open.

“I assumed. Unless you have any suggestions, I think I’ll retire for the evening,” he bit back a groan as he stood and no amount of painkillers could dull the bone-deep ache that rippled with the movement.

Winston also stood, buttoning his jacket. “You always manage to find the most dangerous paths to your goals. If you need a place for discreet meetings, our boardrooms are available for use.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” John said with a polite nod. “Have a good night.”

John was not surprised by the lackluster response. Winston had no stake in this, despite his occasional blatant favouritism. He was a Manager, lord of his little kingdom, and they tended not to go outside their immediate grasp. Kept things neater, usually. In this case, it was only a little annoying.

He made his way to the elevators, once again aware of every eye on him, fighting the urge to twitch or kill something ( some one ). Christ, he hadn’t had this much attention since shortly after his third job with the Tarasovs, where he’d ended up having to clear three warehouse instead of one thanks to bad intel. There had been a family of coked-up racoons. And grenade launchers.

It had been a long night.

Alright. So who could he convince to take a Table seat and would actually hold it without his backing longterm?

He could try and appeal to a different Bratva family. John had to still have some of their contact information somewhere ( the bank on 60th. Or was it the rec centre off 23rd? ) But which one, and would they even agree after his takedown of the Tarasovs? Even if he did take the steps to pass on the Tarasov loose ends, they might just choose to call him unreliable and try to kill him. Which would not solve the problem, only make another batch of dead Bratva.

What about the Camorra? It was their seat after all. John could just pick a family, toss them the metaphorical keys, and leave. Except while Santino had been an arrogant bastard, no one could deny that he was Camorra to the fucking bone. Not that the other families would take offense on his behalf, they were probably delighted to hear about his death, but he was a warning for just how irritating the lot of them could be. If John gave them this, there was no guarantee they’d leave him alone. Ever.

Ding.

This wasn’t his floor.

Cassian stood, one foot already in the elevator ( a foot and a half away, leading with his right side, start with a jab to the still fresh stab wound, twist if possible, and follow it up by-).

He looked like he couldn’t decide between murderous rage and grudging respect. Or he would if it wasn’t for the hair-trigger set of his weight and the first moment millimetre flinch.

Cassian’s first impulse had been to run.

Not that he would have made it far, if John cared to chase him. After taking a knife to the heart, standing at all was a feat of borderline stupid willpower. Running would be a death sentence. John wouldn’t even need to jog.

The door tried to close and instead gently knocked into Cassian’s leading shoulder. He rocked back with it like he’d been shot, lips curled into a half-snarl. John would have steadied him, but figured he was probably still sore from their last fight and would take it as condescending pity.

“I’ll get the next one,” Cassian spat the words like blood and broken teeth.

Yeah, still sore.

John inclined his head, more than he had to the Adjudicator but not as sharply as he had with Winston. “Cassian.”

They maintained eye contact until shining steel slid across, cleanly this time.

Idly, John wondered if that counted as a conversation. Probably not.

Which brought him back to his depressingly non-existent list of allies. Sure there were a handful of people who owed him, but it would be suicide to put them on the Table. Most of them might try and kill him before he could even offer.

Maybe he was going about this the wrong way.

If John couldn’t give any family the Table seat he had to claim, maybe he could put up a different kind of faction. The Bowery King, for example, had built himself a kingdom adjacent to the Table (which is what it was, not under or beholden to, no matter what the King or the Table themselves believed). A kingdom of those who normally would not have any place in the system at all. But to build that kind of faction would take time, time John didn’t have. That was okay, John was good with knives, and corners generally didn’t squirm like people. He could cut them off clean.

What if John chose a part of the system and gave it a voice?

Fixers were meant to be nameless, faceless tools. Useful until they weren’t, and utterly replaceable. The ideal fixer was little more than an entry on an expenses sheet and a call confirming work finished. Even the best fixers were, when all was said and done, expendable.

John, for all he had been good at the work, hadn’t actually been good at the anonymity. He wasn’t the only one, of course. People would always gossip. But as much as he’d rather pretend otherwise, John had made a significant impact on not just those he worked with, but a great deal of their world in general.

There hadn’t always been this many restrictions on attempting to kill members of the High Table, after all.

John had made a point to know every rule that he couldn’t afford to break. It was just that his definitions of what he could afford had changed a lot over the years. And apparently, someone on or near the Table thought they knew what lines he would and wouldn’t cross, and had tried to preemptively dissuade him. Too bad he had been a bit busy to consult the unwritten rulebook in case of updates.

He could cope. He had to.

Now obviously a faction of fixers would have to be a very loose faction. It would also require its own rules of conduct and interaction. They would often be hired in opposition to each other, and that had to be accounted for. It would need territory. And if it had territory it would need capital to maintain that territory.

Most importantly, though, it would need there to be some kind of incentive so fixers actually took part . What could John actually offer to fixers that they couldn’t get anywhere else in their world?

Unless those rules and territory were what he was offering, with the implication he would enforce them personally. There were a great many personal and professional grudges in their world. John could capitalize on that by establishing a place and system to settle those grudges between fixers. No one wanted to be looking over their shoulder for the rest of their lives, and very few people in their business had all that much patience.

This was going to be complicated, and three days probably wasn’t enough time to actually do it. But he could probably back up any instability with a couple of supporters in key positions. There was a Manager that owed him a favour, after all, and the Bowery King liked anything that undercut the Table.

John could make it work.

Ding.

This time, the stop actually was his floor.

#John Wick #winston (john wick)#the adjudicator #cassian (john wick)#politics and such #this has been on ao3 for a while #but i figured i'd put it here as well

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izanyas · 7 years

Text

Thread After Thread

Chuuaku beach holiday fic that grew horrid plot and character development tentacles, for @zigur.

Rating: M Words: 15,700 Warnings: past abuse, mentions of homophobia, implied sexual content

Thread After Thread

"Why am I here?" Chuuya muttered, glancing between Mori and Akutagawa, doing very little to conceal how irritated he was.

It didn't matter that it wasn't at Akutagawa himself. Akutagawa's shoulders hunched under the weight of it, and Chuuya resisted letting out the groan forming in his throat, lest he fold into himself even more.

"There's been a little accident," Mori said jovially.

He didn't seem bothered at all that it was about three in the morning. Mori's eyes were always bruised, his skin always pallid, but he never seemed tired. Even on the rare occasion he made himself look unkempt and feeble, Chuuya couldn't look at him without feeling like he was being watched by something wide awake indeed.

"You mean Akutagawa killed someone he shouldn't have," Chuuya replied.

"Well, more or less, yes."

Akutagawa said nothing. He still looked like he was expecting blows.

Chuuya clicked his tongue with a faint, hissing sound; this time he didn't try and stop himself from rubbing his forehead with the tips of his fingers. He had come back from Sapporo with a migraine only hours ago, had managed to crawl into bed and doze on-and-off without ever truly sleeping. His body was a solid ache, sore beyond measure from the unforeseen fights he had to partake in and the flight back south. It didn't matter how short the flight had been.

"I'm guessing you want him to disappear for a while," he said tiredly.

"That would be ideal."

"And it can't wait until actual morning."

Mori had the gall to look apologetic. "Not with the entire city's police force plastering his portrait to the walls, I'm afraid."

Chuuya glanced at Akutagawa again, slightly surprised. "Who the hell did you kill?" he asked.

Akutagawa's voice was faint when he replied, "I did what I was ordered to do."

He didn't meet Chuuya's eyes. Chuuya couldn't tell why—out of shame, or anger, or because he was lying—but it mattered very little in the face of his own fatigue.

God, he hadn't had a shower in two days. He hadn't been home in two months.

"Fine," he said between his teeth, looking at his boss once more. "I'll arrange for it. Give me a couple hours to secure a route out of the city and find someone to go with him."

"Oh, you're going with him, Chuuya-kun," Mori said.

Chuuya stared at him for a silent second.

"I'm sorry," he said politely. "I thought I'd just heard you say something really fucking stupid, Boss, but clearly I'm just tired."

Mori winced slightly. "You heard me right," he replied. "I want you to be the one escorting him."

"You've got to be fucking kidding me."

It said a lot about Chuuya's growth in the past three years that Mori did not protest the insult or try to punish him for it. Or maybe it said a lot about whatever deal he and Kouyou had running over the boss position—Kouyou may have never breathed a word of it to him, but Chuuya knew Mori's continued leadership of the port mafia was very dependent on her. He wanted to believe that he hadn't been included in those discussions, that the equal-to-equal way Mori addressed him came out of his own worth, but Kouyou always got what she wanted in the end.

He chased the thought away before it could dampen his mood even more. "I just came home," he protested, hat in hand, his back ramrod-straight in the dark of the office. Why Mori never used the overhead lights, he would never know. "After going off to negotiate for two months with that gang to absolutely no avail and having to destroy them pretty much single-handedly—and before that I barely got to stay a week here when I came back from Hong Kong—you can't seriously be asking me to play keeper for Akutagawa indefinitely. Sir," he amended, too late and half-hearted.

"It is precisely the reason I'm asking you," Mori replied amiably. "You haven't had a break in years, Chuuya-kun. Take it as a vacation." Chuuya didn't have time to voice his shock and offense at that before Mori continued. "I don't anticipate that Akutagawa-kun will need to stay hidden for more than a week while we take care of the witnesses. It's not that much to ask for, is it?"

And, fuck, Chuuya hated feeling like a burden. Mori knew it. Everyone knew it. The steely glint in his boss's eyes might have been mistaken for humor by someone else, but Chuuya knew an order when he heard it.

"It isn't," he said tightly.

"I know you want to be here," Mori went on, sounding way too kind for the sort of horrid person he was. "But we both know you wouldn't stay away from work if you did. You're way too overworked, my boy. We can't afford to let one of our best make a potentially fatal mistake out of exhaustion, can we."

The dirty, manipulative bastard.

Chuuya turned to Akutagawa and said, curtly, "You're dismissed. Get packing, I'll call for you in a bit."

"Don't you need to pack too?" Akutagawa replied breezily. His voice was rarely more than a rough whisper.

"I haven't unpacked yet. Just go."

There was a still second, Akutagawa looking at him with a frown, during which Chuuya thought he might ask for something. He looked more sickly during the day than he did in the dark, but whatever illness ailed him was still visible on his face, in the paleness of his skin and the painful dryness of his chapped lips. Chuuya couldn't help but notice that Akutagawa looked as tired as he felt.

Akutagawa wouldn't ask for anything he wanted if his life depended on it, though. It was the kind of broken he was. He left without another word.

Mori let the silence unfold between them for a second longer before saying, "I want you with him at all times."

"I got it," Chuuya cut in mulishly. "Don't let him kill anyone for a week. Piece of cake, right?"

"You don't understand, Chuuya-kun. The problem isn't that Akutagawa murdered this man. That was his mission." Mori's eyes met his with surprising seriousness over the cluttered surface of his mahogany desk. "The problem is that he did it in plain daylight, in a meeting room full of government officials, while using his ability."

Chuuya's mouth dried.

"You understand the difficult position this puts me in," Mori continued lowly. "The special ability department turns a blind eye to our activities as long as they cannot see them. They gave us our permit, and they will not take it back, but visual proof of assassination of a Diet member is not something they can just sweep aside. They are still, in the end, the ministry's official gifted police."

It was hard to imagine anyone in the mafia, even Akutagawa, being foolish enough to do something like this. The upper ranks may be populated by colorful personalities and eccentrics, who took to being ordered around from very well (Chuuya) to very badly (Kajii), but no one, especially not the gifted members, could ever forget that the only reason they were allowed to roam freely was because they served a purpose.

The thought that Akutagawa would jeopardize their freedom in his single-mindedness was dizzying enough that Chuuya forgot to feel angry.

"I need him out of the city so I can do damage control and negotiate with Sakaguchi Ango and the SAD's chief," Mori said, still in the same tone. "And I need you out of the city in case they decide that this was the last drop. Your power puts you in a very precarious position as well. If the government chooses to start taking out dangerous ability users, you'll be the first to go."

"I haven't used Corruption in years," Chuuya replied slowly. "You know that. And I know they know I can't use it anymore."

"You can still use it once."

Chuuya's hand clenched feebly around his hat.

"Once would be enough to wipe them out, in the right circumstances." Mori's voice was cold. Factual. "They know it as well. Sakaguchi is protected from my wrath by the deal I made to obtain the permit—and which I will not tell you the details of," he added, seeing the way Chuuya opened his mouth. Chuuya closed it again with a grimace. "But he never had to promise that he wouldn't talk in return. Whatever details he knew about Corruption, he's already told the ministry."

Sakaguchi would have known a lot, because he had the right frequentations.

"Would you make me use it?" Chuuya asked. He had to, as much because he wanted to avoid thinking about Dazai as because his life depended on it. "If it came down to it. If it would secure victory."

Mori didn't answer, and he didn't ask the obvious question either—whether Chuuya would do it if he asked.

Chuuya felt even more tired now than he had thirty minutes ago, as Higuchi knocked on his door and tore him out of his restless slumber. He placed his hat back on his head. Rolled his shoulders under the weight of his coat until his spine cracked satisfyingly.

"A vacation," he muttered.

At least it would give him some time to get rid of just how helpless he felt.

The problem with having to pretty much keep an eye on Akutagawa's inability to think things through was that Chuuya had no idea how to act around Akutagawa.

Akutagawa had been Dazai's subordinate, part of the blunt, indelicate strength of the mafia. One of the many pawns handed over to Dazai for the moving. Outside of Double Black being deployed (rarely) and Dazai messing with Chuuya (often), Chuuya had next-to-no contact with the men and women that Dazai acted as the head of. Chuuya's own competences were versatile, whether supernatural in nature or not; he had done a little bit of everything, assassination and infiltration and negotiation and torture, gaining loyalties left and right and not knowing what to do with them. It had been okay as long as he was Kouyou's sub-executive. She always found a use for him. But Chuuya could remember panicking upon being promoted out of her jurisdiction, because he had no idea what to do with leadership.

That had lasted until he realized that a lot of people knew him and were willing to obey him. Upon finalizing his teams, he had found them to be a mix of very different people, with very different skills. Chuuya's section of the port mafia was a jack-of-all-trades, good for blunt force and subtler jobs alike, and if Chuuya himself favored being sent to intimidate and bargain, he never said no to other sorts of work either.

Chuuya appreciated his subordinates. He knew he could trust them with what was needed. His appreciation ran double considering that he was younger than most of them, and they still followed his orders to the letter. Akutagawa's handling had fallen under Hirotsu after Dazai's defection, however, and Chuuya had not had to interact with him very much. They had run maybe five jobs together over the years.

He knew, intellectually, what Akutagawa was like. He knew why he was like that. It was hard to forget Dazai's vicious glee at holding so much power over someone who looked up to him like Akutagawa did. Chuuya hadn't interfered at the time outside of making Akutagawa get patched up on the rare occasion he found him in the aftermath of Dazai's discipline.

He wasn't good with words. He wasn't good at fixing things. He had shoved Akutagawa at the nurses and doctors, left coffee by his bedside table, and told him to keep his head up. Looking back, it seemed like very little.

If was Dazai's fault for being an asshole, but Chuuya couldn't help but feel guilty.

He thought about it as the car took them south, much further south than Chuuya had ever been without leaving the country. Akutagawa himself didn't sleep once during the trip. His face looked as ill under the first lights of day as it did in the sun's bright, harsh glow. Chuuya heard him cough several times over the hours, and restrained himself from asking how he felt out of habit—he was pissed, damn it, because of Mori's casual admittance that he would throw away Chuuya's life if it came down to it, because he was thinking of Dazai and Sakaguchi, because Akutagawa had put them all at risk in his stupidity. He shouldn't care if Akutagawa's health was worse than usual when Akutagawa's actions had enough potential to lead to Chuuya's demise that Mori felt he would be safer away and out of touch.

He missed Kouyou. He hadn't seen her in two months.

"Are we there yet?" Akutagawa rasped around eight.

"About an hour more," their driver replied quietly.

Chuuya closed his eyes and wished for a cigarette.

It had taken no more than an hour to secure a room at the most expensive hotel that their hideout had to offer. If Mori was going to keep him away for a whole week, Chuuya would make him feel every yen of the bill. The weather felt warmer, damper here than in Yokohama; Chuuya hadn't taken off his suit yet, and it was uncomfortably hot on him despite the strength of the wind. The hotel looked clean and luxurious enough, at least. Having to share a room with Akutagawa was almost worth it.

"I'm taking first shower," he declared, letting his bag fall on his bed as soon as they were given their keys.

Akutagawa mumbled something inaudible in answer.

Chuuya took his sweet time in the bathroom. He used up every sample he could find, nose twitching at the mix of floral scents, until he knew that people would be able to smell it from outside the room. The ridiculous price of the stay at least came with good water pressure, and he was drowsier than he had felt in the last three days when he finally came out. He paid absolutely no mind to the startled inhale that Akutagawa gave from his own bed at the sight of his naked body—he kicked open his suitcase, dragged a worn-soft T-shirt and a pair of boxers out of it, dressed himself and fell face-first into the mattress.

"Don't even think about sneaking out," he muttered, mouth pressed onto the pillow.

There was a second of hesitation before Akutagawa replied, "I won't."

"Good."

Chuuya was asleep within a minute.

He woke up with the sunset, predictably. He also woke up dry-mouthed and hazy-minded in the wrong way, his movements sluggish, his head full of cotton. At least the headache he sported was probably only due to hunger.

Chuuya dragged his head sideways. Akutagawa was looking at him from his bed, a book held open in his hands that he must have just stopped reading.

It was a bit of a weird picture. He didn't know Akutagawa was capable of looking this normal.

Chuuya dragged himself to his knees, rubbing his face, chasing crust out of his eyes and dryness from around his lips. "You hungry?" he asked. His voice took a second to adjust into itself again.

"I'm fine," Akutagawa replied evenly.

"Right." Chuuya stretched his arms above his head and stood up. "Well, I'm hungry, and you're coming with me."

"I don't—"

"I'm not letting you out of my sight after that shit you pulled, Akutagawa."

It was more irritation than Chuuya had allowed himself to show so far. Akutagawa froze on top of the bed in that unique way he did; not so much the sudden absence of movement as the sudden impression that his stillness had turned to stone, that his skin was solid wax. Chuuya felt alert enough now to feel some guilt for it.

"Fuck," he let out, looking away. "Just—come on, let's get dinner."

The restaurant downstairs was a masterpiece of bad taste—crimson walls and golden chandeliers and waiters wearing too-stiff suits—but it had come with great recommendations. Chuuya could handle the horrid décor if the food was good enough. He bumped into another client in the narrow entrance; only his drowsy, nap-heavy reflexes prevented him from grabbing the man's hands and breaking both his wrists. Chuuya had to shake himself out of the rush of sheer adrenaline to even hear that he was being spoken to.

"Oh, sorry—"

"It's fine," he cut in. His eyes glanced over the man's face—tanned, broad, absolutely non-threatening—and he added, "I wasn't looking. My bad."

The man chuckled. He waved cornily at the door and said, "After you."

He had very full lips. In the shape of a smile they softened the rest of him, from thick shoulders to thick hair, every hard line fading to make way for simple mirth, and Chuuya stood staring at him for a very different reason now. Fazed out of immediacy.

Akutagawa coughed behind him. Chuuya inhaled through his nose sharply, feeling his neck and cheeks warm with blood—he walked past the man's extended hand with a grunted, "Have a good evening."

At least Akutagawa himself didn't seem to have noticed anything amiss. He sat at the table that a waiter led them to looking bored out of his mind, if a little tired. Chuuya swiftly chased his embarrassment by focusing on the menu in front of him. "See anything you want?" he asked without looking up.

"No."

"Just get some soup or something, then. It'll be good for your throat."

Akutagawa didn't reply, but he did order soup a minute later.

Chuuya kept his eyes mostly off of him through dinner. He had sat through too many formal meals to feel awkward around one underling from his organization, but he still didn't know how to feel about the reason he was here. His eternal need for anger warred with the pity that always shook him when he thought of Akutagawa for too long.

Akutagawa had had Dazai for his instructor. Dazai had treated him like some sort of fucked up human experiment for years—pushing him well past his limits, kicking down his self-esteem when he wasn't kicking down his body, making him thirst for an approval that he would never get. Chuuya was smart enough to realize that whatever his own feelings toward Dazai were now—and fuck if he knew what those were, between the irritation and nostalgia and, sometimes, grief—the boy he had grown up pulling hair with had probably left a very different memory in the mind of his disciple.

If Akutagawa valued his own life so little that he would conduct a major assassination in full view... it would make sense that he would not value anyone else enough not to do it by using his powers. Chuuya doubted Akutagawa had much knowledge of the fragile politics keeping gifted people like them free.

"What were you thinking?" he couldn't help but ask, toying with the last of his food without eating it.

It didn't matter that his tone was conversational, not confrontative. Akutagawa shifted on his seat, the coat around his shoulders shimmering in a recognizable way—Chuuya gave it a sharp glance, and it stopped.

"I'm not going to attack you," he said, a tense second later. "You know why I'm here. Why we're both here."

Akutagawa nodded.

"I mean, you really know. Both of us have powerful and visible abilities, which means that whatever makes the public wary of ability users makes them directly wary of us. It's different than people like... like Kajii, or whatever. If there's a witch hunt against gifts, we'll be first fucking targets."

"I can take them," Akutagawa whispered.

Chuuya snorted. "Right. The entire squad of mysterious users that the SAD's never told us anything about, all by your lonesome."

He expected protest, or to see Akutagawa deflect out of his own mangled sense of pride—but instead Akutagawa said, "You could take them. You're strong."

Chuuya probably could, given the right circumstances, as Mori had said.

He just wouldn't live to tell the tale.

"This isn't the problem," he said. Then he sighed, and pushed the hair away from his forehead tiredly. "Fuck, Akutagawa—what were you thinking? Were you thinking at all? What in the world was so important about killing one guy that you had to risk putting all of us in danger?"

Chuuya had never met an ability user who did not share that same age-old, deep-seated fear of being discovered, of being hunted down. They weren't rare, but they weren't many. Most of them had already gone through tough lives. Even Dazai, who arguably was the least at risk if such a scenario were to happen, had always been careful about who he told. Even Mori kept the secret of his disturbing ability religiously.

Chuuya had lived in the fear of being used as a throwaway weapon since the first time he had used Corruption. Did Akutagawa have no fear of the kind?

"You're lucky you didn't get killed for that," he said between his teeth. "If it were still the old boss you'd be dead and buried by now. It's a good thing Mori values you."

He never liked to talk about those times, but the comparison felt accurate.

He ignored the burn of Akutagawa's curiosity on his face and instead watched over the rest of the ugly dining hall. The murmur of conversation was low enough that Chuuya knew people would have to strain to hear each other, let alone to hear them. He blinked at the sight of the man from earlier eating only three tables away and glanced away quickly, once he caught his eyes.

"I will do better next time," Akutagawa said at last.

He didn't apologize. He didn't even sound regretful.

Chuuya replied, "You do that."

Akutagawa spent the first two days being extremely obedient. He didn't try to escape Chuuya's attention, though Chuuya admittedly did not watch him as closely as he should; he didn't cause a disturbance at the hotel, though he must be itching for a fight. He seemed to have packed a whole library's worth of books, something Chuuya had stopped finding surprising after watching him close the third one and take another from an entirely separate bag than the one holding his clothes.

Chuuya himself had been busy writing up reports he was late on and reading the ones given to him by Gin when he had come back from Hokkaido. He was done with it by the third morning, though, with no way of contacting anyone from home to ask for more work. His only means of reaching them was a burner phone that he wasn't supposed to use unless extreme emergency rose up.

The boredom was going to fucking kill him.

"Come on," he announced as noon rolled by, bright and stuffy-warm, "let's at least try the beach."

He practically felt Akutagawa tense up on his side of the room. "No."

"I need fresh air. You need fresh air."

"The window's open," Akutagawa replied, coughing into his hand.

Chuuya stopped pacing to stare at him. Akutagawa was awfully thin under his clothes. The bones of his wrists looked a second away from piercing out of his skin, his face was deathly pale, his eyes sunk in and bruised. The fact that their color was rather agreeable weighed very little compared to how ill he looked.

"Akutagawa," Chuuya said. "I don't care if you go there fully dressed, but you're going. That's an order."

Akutagawa glared at him but did not question him. He had been trained too well, terrified too well, into thinking that anything he could say against authority had the potential to bring volatile responses.

Chuuya found himself wishing that he would stand up to him, at least for something this small.

He did end up following after Chuuya fully clothed—barefoot in the sand and his eyes covered with sunglasses but with his coat over his shoulders. The weather was still mild enough, if on the warmer side—it was only May—but Akutagawa must be suffocating anyway. There was a very fine sheen of sweat at his brow.

"I think you should know," Chuuya told him, lying down onto a towel, "you look ridiculous."

"I will not disarm myself for such trivial pleasures."

"Your ability's so fucking weird, man."

Akutagawa hid himself from the sun under one of the hotel's wide umbrellas, ten meters back from where Chuuya lay, as close to the hotel's entrance as humanly possible. He took a book out of his pocket and buried himself in it. Chuuya rolled his eyes at the sight and fell down onto the sand once more.

It didn't feel bad at all. His boredom didn't alleviate—it wouldn't for the next five days, Chuuya knew with burning irritation—but the hotel wasn't too populated at this time of the year. The private beach they were on counted only them and four families. The sound of their children's laughter was distant, a murmur like the waves; Chuuya found himself relaxing under the warmth of the sun and against the soft sand now taking the shape of his back.

There was nothing quite like letting the sea air drag every knot of tension out of him like this. Chuuya hadn't visited any of Yokohama's beaches for pleasure in years, though he always enjoyed the sea. The last time he could remember doing it was before Dazai had been promoted, when he was around sixteen. And then had been nothing more than a skinny dip at night by the harbor, because he and Dazai had been so covered in blood that they couldn't afford to be seen even by the moonlight.

Five years now.

"I was wondering if I'd find you here," a voice said above him.

Chuuya's eyes snapped open, his hand flying to his unarmed hip, his ability flowing warmly right under his skin.

A man stood by his side. Naked except for his swimwear, glistening with seawater, his full lips stretched into that same smile that had given Chuuya pause days ago. It gave him pause now as well, sticking him to the ground for a long second before he found the presence of mind to sit up. A quick glance behind informed him that Akutagawa was still as engrossed in his book as he had been minutes ago.

"Did you need something?" Chuuya asked, looking at man again.

The man's grin grew. "Nothing," he replied. "We saw each other a couple days ago. There's really not many people staying here at this time of the year, and I haven't seen you since, so I was wondering where you were."

"Well, I'm here," Chuuya said lowly. "I hope your curiosity's satisfied."

"Not in the least. I'm afraid you'll have to put up with me for a while longer. You made quite an impression, you see."

It was just corny enough that Chuuya quirked a quick smile. The stranger beamed at the sight of it, and if Chuuya felt warm now, it wasn't because of the sun.

"Murata Motoi," the stranger said, extending a hand downward.

Chuuya grasped it without hesitation. Rather than shake it, he pulled down, making Murata stumble for a fraction of time before finding his footing and helping him up as intended. There was easy strength in him, enough to resist Chuuya's own and carry him all the way up; Chuuya let his eyes run over him, over the thick evidence of training very different from his own. Chuuya was built for battle, for the kill. This man was built for show and sports.

It didn't mean the feeling of his sea-wet skin under Chuuya's fingertips wasn't appreciated.

"Chuuya," he replied, dropping the man's hand. He was standing close enough now that there was no pretense of innocent friendliness on Murata's face—his eyes raked over Chuuya's mostly-naked body with evident intent. They both knew why he was here.

"Just Chuuya?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"Alright," Murata said. "What brings you to this place off-season, then, Chuuya?"

"I do have an answer for that: it's none of your business."

Murata laughed good-naturedly. The heat that crawled up Chuuya's face at the sight was a little pathetic—he didn't do Murata's type, not really, not ever. In all his trysts Chuuya had been drawn to soft men with smirking lips, men who were only too happy to let him have his way with them until they were flushed and breathless. He didn't think Murata was looking for this from him.

No, the way Murata looked at him spoke of a very different kind of want. One that Chuuya hadn't allowed anyone to indulge with him for way too long. He didn't know if what he felt at the thought was thrilled or wary.

"You're not here alone," Murata commented.

His eyes were on Akutagawa. He must've seen them together at dinner two days ago. They had kept to their room since then, ordering food to be brought up, but Chuuya knew their appearances were striking enough to be remembered from a glance.

"A relative of mine," Chuuya said. He looked at the sea after that.

Murata seemed satisfied with his answer. "Well, it's lovely to meet you," he declared. "Will you be staying here long?"

"Five more days."

"May I ask for one evening out of the five?"

Chuuya glanced at him in faint surprise. "You're a little forward, aren't you."

"Do you dislike it?" Murata grinned.

It made Chuuya want to huff in amusement, made him want to blush, made him want to drag his eyes over Murata's body again. He couldn't quite help himself from doing that anyway. The drying water on Murata's skin had left traces of salt behind that shook without quite falling off with every breath he took, every swell of his carefully chiseled chest. Chuuya's tongue stung with the idea of tasting it.

"I'm still deciding," he replied at last.

He could feel the weight of Akutagawa's eyes on him, now. He knew he would find him staring if he turned to look. Chuuya was stubborn enough not to feel any sort of shame out of it, but Murata didn't know Akutagawa like he did—he had no idea that Chuuya could sentence him to death for a wrong comment if he so wished. His face turned less openly eager, and he backed a step away.

"I'm serious about the evening," Murata said, a little more softly now. "Just dinner would be enough."

"Really," Chuuya drawled.

Murata smiled at him. "Really," he replied. "I wasn't joking about the curiosity."

That changed the game a little. As flattering as the attention was, Chuuya didn't trust Akutagawa on his own long enough for a fuck, let alone for dinner beforehand. Just because Mori wanted to act like this was a vacation didn't mean Chuuya had forgotten any of his words, spoken or not.

If damage control went awry, those could be his last days as a free man. Their last days as free men. It put quite a damper on the mood.

"Sorry," Chuuya said, taking his glasses off. The sun was veering toward the west already, not burning quite so brightly on the waves. He gave Murata a sincere enough smile. "I don't think that's gonna be possible."

He wasn't sure what to expect out of Murata at the rejection. In Chuuya's experience, these things could go from very well to very annoying—one person had fumed at him for well over an hour, once, a student from a group sharing the bar that Chuuya had gone to a year or so ago. Chuuya had heard him insult him every possible way to his friends and sped his drinking up to make himself unable to pick a fight. The kid was probably dumb enough to try and take him on if he did. But Murata did none of that, simply bowed his head with quirked lips and said, "May I ask you again tomorrow?"

Chuuya couldn't have stopped his laughter if his life depended on it.

It didn't matter that Akutagawa stared even harder. Murata was confident, that was obvious—confident enough to make a fool of himself and confident in his sexuality—and Chuuya liked that, more than he knew how to say. If this were truly a vacation, he would've taken him up on his offer. He knew himself enough to admit it.

"You may," he told Murata, walking past him and squeezing his shoulder. His hand was barely big enough to cover the width of it. "But don't get your hopes up, yeah?"

The next few days would've been amusing if not for one thing.

Chuuya took to going back to the beach every afternoon. Boredom was still eating at him most of the time, so he shared his days between making use of the frankly underwhelming work-out equipment stored in one of the hotel's groundfloor rooms, strolling through the city with Akutagawa shadowing his steps, and napping under the sun. Murata found a way to cross paths with him at least once a day despite his obviously busy schedule—whatever it was that he was here to do in the first place—and every time, their exchanges went the same.

"Dinner tonight?" Murata asked, hopeful.

"No," Chuuya answered.

He couldn't help but grin as he said it. That was the brighter part of his day, alongside the nice tan he was getting.

The less appreciated part of it was Akutagawa himself.

He had been morose after that first afternoon at the beach. He still came with Chuuya wherever Chuuya went, commenting on everything in that haughty, dragging voice of his. He still obeyed orders, though Chuuya made a point not to utter too many of them. Akutagawa being physically unable to stand up to him was not something he liked to be reminded of. The problem, Chuuya thought on the fifth day, was that Akutagawa was brooding.

It was impossible to tell whether it was because of the forced distance with the port mafia or something else. All Chuuya knew was that Akutagawa often looked at him, and that it felt like glaring but wasn't, not really. Whatever Akutagawa was displeased with, it had to do with Chuuya himself.

And Chuuya was never very good at avoiding confrontation.

"Do you have a problem, Akutagawa?" Chuuya said that same evening.

He was laid on his unmade bed with one of Akutagawa's books in hand. It was a fairytale sort of story, a foreign novel about a little girl with a greed for reading, not something he would have expected Akutagawa to enjoy. Though, to be fair, Chuuya had no idea what Akutagawa enjoyed. His liking escapism and happy endings maybe wasn't so far-fetched. Akutagawa had finished that book earlier during the day, and he hadn't said anything when Chuuya picked it up from his bedside table.

Akutagawa had been staring at him for the better part of an hour now. Chuuya had distracted himself with the story's quick-witted humor for most of it, but now his head was thrumming with explosive energy, his fingers curling and uncurling as it wanting to make fists.

How ironic, that he was the one itching for a fight now.

"I do not," Akutagawa replied flatly.

"Really," Chuuya said. He let the book fall next to his pillow and sat up to face him; the gaze Akutagawa leveled with him was wary, not entirely different from the usual except for that hint of displeasure. "Because I'm getting really fucking tired of whatever it is you're too afraid to tell me," he continued. "If it's a glaring contest you want, I'm game."

Akutagawa held strong for a moment longer before looking away. Chuuya clicked his tongue, irritated with him for his avoidance, with himself for being pushy—with Dazai for creating that fucking atmosphere in the first place, loose-limbed asshole with no value for genuine loyalty that he was.

Chuuya dearly hoped that wherever he was now, Dazai was doing some serious soul-searching. If he wasn't dead.

He must be more on edge than he thought if he was starting to think about this again.

"Whatever your issue is," Chuuya said roughly, "you better man up and deal with it soon. I'm tired of you staring at me like I've offended you or something when the only reason we're stuck here is because of you."

He stood up from the bed before witnessing the inevitable stricken expression Akutagawa would make. He felt guilty, though he knew, objectively that he had no reason to be. There was too much pity in him for who Akutagawa had grown up to be not to look at him and want to walk on eggshells.

Chuuya dressed himself a little more smartly, wishing he could be alone for a moment but not saying anything as he heard Akutagawa get out of his bed as well, ready to follow him. Taking a walk some respectable distance away from him should cool him off well enough.

He wasn't expecting Akutagawa to ask, "Are you involved with that man?"

Chuuya's hand stilled on the handle of the door. He looked at Akutagawa again.

It was too dark to see much—dark enough that Chuuya wondered how he had managed to read so long without turning on the lights—but Akutagawa looked as close to apprehensive as he could get. He met Chuuya's eyes sideways, his profile to Chuuya, as if he wanted to be ready to flee.

What the fuck, Chuuya thought. His chest felt tight, his palms cold.

"Is that your problem?" he asked evenly.

Akutagawa bristled and said, "Let's just go."

"No." Chuuya dropped the handle and turned his back to the door to lean against it fully. Through the misty quality of his shock he could feel simmering outrage, just out of reach for now. "Go on, Akutagawa," he said easily. "Tell me all about it. You wanna know if I've fucked him yet? Is that what's been bothering you so much? You can't even fucking look at me in the eye, can you."

He really hadn't expected Akutagawa's looks to be ones of disgust. Akutagawa had always struck Chuuya as someone who didn't have the ability to care about something like this one way or the other. The thought that he had been stared at in disapproval for being gay, of all things, was—

Chuuya didn't talk about this much, but he didn't hide it either. He was never one to hide who he was. Some people knew, some didn't, and whatever rumors ran about him, he was blissfully unaware of. No one in the port mafia so far had been stupid enough to raise this as an issue with him.

He couldn't get rid of the painful pace of his heart no matter how calmly he breathed.

"This isn't a holiday," Akutagawa replied, voice thin. "You shouldn't waste time on frivolities."

Chuuya closed his eyes.

"You know what," he said slowly. "Fuck this. I'm taking a walk, alone. You stay here, or do whatever the fuck you want, and I better not hear about this again when I come back. I better not find out you pulled any dangerous shit either."

He pulled the door open before Akutagawa could say a word and slammed it shut behind himself.

The walk didn't calm him down as much as he wanted. Chuuya headed for the beach straight away, and it was empty now, gleaming quietly under the stars. Nothing made him feel as estranged from home as the sight of them spreading so widely over the ink-black sky. Yokohama always glowed too much to allow them to shine through.

He filled himself with the sound of the waves and the occasional whisper of running cars. He walked so far off that he found actual habitations, instead of empty luxury hotels. On the detour he took from the city itself he heard the muffled beat of music pouring from a window. He saw silhouettes leaning over balconies and heard excited chatter. It was a Saturday night, he realized. The kind of night he avoided going out himself because the places he favored for a drink filled themselves with students, and Chuuya could sleep with a lot of people, but he drew the line at those.

The lobby of the hotel was unlit when he came back hours later. His legs aching satisfactorily enough, Chuuya leaned against the door and rummaged through his pockets absently; he dragged out a pack of cigarettes that turned out to be empty and sighed, letting his head fall against the wall.

He almost jumped when a hand entered his field of vision.

For a second he blinked without a word at the brand-new pack held between its fingers. Then his eyes slid sideways to its owner and met Murata's full-mouthed grin.

"Fancy one?" Murata asked quietly.

Chuuya felt his lips stretch despite himself. "Yeah," he replied, taking the pack from Murata's hand. He allowed tingles to run up his arm at the brush of their knuckles without saying a word of it, making quick work of the plastic wrapping and sliding a cigarette out. Murata held up a lighter in front of him, and Chuuya smiled fondly, thinking of the many ways he would maim anyone else bringing a flame this close to his face even as he leaned down to let it catch onto paper. "Thanks," he added after his first inhale.

The smoke crawled down his lungs warmly, slowing his heartbeat, making the raw hitch of anger melt out of his mind.

He watched in silence as Murata lit one for himself, but then he couldn't stop himself from commenting, "I didn't think you smoked. Kind of breaks the whole sports junkie aesthetic thing you have going."

"One of my many bad habits," Murata replied easily. "Like trying to pick up people way out of my league—I can't help it."

Chuuya snorted. "If those are your only two bad habits I think you're doing pretty good."

Murata bowed theatrically.

"I'm sorry I didn't catch you before dinner," he said a moment later. "Though, I'm assuming you would have said no again."

"You assume right."

"Dinner tomorrow, then?"

Chuuya gave him a glance more amused than annoyed, and Murata accepted the answer with good grace. He didn't say anything as Murata leaned next to him against the wall. They weren't close enough to touch, but Chuuya felt warmth emanate from him anyway, running up the skin of his bare arm and settling like pressure at his nape.

It wasn't unpleasant in the least.

"Still, I get to see you now," Murata murmured. "The nights are always beautiful here at this time of the year, but I have to say I haven't stood through one in such pleasant company before."

"Boy, you really are desperate," Chuuya replied dryly, though his face was warm.

"Not the most desperate you've met, surely." Murata shifted a little closer, in a move eager enough to be endearing. "I can't imagine that you haven't turned worse heads than mine in the past," he continued. Chuuya felt the air come out of his mouth, knew without looking that Murata's head was turned toward him as he spoke. "You look lovely, Chuuya."

Chuuya smoked without answering. He wasn't—he knew how he looked. He wasn't ashamed of it, he knew how to use it, though never how to weaponize it like some of his subordinates could. Sex for him was something he refused to use that way. It was something he sought whenever the mood arose, something he partook in at his own discretion.

It felt good to have someone like Murata compliment him like this. It felt good to be called lovely, to be wanted so honestly. Chuuya knew he would enjoy sleeping with him, and he knew Murata would enjoy it as well. But it wouldn't fix the yearning he felt for something more—something he couldn't imagine himself having with anyone.

"Look, Murata," he started.

"Call me Motoi, please."

Chuuya hesitated. "Motoi," he relented, taking another drag of smoke. He exhaled it slowly before turning his head to meet the man's eyes. "You're cute. I'd probably take you up on your offer if things were different, but they aren't." He clenched his teeth at the memory of Akutagawa's words. "I'll be gone in two days, so just—forget it and move on. I'm sure the next guy will be more than happy to have dinner with you."

He saw Motoi's eyes look over his face slowly. The nightlight was just dim enough to make out the shadows and lines of his face, not the color of his eyes. Chuuya knew that they were brown, though. Warm, open, reminiscent of other eyes—ones he hadn't seen in years, ones he had never seen look at him like this.

He wasn't entirely ready to admit to himself that the reason he rejected Motoi so much had little to do with duty.

"Well," Motoi said. "I never really expected you to say yes. I'm sorry for insisting. It was fun to ask you."

"Yeah, it was."

Chuuya knew a creep when he saw one, and Motoi was anything but a creep. His insistence had been a game. One they had both enjoyed.

Motoi's lips quirked at the reassurance. "I'm actually here on family business," he said. Chuuya blinked at him wordlessly, surprised by the jump in topic. "I live in Tokyo. My aunt, who's spent her entire life here, died a couple weeks ago. Her funeral was today."

"I'm sorry for your loss," Chuuya muttered.

Motoi waved a hand lazily. "Don't be. I hated her. She was very wealthy, however, so I had to play nice with her my whole life, or my parents would've had my head." He hummed for a second, deep in thought. "It payed off—she's left me quite the inheritance."

It made Chuuya grin lopsidedly. "I like that attitude," he said.

"I thought you might," Motoi replied, falsely humble. "Anyway, what I meant to say was that I could never really be myself in this place before that. Whenever I came here, I had to pretend to be someone I wasn't. I'd bring a female friend on my arm and tell my aunt we were thinking of having children, of getting married. She never saw through the lie, thankfully. She would not have let me see her again if she knew I'd never touched a woman in my life."

It wasn't something Chuuya had ever had to deal with, but he felt empathetic all the same. There was a familiarity to the tale that he carried deep beneath his skin, no matter that he had never lived it. It was the sort of inheritance people like them were given.

So many of the men he had bedded had told him similar stories. So many of the women he knew bore wounds of the same kind, deeper than any scars, carved into their livid souls.

"It felt good to come here and not care about that for a change," Motoi went on, looking at him intently. "I got to come alone, I got to talk to a beautiful man without giving a damn what people would say." His hand lifted again slowly, hovering by Chuuya's face. Chuuya didn't move away as it touched his cheek warmly. "So thank you for playing along. If it were anyone else I probably would have been more subtle about it, but you're really very lovely."

Motoi's palm fit itself against the full of Chuuya's cheek, his fingers bypassing his ear to tread through the fine hair behind it.

Chuuya closed his eyes. He sucked in the last of the cigarette and let the lit stub fall to the ground, and he smothered the ember beneath the sole of his shoe, heard it sizzle out of existence. Then he grabbed the front of Motoi's shirt and pulled him closer, tiptoeing to even out their difference in height.

He had known that this man's lips were made for kissing, and he confirmed it then, crushing them under his.

It was a full minute later that he pulled back, mouth tingling from being bitten and Motoi gripping him at the hips. "Fuck dinner," he said. His hands stroked down the powerful swell of Motoi's shoulder blades, the hard imprint of his muscles through soft fabric and rough skin. "And fuck you for that sob story. I don't fucking fall for emotional manipulation."

"I knew there was a heart of gold under that tough guy act," Motoi grinned, satisfied.

It made Chuuya laugh, loud and bright in the silence. "That's the wrongest thing you've said about me so far," he replied heatedly.

Chuuya woke up in Motoi's room the next morning, the previous night's stress thoroughly fucked out of him, Motoi stroking his naked back. He stretched until his spine arched pleasantly, until Motoi himself gave a hum of appreciation and pulled him close, and in the press of his wide hips, the drag of his coarse hair, Chuuya found the mood for vacation at last.

It lasted until he heard the tone of the burner phone ring from under the clothes he had taken out the day before. Motoi was now in the middle of pressing open-mouthed kisses onto his shoulders, and Chuuya pushed him away, muttering, "I have to take this," before stepping out of the bed.

He didn't recognize the number, but he recognized the voice.

"How is the south treating you, lad?"

"Ane-san," Chuuya breathed out, lips curling into a smile immediately. He could feel Motoi staring at him, but there was little of chance of that attention directed to what he said more than how naked he was, he knew. He shifted to sit on the floor, wincing slightly at the ache in his backside. "It's okay, just boring as fuck. What's going on? I thought you'd be too busy to call."

"I thought so too, but I volunteered to bring you up to date," Kouyou replied. "Ougai-dono is done prodding the waters. It seems the man Akutagawa took out was very hated by his peers—witnesses have been dealt with, and the one trace of video evidence has been erased. Someone will come to fetch you both tomorrow."

"Thank fucking God."

"Language." She didn't seem too worked up about it, though. She never did. "Did you manage to get some rest?"

Chuuya met Motoi's eyes across the room and smirked. Motoi smiled back, looking confused.

"I did," he replied.

Kouyou hung up shortly after. They weren't meant to use this line for social calls. Chuuya felt lighter anyway, with the knowledge that only a measly twenty-four hours separated him from departure, with having talked to Kouyou for the first time in more than a week. He would find some time to visit her when he was back.

Motoi said nothing as Chuuya dressed himself back up, though he watched with appreciation. "I have to get back to my relative," Chuuya said, tying up his shirt.

"No time for a second go at it?"

Chuuya smiled fleetingly. "No," he replied.

He stepped closer to the bed and lifted a hand. It was sweet to see Motoi lean into the feeling when Chuuya's fingers ran through his short hair roughly, but then he tried to grab Chuuya's hand and pull him down, and Chuuya didn't allow it.

"You're leaving tomorrow," Motoi said.

Chuuya's hand left his head entirely. "I should kill you for overhearing that call," he replied.

"I don't doubt it."

Motoi had given very little evidence of having noticed Chuuya's scars, but there was no way he hadn't seen them. They were too obvious, to the eyes and to the touch, turning his skin rough in places and inhumanly smooth in others. It was possible Motoi had even garnered that Chuuya was built the way he was from martial arts. If he had, he hadn't said anything.

Chuuya looked at him thoughtfully. Motoi wasn't showing any apprehension despite his words, arrogant bastard that he was. He really was underestimating Chuuya.

He wasn't dangerous, though. Chuuya might as well let him.

"So, since this is your last day, and you're leaving me here all by myself after barely giving me a taste…" Chuuya wanted to smile, to snipe that he had given way more than just a taste, but Motoi spoke again before he could say it. "Dinner tonight?"

"Fucking hell," Chuuya grinned. "You never fucking give up, do you."

"I'm not known for it, no."

"Learn to take a hint, man."

Motoi leered at him from head to toe in lieu of an answer.

There was laughter lodged at the back of Chuuya's mouth, warm and sated, from the sex and the company. "Dinner tonight," he confirmed, and though he bent down over Motoi, he avoided his lips to press his mouth to the man's cheek instead.

He stole Motoi's cigarettes on his way out of the room.

Motoi was at the very opposite of where he and Akutagawa were housed. It gave perspective to the efforts he must have put into finding Chuuya every day. The complex was huge, several buildings' worth of the kind of obnoxious luxury Chuuya could only suffer in small doses. A private beach, two private pools. Casinos and betting rooms and a four-star restaurant so ugly that if not for its reputation, no one in their right mind would come. After a week in the place Chuuya was more than ready to start living out of Kouyou's cellar again.

Chuuya took a break when he reached the wide lobby, already populated despite the early hour. The sun rose higher over the pink sea in the lapse of time it took him to smoke twice. He stared at the ocean until his eyes ached from it, until bright spots burned into his eyesight everywhere else he looked.

He hadn't expected to find Akutagawa in the room when he finally made it back, but he did.

For a long second they both stared at each other. Chuuya felt too well-rested to gather up enough energy for anger—he was drowsy, he felt, his body lax from Motoi's handling and his mind clearer than it had been all week—and, judging by Akutagawa's face, he wasn't as strung-up as he had been the previous evening.

"You didn't sleep here," he still commented uselessly.

Chuuya shrugged. "I got a call from headquarters," he replied, crossing the room to get to his bed. He fell down on it with a sigh. "Someone'll be here to fetch us tomorrow morning, so this is our last day in each other's presence."

Akutagawa seemed to hesitate for a second before answering, "Good."

It really made no sense how disappointed Chuuya felt at that.

He knew he hadn't done his best to help Akutagawa when he really needed it. He had been young himself, but even then he had known that what Dazai was doing was wrong. Sending Akutagawa to get patched up once a month wasn't enough when he could've grabbed that bull by the horns and taken it up with Dazai himself. He had been part of the few people Dazai ever listened to, once. That had changed slowly in the months before his defection, but Chuuya still should have talked to him about it. Akutagawa had ample reason to resent him for not trying—no matter what about him he chose to resent.

"Were you with that man?" Akutagawa asked lowly.

Chuuya stood up from the bed.

Akutagawa himself never startled physically, but his ability did it for him, Rashoumon bristling over his shoulders like a fearful cat's fur. Chuuya reminded himself that Akutagawa was not someone he wanted to pick up a fight with—that not only would the fight be unsatisfactory, it would also be unfair from the start. Akutagawa was too trained to take a superior officer's blows and think them justified.

"Akutagawa," he said in a tired voice, "I don't give a shit what you have to say about me. I really don't." The fact that this was a lie grated at him more than any insult Akutagawa could come up with. "So now that I'm pretty sure you got the memo about keeping a low profile until we get home, I'm gonna stay out of your way. This way you don't have to see me doing anything you find disgusting, and I don't have to deal with your opinion either."

Akutagawa's mouth opened and closed without sound. He very nearly looked confused.

"Is that an acceptable arrangement?" Chuuya asked slowly.

"I—yes," Akutagawa said. His voice was low and even as always, but his sparse eyebrows were furrowed, his gaze on Chuuya more tentative than it had been even when Chuuya was giving him orders. "But… why—"

It was weird to see him struggle. Chuuya couldn't remember Akutagawa ever being less than eloquent, even beaten to a pulp, even missing teeth.

"I don't understand," Akutagawa settled for.

"You never will," Chuuya replied flatly.

Akutagawa looked more frightened, for a second, than Chuuya had ever seen him.

Dinner with Motoi was a surprisingly charming affair.

Chuuya didn't catch sign of Akutagawa for the entire day. He was caught on his way back from the beach by an arm around his back, and if it had been anyone else, this arm would have been lost; but Motoi only laughed at the second of jumpiness that Chuuya gave out before relaxing, and told him to meet him in an hour. Akutagawa wasn't in the room when Chuuya went there to get a change of clothes, but his books and clothes were, and the room felt warm, still, from his presence. He must have only gone out a few minutes before.

Chuuya had expected Motoi to be even more crass than he was the whole week. Motoi seemed like the kind of person who acted out of contradictory spirit. It would make sense, Chuuya thought, that he would find himself subjected to (not unwelcome) advances of a dirtier kind in a more refined environment.

Yet Motoi never did anything more than making sure his glass was full, than asking small questions that Chuuya would not—could not—answer. He asked where Chuuya lived, and Chuuya said nothing. He asked if Chuuya had any family, and Chuuya smiled, silent. Motoi only looked at him fondly through each refusal. He seemed like a child with a locked box he didn't have the key to; too resigned to do more than poke it with his fingers, now that all his efforts at actually opening it had proved useless.

Chuuya drank, and ate, and told himself he didn't find that endearing.

Motoi didn't try to touch him in public. For all that he had said the night before, he seemed reluctant to be more overt than the usual. They gathered looks as it was, and though Chuuya had no care for them, Motoi didn't do more through the meal than lightly brush his hand over Chuuya's wrist once.

It was all so chaste. So proper. So very ironic considering that Chuuya had already let Motoi fuck him over his bed, had already lain under him naked as the day he was born, his thighs squeezing Motoi's hips through every rocking motion they gave. The memory flushed his face more agreeably than the wine did; it made him want to chuckle, lowly, like a man n the brink of murder.

"You're making a very sinister expression," Motoi told him then.

"I always look sinister."

"Keep telling yourself that, love."

Chuuya let the pet name slide only because he already felt warm with alcohol, buzzed through every limb, his tongue dry with the taste of it. He figured a man with the ability to make him come as he had the night before deserved the right to call him love.

They left the restaurant sometime around midnight. They were the last ones to do so. Motoi accepted a cigarette out of the pack that Chuuya had stolen with good grace, not asking for it back, though his eyebrows lifted at the sight of it. He leaned into the flame cradled in Chuuya's palm to light it—took Chuuya's hand in his once he was done, pressed his lips to the back of his knuckles like something come out of a movie.

"You ever heard of too much?" Chuuya asked, hot in the neck and lips twitching.

"I've just become a very rich man," Motoi replied with a smile. "Forgive me for wanting to indulge every single one of my fantasies."

"I can't believe I let you fuck me."

"And what a fucking it was." Motoi had the audacity to sound dreamy. "You really are a fantasy, you know, Chuuya. Several of them. I always thought I'd end up sleeping with a criminal one day, but I didn't think it would happen by the beach, in one of the country's most expensive hotels, or that the criminal in question would be quite so handsome."

Chuuya took a drag of his cigarette, his eyes fixed onto Motoi, and said nothing.

Motoi's smile turned whimsical. "Don't worry," he said. "I'm not going to ask."

"You play a dangerous game, Murata," Chuuya muttered. Every word came out with smoke, hovering in the night air and stretching over their heads like a ship's sail. "I'm lenient with you because I know you're harmless, but you better not try that shit with someone else. You'll end up with a bullet through the head."

"Duly noted," Motoi replied, lilting.

He was still underestimating the situation, but Chuuya let it go. He couldn't do anything about Motoi's fascination with danger and, apparently, near-death experiences.

They let minutes drag by in silence, pressed comfortably close together against the backdoor of the hotel's restaurant. The sea spread to the horizon at their right. Chuuya looked at it as he breathed in the last of the smoke, his eyes lost into the myriads of shifting stars reflected onto the water; he felt the weight of Motoi's eyes at his nape almost physically.

"I should go back," he said without looking at him.

He threw the stub at the nearest trash can. It flew in a perfect arc into the air, aided by his ability, its red glow indiscernible from the ember's own.

"No second night, then," Motoi commented softly.

"I don't do second nights."

Chuuya let his head shift from one side to the other against the wall. Motoi's smile was kind, if a little disappointed. "I guess I should count myself lucky that you allowed me dinner at all," he said.

"Yeah," Chuuya replied simply.

His blunt honesty was accepted with a chuckle. Chuuya saw Motoi's eyes drag down from his own to rest upon his mouth instead; he didn't make a move, either to accept or reject it, curious to see what Motoi would do.

He didn't do anything.

"Well, it's been lovely," he said, looking at Chuuya's eyes once more and pushing away from the wall. Chuuya followed suit wordlessly. "You'll be putting many of my future escapades to shame."

"That is such a shitty thing to say," Chuuya pointed out, though his lips were curving up at the corner. "I didn't come here to be objectified."

"I guess you'll just have to deal with it," Motoi replied in good humor.

Chuuya shook his head at him. He grabbed the still-full bottle that Motoi was carrying by the neck, the one Motoi had probably intended for the both of them to share over his bed, naked and languid after fucking once more. Motoi let him have it without protest, looking only slightly resigned. He blinked in surprise, however, when Chuuya slid the packet of cigarettes into his breast pocket as if paying his due.

"Good night," Chuuya said.

Motoi replied after staring at him for another second. "Good night, Chuuya."

Akutagawa was sitting on his bed when Chuuya made it back to the room. His back was a line straight enough to look painful, his face pale even in the dark. He looked more nervous than he did when Chuuya had left this morning.

"I wish to speak with you," he said, as soon as Chuuya set foot into the room.

Chuuya paused in his steps.

Akutagawa in that moment wore the same sort of ferocity that he did in the thick of battle—bloodstained, unseeing, Rashoumon's back swelling behind his to make him look bigger and more frightening. Rashoumon was moving now, shifting over his shoulders in tiny waves, but Chuuya didn't get the impression that it wanted to attack. That Akutagawa wanted to attack.

He couldn't ever remember Akutagawa making a request before.

"Sure," he replied.

Akutagawa didn't relax, or hunch over, or show any sign that Chuuya's acceptance was welcome. If anything he tensed even further. Chuuya hesitated by the door, torn between staying as he was or sitting on his own bed, putting a greater distance between them. Akutagawa's discomfort was so palpable that he could feel it in his neck.

In the end he let himself fall down onto the bed right next to him. He opened the bottle with a flick of his wrist and handed it aside as a peace offering.

Akutagawa took it after another tense moment.

"What did you wanna talk about?" Chuuya asked. He dragged his shoes off with his toes as Akutagawa drank, smiling faintly over the unhappy sound that escaped the other's throat at the taste. This wine was a very strong red—bitter, sharp, something to let sit in a glass for a while before taking the first sip. It was insult to consume it directly from the bottle.

He drank from it anyway, once Akutagawa handed it back.

"I wanted to inform you that I understand your frustration with me," Akutagawa said with the air of someone heading for the gallows. "I was—careless, in how I handled my last mission. It won't happen again."

"Apology accepted," Chuuya muttered.

Akutagawa's shoulder twitched, the black of his cloak glowing crimson for a bare second.

"Listen, I don't know what's going on in your head ninety-nine percent of the time," he said. "I know you've got issues. I know you want to prove yourself, but you don't have to. You really don't have to. Not like this."

"I do have to," Akutagawa replied roughly.

There was no way for Chuuya to untangle that knot no matter how many times he tried. He sighed before speaking again. "Well, find another way, then. Because exposing yourself and your ability like this is only going to give the government more incentive to start hunting us down."

"I can—"

"This isn't about you," Chuuya snapped.

Akutagawa fell silent with a short inhale.

"Fuck—damn it. Sorry. I didn't mean to get pissy." Chuuya looked away from Akutagawa's wide-eyed stare, drinking another sip of too-strong wine before forcing the bottle back in Akutagawa's hands. "It's not about whether or not you can take them," he said. "It's about everyone who can't take them. It's about our organization. Do you really want us to have to disappear—do you want to go back to living in the streets, Akutagawa?"

This wasn't a story he had gotten out of Akutagawa himself. Gin spoke very little, but when she did, she was honest; she was straightforward and unashamed in a way her brother could never be, not with Dazai's influence. Gin had told Chuuya tidbits of her childhood, of their childhood, over the years.

"I don't," Akutagawa replied eventually.

Chuuya nodded. "You have to start thinking of the bigger picture," he said. "At least for this. Otherwise it won't matter how successful you are at your job, you'll just jeopardize everything anyway."

"I will… take this into account."

He sounded so stiff as he said it. Even as he drank, even as Chuuya glimpsed the first tell-tale flush of blood under his skin from the strength of the wine, it was as though every word was spoken from the very edge of his lips. It was as though he couldn't stand to say them to Chuuya.

"I know you don't want to hear it from me," Chuuya made himself say. "And I get it. I do. I don't like it, but you're right to resent me, and I can deal with it. But this is bigger than just the both of us."

"Why would I resent you?"

The words took a long time to register in Chuuya's head. He thought for sure they must be wrong—distorted by the wine or the proximity—but Akutagawa was looking at him with a frown, looking as confused as he had this very morning.

"What?" Chuuya said.

"Why would I resent you?" Akutagawa repeated, taking the word as an order.

"I—" Chuuya's mouth closed for a second, his teeth hitting together loudly in the silence of the room. "Because I never helped you?" he tried.

"Helped me with what?"

Chuuya stared at him, bewildered. "With Dazai," he said. "Of course."

Akutagawa's forehead creased even further. It was always hard to read him with how naked it looked—his eyebrows were so fine, made of such light hairs that they were invisible on his skin. It the same translucent white streaking some strands of his scalp. Yet his face always seemed to work hard, mechanically, at translating even limited emotion.

Chuuya had always thought that under different circumstances, Akutagawa might have grown up to be a very expressive person.

"I didn't need your help," Akutagawa said after a moment. "My failings are my own, I never resented you for them." There were a lot of things Chuuya could say to that, but he didn't get the chance to. "You're strong," he went on, his eyes peering into Chuuya's attentively. "Perhaps the strongest in the port mafia. You were strong enough then to stand up to Dazai-san, to make him listen to you. You're strong enough now to stand up to our boss." Akutagawa paused to breathe. "Why would I resent someone I admire?" he asked.

Every word fled from Chuuya's head. He looked at Akutagawa's flushed face with nothing on his tongue, nothing on his mind.

"You don't hate me," he said eventually.

"I don't," Akutagawa replied, confused. "I think you're a valuable member of our organization. I'm always glad to work with you and learn from you."

"But then—" Chuuya had to mark a stop to gather his thoughts. Nothing here made sense in light of the last few days. Do you just hate that I'm gay, then? he wanted to ask; but Akutagawa looked so earnest in his own way, so blunt despite his hesitance, that the thought now felt wrong in every way. "Why did you warn me against sleeping with Murata?" he asked carefully.

Akutagawa's face flushed a little further. Chuuya waited for a good ten seconds before his irritation flared up once more.

"Akuta—"

"You like men," Akutagawa blurted out.

Chuuya looked at him a little closer. He was avoiding meeting his eyes, now, looking at the floor somewhere to his side and clenching the half-empty bottle between his fine-boned hands. "Yes," Chuuya replied. "Obviously."

"I didn't… I didn't know that."

"I don't make a habit of disclaiming it, but I don't really care who knows," he said, frowning. Was Akutagawa simply shocked at the news? Was that what this was all about?

But Akutagawa glanced at him again, his face redder than Chuuya had ever seen it, and he asked, "Do you only like men?" with a tone so familiar that Chuuya felt himself be pulled back half a decade across time.

He felt as though the person in front of him was himself.

"Akutagawa," Chuuya said slowly.

He was standing at the very edge of understanding, he knew; he was recalling Akutagawa's brooding hesitation, his not-glares that Chuuya had interpreted as disapproval but now felt a lot more like yearning.

He recalled Akutagawa's fear that very morning, when Chuuya had told him you will never understand, not knowing what Akutagawa had really been speaking of.

"Do you like men?" he asked.

He only got half of a second, barely enough to hear Akutagawa take in a fractured inhale, before suddenly all that air was being breathed out on his lips.

Chuuya didn't move away. He let Akutagawa press their mouths together in an approximation of a kiss, something so new and inexperienced and—on his side—lifeless that it barely felt like more than a scratch of skin on skin. Akutagawa's lips were bitten and chapped, thinner than his own, as white as the rest of his skin. Chuuya felt them tremble against him through the shock of his own overwhelming empathy.

He had kissed someone like that, once, in the midst of his burning confusion.

"Fuck," he let out as Akutagawa pulled away. He barely noticed the alarm in Akutagawa's face through the blood suddenly flooding his—Chuuya put a hand over his mouth and looked away, breathing quickly through his fingers, trying to fight off the blush. "Fuck, I'm so fucking stupid, I thought you—"

He couldn't even say it. It seemed so obvious now.

"I'm sorry," he gritted out, making himself look at Akutagawa rather than anywhere else. "I—I really fucking misjudged the situation."

"What?" Akutagawa replied faintly.

He was still crimson himself, still flushed with wine. He had stopped trying to meet Chuuya's eyes and seemed to be in the process of inching farther and farther away from Chuuya's side of the mattress—closer and closer to the wall. He was looking between his own feet and the door that led to the hallway. Chuuya took in the sight with confusion, before remembering—

Oh. Right. Akutagawa had just kissed him. And now he looked two seconds away from letting his own ability swallow him whole.

Chuuya let his hand drop down from his mouth. He cleared his throat and asked, "Was that your first kiss?" as evenly as possible.

Akutagawa stilled above the blanket. It took a long time for him to answer, and when he did, it was with a wordless nod. He risked another glance toward Chuuya—once, Chuuya understood, he was sure that what he had done was not going to warrant him retribution.

The thought was bitter at the back of Chuuya's mouth. He took the following moment to look at Akutagawa—truly look at him, like he had never before.

For as long as he had known him, Akutagawa had been someone he saw as inherently younger and more fragile. It had little to do with Akutagawa himself—Chuuya knew they were roughly the same age—and everything to do with how Dazai had built him so, breaking him down piece by piece, reshaping him into a wall of glass so stricken with break lines that it was a wonder it stood at all. But Akutagawa was not younger. He was not weak. He was taller than Chuuya, his thin face looking even older, his eyes dark and solemn. There was a delicate quality to the way his face was drawn, high cheekbones and thin skin, such a contrast to the savage way he fought.

Akutagawa was attractive. The skeletal thinness and the streaks of white in his hair and the hunched posture—all of it painted a picture that Chuuya had not considered before and would not consider again, but it wasn't a bad picture. It wasn't a bad picture at all.

"You like me," he said.

Akutagawa's broken exhale was as good as confirmation.

Chuuya crossed the distance between them awkwardly. He sat back down when they were thigh-to-thigh; then he cleared his throat again, content to note that at least his blush had abated.

"I don't do coworkers," he said. "Or—well, not anymore." Not that he ever did. That idea had been nipped in the bud three years ago. And Chuuya would feel too weird, too guilty, having this sort of relationship with Akutagawa after everything he had once felt for the person who hurt him. The person who had once been his friend. "But, I'm flattered. Thank you."

He felt Akutagawa brace himself for speech beside him, his elbow twitching once against Chuuya's, Rashoumon's nervous ondulations shaking over his skin. "I did not expect anything out of it," he said.

Chuuya nodded.

The silence that followed was not as uncomfortable as he would have expected. Akutagawa coughed into his palm halfway through it, not leaning toward Chuuya but not leaning away from him. Chuuya watched the white lines that moonlight drew onto the dark grey walls without seeing any of them.

"Say," he started softly. "You said you liked learning from me."

A shift, a brush of fabric on fabric. "I do."

Chuuya blinked sightlessly at the lines on the wall for another second; then he twisted over the sheets, ignoring the instinctive recoil that Akutagawa's body gave, and sat cross-legged onto the bed, facing him.

"I can teach you something else," he said. "If you'll let me."

The confusion in Akutagawa's eyes died once Chuuya's fingers touched his face.

He didn't try to do more until Akutagawa nodded, faintly, as if scared to dislodge the index and thumb loosely holding his chin. Chuuya smiled a little fondly, feeling himself flush under Akutagawa's rapt attention. He tucked his own hair behind his ear and leaned down to press their mouths together once more.

He had never kissed anyone that slowly before. The interactions of that kind he got were always with men who knew at least the basics of how it was done. But Akutagawa was strikingly bare in that aspect. Powerfully new. It wouldn't have surprised Chuuya at all to learn that he had never even thought of kissing anyone before that point. Chuuya tilted Akutagawa's head for him so their noses would not knock together; he moulded his lips to Akutagawa's, pushing his face closer in, sucking lightly at whatever bit of flesh he caught between his gentle teeth.

He smiled at the feeling of Akutagawa's skin warming further against his. "Open your mouth," he murmured.

Akutagawa obeyed with a shiver.

Chuuya didn't close his eyes to the blurry shape of Akutagawa's face pressed into his, though he hummed, occasionally, blinking lazily at the dark; Akutagawa himself seemed entirely lost to it, his throat shaking every time Chuuya's knuckles brushed the column of his neck. Chuuya licked into his mouth slowly, past the bitter-sharp tang of the wine and to Akutagawa's own tongue. Akutagawa tensed in front of him—apprehension taught and solid through every line of his body.

It was almost unbearably sweet, Chuuya thought. He had never had someone be so hesitant to kiss him back before. He shortened Akutagawa's obvious plight with a smile and pulled away, giving him one last brush of lips on lips, soft and close-mouthed, before letting go completely.

Akutagawa was so red now that he was sweating from it. Chuuya watched him open his eyes and fall back into himself with a faint grin, and he asked, "Did you like that?"

"Yes," Akutagawa rasped out, dazed.

Chuuya bit down his laughter. "Come on," he said standing up from the bed. He grabbed the wine from Akutagawa's loose hold and corked it shut best as he could. "Let's sleep, I have no idea how early the car'll get here in the morning."

"Chuuya-san."

Akutagawa had never called him by his first name before.

"Yeah?" Chuuya replied, looking back at him.

He was still sitting where Chuuya had left him, red-faced and swollen-lipped. He licked them pensively before saying, "I… apologize."

"No you don't."

Whatever Akutagawa was about to say vanished before he could give voice to it. His eyes met Chuuya's with surprise.

"You didn't do anything wrong, Akutagawa," Chuuya told him. "You can apologize for that botched assassination if you want—you already did—but that's not going to fix anything. Just do better next time." He took a breath before continuing. "As for you liking me, or liking men, never apologize for that. Not to anyone."

This was one thing Dazai had not damaged. One thing he perhaps hadn't known about. Chuuya wanted to hope that Dazai would not have touched upon it had he figured it out, just as he had never insulted Chuuya over it, but he wasn't foolish enough not to realize that Dazai's disgust of Akutagawa made him prone to the sort of violence he abstained from on the regular. If only he knew why Dazai had hated Akutagawa so much.

If only he knew anything about Dazai, including whether or not he was still alive.

Akutagawa stared at him from the bed, looking as though he was drinking in his every word; Chuuya withstood it for another second before turning away, and he hoped that whatever else Akutagawa did, he would take this order to heart as strongly as he did Dazai's ire.

The car picked them up at the cusp of dawn, right as the sun rose over the ocean and brightened it to gold. Chuuya spent the first hour of the ride letting the sea's gleaming surface burn itself into his eyes, dozing in and out of sleep against the side of the vehicle. Akutagawa himself never slept inside a car that he knew of. He was staring fixedly at the headrest of the driver's seat, his sunglasses perched low over his nose.

Chuuya didn't see Motoi again before they left. He had half-expected to find a hastily scribbled phone number shoved somewhere in his pockets—hell, even inside the wine bottle—but there was nothing. Motoi had respected his wishes.

The way he smiled at the thought tasted a little sweet, tasted a little sour.

It was a five hour drive back to Yokohama. Chuuya spent most of it in silence, only moving to open the car's window and smoke out of it occasionally. He was cramped and nervous with energy by the time they made it back to the harbor, almost bursting with the need to walk when they finally rolled into the port mafia headquarter's underground parking lot.

It was all he could do not to laugh once he noticed who was waiting for him.

"Hello," Kouyou said, smiling at him.

She reached for his forearm, clasping it under her palm. Chuuya held hers much the same, letting himself be pulled into her embrace. It didn't last long—it never did—but he felt grounded after it. Heavier and stronger, as if his whole body had been reinforced with steel.

"Walk with me," Kouyou told him, releasing him.

Chuuya gave a parting nod in Akutagawa's direction before hoisting his bag up his shoulder. Akutagawa gave it back a little belatedly.

"Did you have fun on your vacation?" Kouyou started as they made their way to the elevator.

Meeting with the boss, then.

"I did, actually," he replied. "Met someone nice."

"Another broken heart to add to the long trail following you, I gather."

"Oh, shut up. I know you think it's hilarious."

She didn't deny it.

"What's going on?" Chuuya asked more seriously.

Kouyou flicked a glance toward him before reaching to press the call button of the elevator. "Nothing too dire," she replied. "Akutagawa has his face plastered all over the city, but he rarely ever goes out anyway. We'll just have to deploy him more discreetly. And even if everyone knows what he can do now, his ability is quite the deterrent."

Chuuya stayed silent. He knew a thing or two about being a deterrent—he wasn't sure the transition would go as smoothly as Kouyou seemed to believe. He stepped through the open doors and thought about Akutagawa as he knew him now; not only the mafia's rabid dog, not only Dazai's broken pupil, but a young man at the brink of realizing that there were things he wanted that he could afford to grasp.

He surprised himself with how little he wanted Akutagawa to crawl back into being a hollow shell, now that he was at the very edge of expanding out of it.

"What else is there?" he asked eventually, as they climbed up the many floors of the building.

Kouyou took some time to answer.

"Something was weird about this entire affair from the start," she said. "It should have taken a lot more time for the police to get their hands on the evidence. The officials who witnessed the murder were not eager to spread the word around, not with how badly Akutagawa frightened them."

Chuuya frowned. "So what, you think someone's out to get him?"

"No. Actually, we know why, now." Kouyou crossed her arms in front of her chest, hiding them into the wide sleeves of her clothes completely. "It turns out that there's a new gifted organization in Yokohama," she said slowly. "The special ability department chief's new pet project. They call it the armed detective agency."

"What's that?"

"Something the SAD intends to make take on cases that police find... difficult to handle." She gave him a dark look. "Cases related to ability users."

Chuuya's lungs stilled in his chest. For a long time he could do nothing but stare up at Kouyou's face and look for even a hint that she was making it up.

"You mean the government is starting an independent gifted organization," he said at last, "specifically made with the goal of targeting the port mafia."

The elevator's doors chimed open at the topmost floor. Neither of them moved, long enough so that they started closing again. Kouyou stopped them with the tip of her umbrella. "We don't know that for sure," she replied, taking the lead into the corridor. "Ougai-dono had to pay a pretty penny to get the information in the first place. Sakaguchi Ango especially wasn't keen on letting him know, for some reason."

"Sakaguchi?" Chuuya's head ached trying to make sense of it. "Hang on—how fucking long has this agency been around already?"

"More than a year," Kouyou murmured.

For more than a year now, Chuuya's teams had come back empty-handed or been unmasked after jobs at more alarming frequencies than usual. Three of his men had been caught by the police only a month ago. He was still in the process of getting them freed.

"Fuck," he let out, dragging his hand over his face. "What the fuck, what the fuck, I thought the SAD gave us the fucking permit—"

"It was always given with the goal of keeping an eye on us," Mori's voice interrupted ahead of them. He was leaning against the open door of his office, and the air was sizzling around him the way it only ever did when his ability was active. Sure enough, Chuuya could hear Elise's voice from deep inside the room. "The ministry was only too glad to allow us to get rid of other rising criminal groups," Mori went on, glancing at them both. "Now that we are the only prominent group and things have stabilized… well, they are more than eager to remind us that our existence is subject to their goodwill."

"What do we do?" Chuuya asked between clenched teeth.

"Nothing yet," his boss replied.

He gestured for them to follow him inside. Elise closed the door behind them and waved at Chuuya with a smile—Chuuya waved back half-heartedly, always upset in her presence, always nauseous with the reminder of what sort of monster sat now in front of him behind an elegant wooden desk.

"So far it looks like while this agency has pushed some trouble our way, they mostly assist with cases that the police struggle with," Mori explained. "They do not give them cases clearly signed by our hand, of course."

"So we need to be more more discreet and more obvious at the same time," Kouyou said airily. "Make sure to leave our mark, but not any evidence."

"Precisely."

"What about their members?" Chuuya interjected. He dragged his teeth over his bottom lip until it ached, until Kouyou looked at him with sharp reprimand in her eyes—she always hated when he did it. He licked the bite before speaking again. "Do we know anything about them—abilities, numbers, names?"

"I know their leader's name," Mori replied.

He didn't look uncaring anymore.

"He's an old acquaintance of mine. A ridiculous idealist who once swore never to pick up his sword again, but he's still dangerous. I know he is gifted, but I could never find out what with." Mori was rubbing his thumb over the thin scar that ran across three of his fingers, Chuuya noticed. He didn't volunteer the man's name at all. "I could only find one other name—Yosano Akiko, a doctor I once met briefly. Her powers allow her to heal anyone on the brink of death."

"Useful," Kouyou commented.

"Indeed. I tried to recruit her, but she told me, and I quote, that she would rather eat her own fingers one by one than work with me."

Kouyou laughed cruelly at his pouting expression, but Chuuya could not find the humor to do so as well.

"And you don't know anything else," he said.

"Only that there's about a handful of them," Mori replied. "And that one of them is either very smart, or very familiar with the way we work. Perhaps both."

Chuuya missed the way Kouyou stiffened entirely. He didn't see, either, the flash of gleeful expectation in Mori's purplish eyes.

"We should take them now," he muttered, looking through the wide window overlooking the bay. "Get the jump on them while they're not expecting us. If there's only a handful of them—"

"We will do no such thing," Mori cut in amiably.

Chuuya gritted his teeth.

"I appreciate your concern, Chuuya-kun, but there really is no hurry." He leaned back in his chair with a smile that made every hair of Chuuya's back rise. "The department allowed these detectives to get a permit of their own. If we take them out now, without good reason, they will come after us."

"Then are we just supposed to sit and wait while these assholes keep fucking with us?" Chuuya replied hotly.

"That the agency come into contact with us is inevitable," Mori said. "They will get closer and closer to us the more crime they solve. Eventually, the balance of power in the city will lean precariously enough that they will give us the incentive we need to attack them without the ministry breathing down our necks about it."

"That could happen in years."

"Then it shall."

Years of risking his people's safety and freedom in increasingly dangerous ways. Years of watching his hands tied as a gifted organization settled in and grew. It had already grown for long enough outside their knowledge. Chuuya's jaw ached from grinding so hard, and when he let out, "Shit," it was all he could do to refrain from kicking one of Elise's toys straight through a wall.

"Fine," he said. "Fine, I won't even approach them, then."

"I don't think you'll have the time to anyway." At Chuuya's inquisitive glance, Mori continued, "I feel it is important, now more than ever, to secure our position amidst overseas groups. I've started building you quite the travel schedule—I'm sorry to say you won't be staying in Yokohama much for the year to come."

"That's fine," Chuuya replied.

It really was. He had been angry a week ago—he still was, though for different reasons—but now, after a week spent doing nothing but reading and thinking on his life and letting a stranger flirt with him—kissing Akutagawa in such a sweet, honest way—he felt truly and well rested. All the heavy exhaustion he had carried during his trip to Sapporo was gone.

Chuuya straightened up and walked toward the desk. Mori handed him a blue file wordlessly, only looking surprised when Chuuya said, "Don't think I can't tell there's something you're not telling me, Boss."

"Is there?" Mori replied innocently.

Chuuya's eyes narrowed. "You want me out of the city for a year," he said. "I'm not stupid enough to miss that glaring fact."

"I have never thought of you as anything less than a very smart young man, Chuuya-kun."

Chuuya didn't grace that with an answer. He parted from Mori with a sneer that would have gotten him a slap on the wrist on a good day, a punishment on a bad one; yet Kouyou only looked at him with pride as he walked past her and out of the office, her own face set on the kind of seriousness he hadn't seen since the day of Dazai's defection. Her hair shone like blood under the sun's filtered rays.

Whatever she wanted to discuss with Mori, she waited until Elise had closed and locked the door behind Chuuya's back to speak of it.

Chuuya let himself lean against the wall of the corridor. In front of him stood the same floor-to-ceiling windows, maintained achingly clean by a team of agents that Chuuya knew Hirotsu selected meticulously. The pain must be worth it for the view Yokohama offered from this height; the shoreline curving like a great snake, the swell of the hills at the edge of the panorama. The city bleeding into the ocean, tiny house by tiny house.

Welcome home, Chuuya thought.

He would get through the year in hell that Mori had planned for him. He would obey his orders as he had always done, as he had always prized himself on doing. And once he was done with that—once he had secured the support or enmity of every group Mori had listed in his bouncy handwriting, once he had done his job so thoroughly well that neither Mori nor Kouyou had an excuse to keep him away…

He would come back. And he would figure out what they were both hiding.

#bsd #bungou stray dogs #chuuaku #nakahara chuuya #akutagawa ryuunosuke #fic: thread after thread

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junker-town · 4 years

Text

The 5 best NFL destinations for Teddy Bridgewater

Photo by Nuccio DiNuzzo/Getty Images

Bridgewater will be a starter in 2020. The question is where.

It took four years and an incalculable amount of hard work, but Teddy Bridgewater did it. He restored his value as an NFL starting quarterback.

The former Vikings signal caller’s trajectory was indelibly altered by the dislocated knee that cost him all of 2016 and all but a few snaps in 2017. Backup stints with the Jets and Saints helped him rebuild his career. Bridgewater spent 2019 as the league’s highest-paid backup thanks to a one-year, $7.25 million deal with the Saints. He rewarded that faith with a 5-0 record as a starter after Drew Brees missed a chunk of the season with a thumb injury.

He’s now set to cash in as a free agent. The 27-year-old stands out among a crowded crop of veteran quarterbacks on this year’s open market. His relatively young age and growing potential should earn him more than $20 million annually.

New Orleans lacks the cap space to keep him on its roster and still has Brees. A new team will to swoop in with Bridgewater’s biggest contract yet, but the question is who?

There are five clear options, broken down by fit.

The best place to make the most of his short throws: Carolina Panthers

Bridgewater’s success in 2019 came through a high concentration of short throws: 143 of his 196 passes traveled nine yards or fewer downfield. His 5.8 air yards per attempt was by far the lowest of any starting quarterback in the NFL.

That’s concerning, but it worked! After knocking some early rust off, he averaged 278 passing yards per game and a 108.4 passer rating over his final three starts.

Much of that had to do with his biggest short-range target. In the five games where Bridgewater had the opportunity to throw to a healthy Alvin Kamara, the Pro Bowl back averaged more than six targets and 40 yards per contest.

Kamara is a great pass-catching running back, but Bridgewater could go to a needy team with an even better one in 2020.

Panthers tailback Christian McCaffrey became just the third player in NFL history to run for 1,000+ yards and have at least 1,000 receiving yards in the same season. At 7.2 average yards after catch, he could take Bridgewater’s well-placed passes and spin them into gold upfield.

Chance it happens: 1/10

The Panthers still have Cam Newton under contract for 2020, but he can released with just $2 million stuck to their salary cap. Owner David Tepper has made some wholesale changes that point to a rebuild in Carolina. Swapping out Newton and installing the slightly younger Bridgewater could be the kind of bold move that helps Tepper distance himself from the Panthers’ old identity. Even so, Newton’s best fit is in Charlotte, and the club is open to giving him a chance to take the reins once more if he’s finally healthy.

The best place to prove he can throw deep: Los Angeles Chargers

While Bridgewater didn’t take many chances downfield in 2019, he was able to use his short passes to set up some big plays. His 42.8 percent completion rate on passes of 20+ yards was better than quarterbacks like Aaron Rodgers, Kirk Cousins, and Tom Brady last season, albeit on only 14 attempts.

A move to the Buccaneers would also make sense when it comes to changing that narrative, but let’s focus on the QB-needy team that finished the season fourth when it came to big throws: the Chargers. Philip Rivers threw 73 passes of 20+ yards last fall, turning Mike Williams into the NFL’s yards-per-reception leader in the process (20.4). Keenan Allen averaged 10.1 air yards per throw, and Hunter Henry had a 9.5 air yards average. That’s a testament to head coach Anthony Lynn’s willingness to take risks downfield.

LA would give Bridgewater an excellent opportunity to turn one of his primary criticisms into a strength. The Chargers can offer top-notch receiving help and carte blanche when it comes to loading his cannon and firing deep. Plus, if Los Angeles retains restricted free agent Austin Ekeler, Bridgewater will also have a trusted tailback to target out of the backfield.

Chance it happens: 3/10

Rivers won’t be coming back to LA. The Chargers need a quarterback.

They could justifiably promote Tyrod Taylor, but they might be looking for a young veteran with franchise quarterback upside. Bridgewater fits that bill, though his limited resume the past four seasons casts a shadow over his recent achievements.

The best lineup to play to his strengths: Indianapolis Colts

The Colts could give Bridgewater deep threat T.Y. Hilton, who averaged 16 yards per catch in his career before an injury-filled 2019 dragged down his numbers. He’d have a steady-handed Pro Bowl tight end to connect with on short routes in Jack Doyle. Nyheim Hines, occasionally unstoppable as a punt returner, has untapped potential as a receiving back even after making 107 catches in his first two seasons.

Then there’s the offensive line that kept Jacoby Brissett and backup Brian Hoyer upright on approximately 94 percent of their dropbacks. Just as importantly, that group has been able to pave the way for running back Marlon Mack. Quenton Nelson has been named an All-Pro in each of his two seasons. Ryan Kelly was a Pro Bowler in 2019. Braden Smith is a solid right tackle who has only improved.

Though left tackle Anthony Castonzo is a free agent, the Colts have over $86 million in spending room before they’d bump up against the salary cap. They could retain Castonzo, sign Bridgewater, and add even more talent to the roster and still have cash to spare.

Combine all that with a former NFL quarterback who knows all about the jump from backup to starter — Frank Reich — at head coach, and you’ve got a tremendous foundation for Bridgewater to build the next chapter of his career.

Chance it happens: 5/10

The Colts have Brissett under contract in 2020 for a reasonable price and may still be assessing him after his hot start to last season fizzled due to a Week 8 injury. Adding Bridgewater would spark a QB competition. If Reich isn’t sold on Brissett, Bridgewater may be his best option.

The best place to overcome low expectations: Chicago Bears

The Bears went from NFC North champions to .500 despite a solid collection of offensive talent and a defense that ranked eighth in overall efficiency last season. All it may take to get Chicago back to the playoffs in 2020 is a league-average quarterback, something Mitchell Trubisky has failed to be.

That leaves the Bears in the market for an upgrade — and without a first-round pick. Bridgewater’s turnover-averse play would be a welcome deviation from the past decade of QB play in Chicago. His 1.4 percent interception rate as a Saint is less than half the INT rate of Bears passers between 2010 and 2019 (3.0).

He could also commandeer a young core of skill players that still has room to grow. Allen Robinson is coming off a season with 1,147 receiving yards even while trying to haul in passes from Trubisky. He’s flanked by a rising Anthony Miller and tight end Trey Burton, who could thrive under a new quarterback. Tailbacks David Montgomery and Tarik Cohen would also provide a run-pass punch out of the backfield.

Though there are issues with the offensive line, especially after Kyle Long’s retirement, Bridgewater could be the key to a postseason return — the next player to get Chicago’s hopes up about a new franchise QB.

Chance it happens: 0.5/10

General manager Ryan Pace says Trubisky’s his guy for 2020, but that may be out of necessity than choice. The Bears only have around $13 million in spending room this offseason, and some of that cash will have to be used to replace or retain free agent starters Danny Trevathan and Ha Ha Clinton-Dix. Clearing enough space to acquire Bridgewater would chip away at the depth that makes the Chicago job so appealing.

The best place to make his return to the playoffs: New England Patriots

Bridgewater could be the offensive centerpiece of a team that’s won 16 of the last 17 AFC East championships if Tom Brady leaves New England. With only 2019 fourth-round pick Jarrett Stidham and Browns/Jaguars castoff Cody Kessler waiting in the wings, a Brady-less Patriots may have to scramble to pair a starting quarterback with a championship-caliber defense.

Several veteran options could fit the bill. At the top of the list could be another quarterback who, like Brady nearly two decades ago, had his promotion from backup to starter aided by a long run of short, confidence-building throws. Bridgewater’s ceiling at 27 years old is obviously lower than Brady’s was at 25, but he could still fulfill his Pro Bowl potential in Foxborough.

The problem is, this may be the worst time to be a Patriot quarterback in more than a decade. Brady’s targets last season were Julian Edelman, James White, and a handful of replacement-level players. While N’Keal Harry and Mohamed Sanu could each improve in their second seasons with the team, the smoking crater Rob Gronkowski’s retirement left behind gives New England a bleak tight end situation.

There’s more to be concerned about, like the offensive line. The team’s blocking should be better if it can get full seasons from left tackle Isaiah Wynn and center David Andrews. However, the retirement of legendary offensive line coach Dante Scarnecchia suggests a regression is equally likely.

Chance it happens: 0.5/10

The only way Bridgewater lands on the Patriots’ radar is if Brady signs elsewhere. That seems unlikely. Even if Brady departs, New England may opt for a more proven, cheaper option than a player with only five starts since 2015. Bill Belichick likes to buy low with the majority of his veteran acquisitions. An ascending Bridgewater doesn’t fit that bill — but Belichick’s rules may not apply when it comes to the most important position on the field.

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haphazardlyparked · 7 years

Text

slightly less bitter now

a continuation of this thing, because idk

“I’ll be blunt,” Hikaj said, after Masara had dismissed her grizzled Counselor of the Seas (with a perplexing “Happy imak-wrangling,“ to which the Counselor had simply snorted; truly, Amirrans were puzzles) and resumed her seat behind her heavy wooden desk. Kinlo, the one guard Hikaj had brought with him, closed the door and stood guard there as Hikaj leaned back in his chair. “You won’t be pleased with my news.”

Masara’s calm expression didn’t change. Hikaj was surprised by how much younger she looked when she wore her dark hair down instead of up in a regal braid, though he supposed it could also have been the contrast; the queen’s Counselor of the Seas, the graying Duke Inarim, was probably older than Masara and Hikaj combined.

"Very few of my recent reports have been pleasing, my lord,” the queen said blandly.

Hikaj didn’t wince. He was Hokiraj, Emperor of Kas, Guardian of the Three Lights. He did not wince. He just said, “So, the news,” and then trailed off, suddenly envying the Amirran queen’s poise as his own fled him.

Masara waited patiently for him to spit it out. Hikaj grit his teeth, and did. “Prince Panam has escaped,” he informed her, hating to admit this indirect failure.

The queen didn’t frown or shout or do anything that Hikaj had expected; she appeared just as stoic and collected as she had been when faced with Hikaj on her throne, demanding her oath of loyalty. But Hikaj saw the way her eyes hardened before she dropped her gaze to her lap, hiding the only thing that gave her anger away.

When she still didn’t say anything the emperor added, “I felt it was my duty to tell you personally.”

And also to ensure the queen did not use this as an opportunity to rescind her oath and rouse her lords against him. From what Hikaj had seen so far, Masara was a pragmatic woman, who knew a war would be more costly than it was worth. But her cousin’s head was the one very public condition she had set on Amir’s surrender, and that could be no small matter to her.

Masara finally raised her head to look at him again. Her response was unfailingly polite. "I appreciate your consideration, my lord.”

“I apologize,” said Hikaj, trying again. He was truly regretful, too; Panam had helped sneak his men into Amirasa, but working with the bitter prince had set Hikaj on edge. The emperor much preferred treating with Queen Masara. “I’ve sent some of my best men after him; I am confident of them. We could see the interim as a chance to ensure we reach the best agreement between us that’s possible. ”

Again, Masara’s reply was gracious. “My lord is wise,” said the queen, with another bow of her head.

Hikaj frowned. “In Kas,” he said, “it is our custom to use familial terms with royalty. You need not be so formal with me.”

Masara’s eyebrows rose. “You would prefer I call you Cousin, my lord?” she asked, drier than dirt at noon during a drought.

Hikaj really did wince this time. “…you have a point,” he conceded. Still standing by the door, Kinlo’s sudden cough sounded suspiciously like a laugh. Impulsively, the emperor offered, “Please use my given name, then.”

“And that would be…?”

Kinlo laughed outright.

Hikaj shot his guard a dirty look over his shoulder, and then belatedly introduced himself. “My mother named me Hokiraj.” In Kas, ironically enough, it was a blessing for peace.

“Hokiraj,” Masara repeated. “You honor me.”

“Good,” Hikaj said. “Good,” he said again, when Masara offered a small smile, and immediately felt very stupid. “So, ah.”

Now that the awkward business of Masara’s cousin was out of the way, Hikaj found himself fumbling with an awkwardness of an entirely different nature. He had always been better at war, and conversations about it, than he was at small talk. “So I look forward to working on the treaty. I, er, believe we have much in common.”

“Do we?” It wasn’t a challenge — in fact, Masara managed to pack both pleasant surprise and polite curiosity into the two words. Hikaj wanted to swallow his tongue.

“Yes, I believe we do,” his traitor mouth doubled down.

The queen smiled. It was a kind smile. “And this belief is based on…?”

“Well, I’ve been here almost a week now,” Hikaj said, feeling unduly helpless in the face of Masara’s impeccable good manners. Hagar’s beard — he felt more unsure in front of Masara’s impeccable courtesy.

"Ah, yes,” Masara replied, still smiling kindly. “It has been a very eventful week. I have spent three days in my own dungeon, another two days reining in my court after my cousin’s betrayal, and just this morning argued quite a bit with one of my new liege lord’s counselors.” She sounded like she was recounting the past week’s weather instead of outlining how her entire life had been upended.

Hikaj wondered if serene passive aggression was the typical Amirran way of expressing anger, or if this was just another facet of the queen’s unending (and frankly unsettling) grace.

"Lord Torral tells me you began the talks by flatly refusing to consider housing Imperial troops at the foot of Mount Yina,” he blurted out, feeling the sudden need to prove he was keeping abreast of the conversations, despite his marked absence from them. “I don’t want to send men there – it has an unsettling reputation. So we have that in common, at least.” It was the thinnest of connections. Hikaj decided banging his head against the queen’s desk was too undignified for an emperor.

“Mount Yina is sacred, and very dangerous,” Masara demurred. “Even we send only Sascrin Knights there.”

Hikaj didn’t actually care a whit about Mount Yina. “Torral thought starting with that demand would put us in a strong position.” He probably shouldn’t have admitted that.

The queen leaned back in her chair and spread her hands. “You have already conquered my capital. Is that not strong enough a bargaining position on its own?”

“I’m told reminding people of this is rude,” Hikaj replied a little sheepishly. “All I really want is land and sea access to your major trade routes to Diwa, a garrison on your southwestern border with Lapur, and the support of some of your infamous Sascrin Knights on my next campaigns.”

“Oh, is that all,” Masara said, sounding vaguely amused now.

"More or less.” Hikaj shrugged again.

“You’re very blunt.”

“Torral calls me offensive. It’s why I’m not allowed at the beginning of most talks.”

The queen laughed. It was a soft, bright thing that lit up her face and dispelled a stiffness he hadn’t even noticed until he saw its absence. Hikaj swallowed hard. A soldier might do a lot of inadvisable things, just to hear such a laugh at the end of a long campaign.

“I remain unoffended,” Masara assured him, eyes dancing. “In fact, I’ve found myself preferring straightforwardness of late. Will you be present at the talks tomorrow?”

“…I can be.”

“I think I would prefer to see you there. It seems we do have something in common after all, Hokiraj.”

“Oh, good,” Hikaj beamed, and felt himself blush when Masara laughed again.

(part two point five )

#who gave this kid an empire #writing #creative writing #medieval fantasy #bitter people are less bitter #year of the orange #masara

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khiphopfrictionals · 7 years

Text

Ten Toes Down: (4/10) Gray AU

To say that you’re shaken after that exchange is an understatement of the century. You have been ridicule, lock in a car and physically restrain by the man you’re dating and who apparently see nothing wrong with that.

As soon as you ceases your protests, Sunghwa is back to joking and teasing. With no mentions of his friends, just some job anecdotes and parroting a guy who’s reading a police statement on the radio.

You pretend to laugh at his jokes and feel relax.

When you’re drop off in front of your apartment, though, you run upstairs as if there’s a rapid bull chasing you. You take out your keys with trembling hands, put it into the keyhole, then tumbles with the doorknob only to realize the door is open.

Your roommate is home, of course.

When you spot Sandara, sitting at the kitchen table with a morose expression, your shaking doubled. It is not a welcome home kind of face.

Sandara is a shy, med student. You’ve been roommates with Sandara for almost a year now. The girl is nice and considerate – basically, not crazy unlike your other 2 roommates that you’ve had since you’ve arrived to Korea.

“Good afternoon,” You call out because being polite sometimes causes people to rethink their plan of simply biting your head off.

“Hi,” Sandara attempts to smile.

“___,” Sandara says softly, “Can we talk?”

“Sure,” You breathe out, reaching blindly for a chair.

“Look,” Sandara sighs, “I know you’re struggling right now. I understand it’s hardly even your fault.”

You nod, feeling guilty because you know it’s your fault.

“But I wanted to lease that room for a reason,” Sandara is tracing some weird pattern on the table top, “My parents know that you haven’t been paying rent. I’m fully aware it’s a strain on you budget, but I cannot keep on letting you pay only one third of the rent…”

You went pale, but that’s the only outward sign of your despair. You haven’t been expecting that. After all, Sandara hasn’t demanded the full rent for two months now and anyone else would have already kick you out.

“I’ll pay you back this month,” you blurt out.

Then, you did a small calculation. You can probably pay Sandara this month. You didn’t want to make your roommate feel like you’re abusing her kindness. Especially when she have been so kind and understanding toward you. You’ll still have to pay your mom’s hospital bills next month….

God, your life is a mess.

Ever since meeting Sunghwa a couple of weeks ago, you have put that thought to the back of your head. The ad exec has his life figured out – and you hardly have yours figured out. No wonder his friends hate you.

“___,” the Sandara’s voice bring you back to the present, “You don’t have to pay me back. Just this month’s rent, okay? I don’t want you to get into any trouble.”

You stare at Sandara – feeling yourself tearing up.

“I don’t have to pay back?” You repeat so that Sandara can comprehend the stupidity of that offer.

“No. Just this month, okay? Then we’ll work out something.”

You get up from your chair, approaching the skinny girl to give her a hug.

The next couple of days, you didn’t talk to Sunghwa and focus on finding a second job.

In all honestly, you use that as an excuse to avoid seeing Sunghwa. You’re not fully ready to face the man yet.

However, the man saves you the trouble when he calls you to let you know that he will be going out of town on business. It’s easier for you to focus on the task at hand when Sunghwa is not in town. It’s not surprising that he is not elated at the news of going to Jeju Island.

“It’s a fucking shithole,” Sunghwa snaps on the phone to you, “I rather be in Seoul… with you.”

When the ad exec asks what you’re up to without him, you lie and tell him you’re going out with Jessi.

Of course you didn’t tell Sunghwa that you are currently looking for a second job to pay your rent. It is unexpected, though, that Sunghwa is not against you going out you with Jessi. Jessi had promised to introduce you to someone that can help you find a job.

However, the man opposes when you mention where you are going –Itaewon.

The call ends in a fight, with Sunghwa advising you to stay away from that area, and with you hissing at the older man that he have no control over your actions. Sunghwa snaps that neither did you.

You didn’t feel like arguing with Sunghwa so you hang up.

Of course Sunghwa has been right, because Sunghwa is always right and you should have long learn that. The place is, well, honestly you didn’t know where it is because Jessi drags you down a street after street and even if you possesses any ounce of the sense of direction you would have got lost.

You’re starting to think that Jessi might have tricked you into going out with her without any intention of introducing you to anything who can possibly help you find a job.

The two of you end up in a sort of a club, with a big dance floor and shadowed booths. It is crowded. It is more crowded than best beach in the peak of the season.

It’s intimidating, with its pulsing, techno-something music, eerie, constantly moving lights, weird smells and the never-ending grinding of bodies. People are drinking more than they could stomach, dancing more than there is a space for and touching more than excusable.

Jessi disappears somewhere as soon as you guys walk in and you’re left on your own in the middle of this vibrating den. It takes you hours to locate the blonde again and you had stopped counting the times when someone tries to pick you up long ago.

When you finally spot your ‘friend’, the blonde is well past the point of regular drunkenness.

“I want to go home,” You plead over the loud beat, giving up on the thought of actually meeting that person which Jessi claims to know – who can help you find a job.

“Later,” Jessi calls back.

“I’m tired of this place,” You try again, more desperately but Jessi just laughs.

Jessi starts to kiss some guy and it’s obvious that they couldn’t care less about your growing discomfort.

That is it. You will not spend a second more here, ducking intoxicated men and withstanding their appalling propositions. Sunghwa may be a lot of things, but he is never this gross.

Not even trying to find Jessi again, you fight your way to the exit.

You breathe in deeply once you’re outside. Now all that you have to do is determine where to go. You’re pretty sure that Jessi and you have come from the right side of the alley, so you turn that way.

How could you have been so stupid to accompany Jessi? The blonde have already let you down once. Sure, you wouldn’t have met Sunghwa otherwise but still…

It’s not the right way. It can’t be. The alleys are getting even darker and more deserted and you should already be nearing that big square if it’s the route Jessi have taken. You have to retreat back to the outside of the club and go left.

If only you know which turn to take now.

You send a quick prayer and went left. It leads you to a slightly wider alley with two clubs. God, you’re glad to see civilization.

You hastily make your way to the other side of the road, some interested stares following your steps. Your heart speeds up, but you attempt to calm yourself down. So people stared. It’s all they ever did, as Sunghwa would say.

“Hey gorgeous,” a voice calls, much too close for your liking, “You got lost?”

“No,” You try to sound convincing while your knees begins to shake. There are three guys nearing you.

“A sweetie like you shouldn’t go out on your own,” the other one says, obscenely ogling you.

“Bad things may happen to puppies without their owners.”

You did your best to flee, but the first guy grabs your wrist before you could think about ducking. You’re so petrified that you forgot to call out for help, all you could do is tremble and pushes weakly at the man.

“Bad things may happen to people who can’t keep their fucking paws to themselves,” a new voice cuts in frostily.

You watch as the attackers reel back.

“We didn’t know she’s your girl.” One of them began.

“So now you damn well know. Fuck the hell off.”

Murmuring, the men disappears into the shadows of the alley and you’re alone with your savior and your growing nausea.

You didn’t know him.

“What the fucking hell are you doing here, kid?” The guy’s tone is unreasonably irritated. Maybe he isn’t used to rescuing young girls who probably deserves to be ambush.

“I-I was at a party. Thank you for helping me.” You manages to whisper, afraid of enraging the man further.

“Fucking here?”

“No.” You hurry to explain, “I’m not truly sure where…”

The man glares as if you just said something offensive.

“I got lost,” You mumbles. At the sudden noise from behind you, you did the silliest thing ever and clutches at the man’s biceps.

Realized you’re grabbing onto the man, you let go of him, “I’m sorry. Thank you… Um…. What’s your name?

The man chuckles, “The name is Ki-seok.”

“Wh-where are you taking me?” You stutters when Ki-seok grabs your arm and pulls you forward.

“Somewhere where you’re not going to get yourself fucking robbed or stabbed,” Ki-seok grits out, putting his other arm over your shoulder.

“W-wait,” You tenses up when Ki-seok’s hand trace up and down your arm, “I’ll go on my own,” you make a valiant attempt at dislodging your savior.

“I fucking doubt it,” Ki-seok sneers.

“Then at least stop touching me!” You shout at the man.

“My girls let me fucking touch them whenever and however I please.” The man deadpans. You bite your lip, too scared and shocked to protest further.

Sunghwa would often teases you like that, with only his eyes betraying he isn’t fully serious. Come to think of it, Sunghwa’s touches aren’t much different in their possessiveness and complete control over you.

Your nausea intensifies when you realized that you’re in the wrong part of town – looking around, you see a couple of women standing blocks after block.

Holy shit – you somehow manages to get lost in the red street district. And your savior is a pimp? Jesus, how the hell are you going to get yourself out of this situation? What if the pimp wants you to work for him to repay him saving you?

“I’m not your girl,” your say weakly.

“Sure not. If you were, I’d have had that fucking idiocy beaten out of you long ago,” The man snorts, “But we can pretend for one night, can’t we, sweetheart? Or shall I call those fucking thugs and clear up some misconceptions?”

The two of you are too far away for that, right? Just in case, you shake your head, eyes pleading.

“Where are you taking me?” You work up the courage to ask Ki-seok.

“To the nearest metro station,” Comes a reply.

“Metro station?” You repeat dumbly, round eyes following Ki-seok’s movements.

“Yes, a fucking metro station,” Ki-seok, your savior who you suspect could be a pimp glares straight at you, making you lower your head.

“What the fuck did you think I was gonna do? Threaten you with a gun to get your fucking home address?” You feverishly hope the gun is just a figure of speech, “I fucking have more important things to do than play a damn baby sitter to sniveling brats.”

After this tirade, you didn’t dare open your mouth. Before you know it, you are at a brightly lightened square that you actually recognizes. There’s a busy metro station there.

“You’ll find your way now?” Ki-seok question, eyebrow raised, “Or do you need fucking taxi change?”

“I’ll manage,” You assure him, having a change a heart – the man isn’t as bad as you think he is. He just help you out big time.

“Here,” Ki-seok takes out a bank note, “Just in case you got on a fucking wrong train,” the man reaches out and tucks it into your pocket.

“I…”

“Night, kiddo,” the pimp mock-saluted and starts walking the opposite direction from you.

“Wait,” You shout after the man, running after him.

You heart is beating against your chest but your guts are telling you that this man is questionable but he’s sympathetic– he did save you after all.

However, the man keeps on walking and acts as if he didn’t hear you. You see him entering a bar. You look up at the sign – Insomnia. You’ve been there before.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Ki-seok shouts at you when he sees you entering the bar after him. He seems unreasonably frustrated.

“I told you to fucking go home.” The man sighs, “Say, do you take fucking pleasure in wandering to all the places you could get fucking hurt?” Ki-seok asks.

It’s kind of the man to worry about you.

“Jesus Christ, fucking relax Simon.” The bartender shouts at the man.

“What do you want?” The bartender asks while Ki-seok just glares at you.

“I’m ehm… Looking for a job,” You mumbles.

“Fucking no.” Ki-seok says a little too coldly.

“I’m the manager here,” The bartender states coldly to Ki-seok, “And we can use some help around here.”

“Fuck no, E-Sens.” Ki-seok retort back to the bartender, “I’m afraid we don’t have any vacancies.” Ki-seok then turns back on you, apparently declaring the subject’s closed.

“Wait,” You begin.

“I told you we’re not interested,” Ki-seok stops you before you could say anything else.

“Please, I have experience waitressing,” You plead with the two men.

“Look kid,” Ki-seok snaps warningly, “I don’t know how I should spell it for you, but scurry home, will you?”

“Come on, Simon. Why are you being such a meanie to the girl?” The bartender asks the man. When the man didn’t reply the bartender turns to you.

“The name is Minho.” The bartender introduces himself.

“Why don’t you come back tomorrow, alright?” Minho’s tone is deceptively pleasant.

“Fuck you, E-Sens. I’m not in this, okay? If he hears about this, you know you’ll be deep shit.” Ki-seok says.

You look at Ki-seok and then back at Minho. There seems to be a hidden conversation that the two men are having. One that you are not a part of. Not wanting the bartender to take back the offer you quickly agree.

“Y-yes,” You say.

“Around eight, when we’re opening, alright?” Minho says, not paying the other man’s words any attention.

“Of course.” You say, nodding your head.

With that, you find yourself a second job.

Just as you’re leaving the bar. A phone ringing shakes you out of your thought. You accept the call without checking the ID.

“___,” Sunghwa’s deep voice sounds like its coming from a faraway land.

“Hi,” You breathe out.

“You’re alright?” Sunghwa grows a bit worry, “Where are you?”

“Out.” It’s the only acceptable answer. After all, you can’t tell Sunghwa about your eventful night. The man will not be pleased to hear that you almost got yourself in trouble.

“Clubbing?” Sunghwa asks, knowing that you don’t do clubbing.

“I’ve met a friend,” You reply ambiguously, “How’s Jeju?”

“How the hell would I know?” Sunghwa snorts, “I’ve come back an hour or so ago. You want me to pick you up or is your friend too entertaining to desert?” Sunghwa’s tone wasn’t even disapproving of you spending time with someone else.

You didn’t mind to be yelled and cursed at the moment. Sunghwa is back. In Seoul. Just minutes away from you.

Your stomach churns just thinking about what happen to you earlier in the dark alley. What would have happened if Ki-seok didn’t find you and save you? Would you have been kidnapped and never to be seen again?

So this is what Jessi and Elo means by when they say that Seoul is a dangerous city.

“___,” Sunghwa snaps into your ear.

“Please pick me up,” You whispers brokenly.

“Is everything alright with you?” Now the man is suspicious, “Where the hell are you?”

You take a disoriented look around. There is a square at the end of the road.

“I’m in Itaewon, Suwon to be exact,” you attempt to strengthen your own voice. You feel your tears welling up and wipes off the tears from your left eye.

“Don’t move,” Sunghwa orders steely, “I don’t know why you went there, but don’t wander off.”

Well, that is the on your mind. And with your wobbly legs – it’s very unlikely you’ll be able to make it far.

You didn’t move from where you are. Well, you didn’t trust yourself to not get lost to be exact. The worst thing that could happen right now is for you to walk into some forbidden alley again. You’ll just stay there, deciding that Sunghwa will call you anyway once he gets there.

“___!” Surprised, your head jerks up.

Sunghwa is coming out from an alley, walking towards you.

You sways to your right and almost fell.

“___,” You feel more than hear Sunghwa falling to his knees next to you, “What the hell is wrong with you?”

You unwillingly looks up, sees the man’s concerned expression – you have never seen Sunghwa show that kind of emotion – and buries your face into his silky shirt.

“Nothing,” you sobs, “I just missed you so much.”

A gentle hand touches your back. It brings back the memory of those thugs’ hard gropes and you try to withdraw, only ends up pushing even more against the man.

“What happened,” it’s not a question. It’s an order, but you’re too grateful to be able to sense Sunghwa close to yourself to react to it. Your reply came in the form of latching yourself onto the ad exec’s abdomen.

“I missed you. Horribly,” You keep mumbling against the material, “I got drunk,” you admit, “Take me away.”

You hear Sunghwa’s irritated sigh at the mention of you being drunk. The man probably realizes the whole scene is cause by alcohol.

Good, he’ll stop with those uncomfortable questions then.

“Can you stand?” Sunghwa pulls you up.

You stumbles because you’re trembling so hard with shock.

Sunghwa must have decides that you’re that intoxicated.

“Home?” You asks hopefully, grabbing blindly at the man.

“How about the ER?” Sunghwa shoots back.

You giggles.

“No, I’m good,” playing drunk comes surprisingly easy to you.

“I’d say you’re horribly naughty,” Sunghwa scowls, but helps you go straight forwards.

“Make me good then?” You suggests and fits your small body into Sunghwa’s bigger frame.

You had never initiated anything vaguely sexual in your life. Sunghwa must have been taken off his guard, because he stops walking.

“Seriously?”

You just climb on your toes and kisses Sunghwa. You aim for the lips, but the jaw is nearly as good.

It must have had the desired effect, because very soon Sunghwa is kissing back. Hard. Dominating. His tongue teasing your lips.

“My place?” Sunghwa growls lowly, his crotch subtly touching your leg.

“Yes.” You moan back, tilting your head back to expose your neck to Sunghwa’s advances.

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