Happy Valentine's Day @artsy-azure ! Here's your gift for the @milgram-valentines-exchange 💖
Fuuta x Minato (oc) ~ The first section takes place right after his T2 interrogation, and then skips ahead to a tiny post-milgram scene :3 I hope you enjoy!
Fuuta thought he would drown. Not sink into water or anything like that; he was worried the voices filling his mind would completely suffocate him. There were too many of them. Too many people, all of them knowing every dark corner of his mind, and shouting into it. It should have been impossible for one voice – one softer than all the rest – to reach him.
Then again, everything about that voice should have been impossible.
“Fuuta… Hey, Fuuta… Are you alright?”
He blinked. He scrambled over to the nearest wall. There were no visible openings in the cell, not a single imperfection across any of the surfaces, yet Milgram’s intercom system functioned just fine. Most days it would just deliver the ear-rattling bell to tell him the time. On bad days, it carried Es’ summons to the interrogation room for his extraction. On worse days, it carried Es’ summons to the courtroom for his verdict.
On the very best days, it would bring him the voice of Hoshizawa Minato.
(Though, seeing as he had just returned from a catastrophic extraction, he wasn’t sure what type of day it was yet.)
He tore his attention away from the chorus of judgements and insults. He pressed his shoulder against the wall, still unsure where the sound was coming from, but knowing it was nearby.
“I’m here,” he said, hushed. More than anything he wanted to yell and scream, but he would never risk it, now. Minato had gone through a hell of a lot to break into Milgram’s systems, and he wouldn’t let his big mouth ruin all that. It had already ruined just about everything else.
“How are you holding up?”
Fuuta pressed his lips together. “Any news on getting us out of here?” was all he said.
Hundreds of miles away (or perhaps next door – neither of them could really know), Minato’s fingers adjusted his headset.
“I’m still working on it. These things take time.”
“I’m definitely gonna need it after today.”
“Your interrogation… I know.”
Fuuta pulled his hood down tighter, tufts of ginger hair ruffling underneath. “How much did you see?”
Minato’s eyes flicked over to another monitor. It displayed the files he’d gained access to a few hours prior. It would crush Fuuta to hear about yet another person peeking into his personal moments, so he opted for a non-answer.
“I don’t have cameras. I don’t see much at all.”
“Tch, I’m not a damn idiot, I know that! I meant, how much did you hear?”
“...Everything.”
Fuuta squeezed his eye shut. He bit a curse back. There came silence.
Minato actually double checked some of his monitors, making sure they hadn’t been disconnected.
“So then, you know,” Fuuta said at last. “There’s no fucking way I’m getting forgiven this time around.”
“You can’t be so sure. The–”
“No one in their right mind would forgive me after that.” He winced, remembering his harsh cries at the end of the interrogation. What kind of accused murderer shouted “I’ll kill you” as their plea of innocence? When he wasn’t running his mouth with threats, he’d been pleading with Es like some kind of coward. And Minato has heard all of it. Fuuta could only imagine the horrors that the extraction held. Who could forgive him after they saw his anger, or worse, his pleasure? Who could ever look kindly on someone like that?
“I would.”
Fuuta’s eyes widened. He let himself sink further into the wall. A strangled laugh escaped him. He let his head hang down. No matter how much he wanted to protest, Minato was as honest as they come. If he said he forgave Fuuta, he meant it.
“Yeah, like I said, no one in their right mind.”
Minato cracked a smile.
“You don’t think I’m in my right mind?”
Fuuta scoffed. “You post pictures of clothes for a living. And in your free time, you plan impossible jailbreaks for murderers. Doesn’t sound quite sane to me.”
“Aw, come on. Do you think it’s impossible?”
Minato was still smirking, ready for some more of their typical back and forth. Fuuta surprised him by pausing.
“Well, it should be impossible. But…”
They’d been speaking for some time now. Whether it was quick comments when Es wasn’t around or long conversations into the night. Fuuta had seen many sides of him, and knew that he had what it took. He wasn’t like the vast majority of internet personalities – weak or needy or inexperienced. He’d proved himself time and time again. If anyone could pull this off, it would be Minato.
“If it’s you… there’s a chance.”
“You’ve got that right. You can count on me, alright?”
Fuuta took a deep breath. The tightness of the uniform and the bandages seemed to lessen.
“Although,” Minato put on a falsely serious voice, “we’re gonna have a long talk when you get out… about that yellow jacket you own.”
“Haaah? What’s wrong with my jacket?’
“There are a hundred stylish ways to wear it and that was not one.”
“The fuck does that mean?”
“You’ll be grateful when someone who ‘posts pictures of clothes for a living’ helps with your wardrobe.”
Fuuta could feel his chest release even more. Minato spoke so easily about the future, as if it were something real and waiting for him.
“As if I’d let you touch any of my outfits.”
“As if you could stop me!”
He took another breath. He smiled. No drowning today.
---
After checking the clock fourteen times, Fuuta thought once more couldn’t hurt. It was still two minutes to noon, just like the last few times he’d checked. His frequent checking hadn’t brought the train to the station any faster.
Minato had told him that he was safe. He’d said this meeting wasn’t that big of a risk. The dust had settled. He just had to relax.
The announcement overhead signaled the next stop was his. It screeched into the station, a slight murmur rising as the doors opened onto a platform of moving people.
Fuuta lowered his head. His eyepatch would surely draw attention to himself, so he kept his hood down and his mask up. He just needed to make it to the station entrance.
He made his way around stiff businessmen and sticky children. He tried to shuffle around a young man, but he seemed to step further into Fuuta’s path. Giving the stranger a quick glance, he started to mumble something to squeeze past.
“Fuuta,” the man said, gaping in surprise. “It’s me.”
He inhaled sharply.
It was only three words, but it was enough to recognize his voice from a thousand conversations.
Fuuta’s eye widened as he took Minato in. It was strange to finally see his face. Finally, here was the person he’d spent hours talking to. The person he’d spent days passing the time with. The person he’d spent nights falling for. Here was the one who had saved his life, in more ways than he could count.
His first observation was, fuck, this guy is way outta my league. His next was, he’s shorter than I was expecting. Then, gah, I’m probably shorter than he was expecting. He was in the middle of realizing, he has the nicest smile I think I’ve ever seen, when Minato crushed him in a hug.
Fuuta returned the embrace. His arms tightened around Minato. He was real. He was here. Fuuta’s hands grasped at his clothes and his hair. He was unable to control a laugh bubbling up inside of him.
“You did it. My god, you did it.”
He breathed into Minato’s shoulder. His chest shook with some laughter, some tears.
For a moment wondered if people would notice the heartfelt reunion outside of the train, then he realized he didn’t care in the slightest.
Minato was laughing along with him in that beautiful, familiar voice of his. No more crackling speakers or hidden intercoms – he spoke right into his ear, hair tickling his cheek. Fuuta could have stayed forever in his arms, just like that. All that mattered was he felt safe. At last, he felt happy.
Talk about impossible.
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alizayd for character opinion bingo 🧍🏽♀️
Thank you! 💖
Alizayd al Qahtani is the fucking best. There is no contest. He's empathetic, he's a sass machine, he's got a backbone made of righteous steel, he's a nerd raised to be a jock and was the best zulfiqari of his generation through sheer determination. He's the smartest (and tallest) man in the room that loves to help people and is also an oblivious social loser. He's a math genius and an economic wizard that outsmarted the Royal Treasury's best accountants as a teenager to secretly fund and make the Tanzeem's illegal transactions untraceable, and *During a Recession* got a millennia-old decrepit hospital to be completely rebuilt and functional in like 6 months. He also actually listens to people, and did possibly the most romantic thing in the series by building Nahri her private Cairo-themed office. He's self-sacrificing and self-denying to a fault and all he wants to do is fix things (and swim, and read), and he perfectly fits into soldier life and civilian life.
My man has the best character arc of the trilogy as he learns and grows past his early prejudice and indecision while sharpening his best traits. He is constantly reevaluating himself and his actions while still holding on to what matters to him, like his faith and his idealism that Daevabad can be improved. Even in the depths of his bitterness or grief, he always returns to trying to do the right thing, and not holding unrelated people responsible for the actions of others. He has the best motivational speeches in the series. His great grandpa is a crocodile and their scenes together are hilarious.
My man Alizayd has some Lord of the Rings: Return of the King-level epicness, in how he is descended from both Zaydi al Qahtani and the marid-blessed Armah. Zaydi, who rallied the djinn world against the genocidal Nahids and overthrew them to take Daevabad 1400 years earlier; and his ally Armah who commanded the marid to help take the city and Suleiman's Ring, and made the ultimate sacrifice by staying allied with the djinn. Ali is constantly compared to Zaydi in City of Brass and Kingdom of Copper, but there's this steady transfer of similarities to Armah in Kingdom of Copper and Empire of Gold, until Ali is truly representing both sides combined as he aids Nahri and a global army that he put together in three days to once again take back Daevabad from a genocidal Nahid. The man is a fucking legend, and with any other author or director it would unquestionably be at the forefront of the story. Instead it hides in background details foe readers to piece together, like it's barely worth mentioning.
This is because my man Ali also has the self-confidence/self-esteem of a shy beetle hiding six feet under the earth, and the author's subtle/vague writing style and inability to stand up for what she's trying to say when people misunderstand has created... how do I word this... A lot of wiggle room for bullshit?
Ali gets dragged a lot for being self-righteous and a fanatic, because characters that are threatened by him in the book call him that, and readers parrot it without any consideration or critical thought. Is it self-righteous to be against slavery? Or to create personal boundaries regarding drinking and premarital sex? Is it fanaticism when he argues against corruption, or practices his religion *in a completely normal way?* I dare say no! But Ali is both black and muslim, so he gets a shit load of shit from every corner, and with the author unable to really clear things up and too cowardly to even admit that Ali is her favorite character without immediately asking everyone to forget she said that (Oops. Also: no), it makes me very, very concerned for whoever ends up playing Ali in the Netflix show. Because if past is any pretext, he's definitely not gonna get paid enough for all the harassment he'll face. And if the author can't stand up for her characters and book themes now, how will she do it when the audience is much, much bigger and louder? :/
As much as I love Ali and his countless parallels with Nahri, and have a thousand headcanons for him (and a thousand fic & art ideas/wips), the series itself (or rather how it undid all its narrative themes in the end to appease loud fans who never understood what the series was trying to say in the first place, along with the author's blindspots regarding the Nahids/Daevas), has made me incredibly bitter. 🙃 I am someone who worships canon encyclopedically and remembers everything, and have come to the unfortunate realization that I cannot in good health ever read this series again.
So my beloved blorbo Ali exists for me in a weird dimension that I cannot really interact with anymore. Made worse because I still desperately want to see fandom stuff, but then also viciously tear apart everything I find. 💀
Idk how to end this. Thanks for the ask! ☺️
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