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echantedtoon · 8 months ago

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Eclipsed Starshine (Yandere Kokushibo x Reader) Ch2 Sealed Vows

(Hey everyone. I just wanted to thank everyone who read this far and liked my story enough to read it to it's end. I had a lot of fun writing it and it makes me happy knowing some people loved it enough to read it fully. If you liked this consider checking out my other works. Thanks to everyone for reading this, faving it, or leaving a nice comment. And thank you to Koyoharu Gotouge for creating such wonderful characters and giving me the opportunity to make this wonderful story. Art not mine found on Pinterest.

Warnings for yandere themes and mentioned murder. This will be from Kokushibo's pov.

EDIT: I know it looks like Yn is coerced or kidnapped but she made the choice to go with Kokushibo. If she had chosen to stay he would've respected her space but still pursued her. It's vague but as said the relationship is not toxic and mutual.)

Church bells chimed in the morning.

Flowers. Soft petals. Meant for their beauty to symbolize the beauty of the bride.

Organ music. To match in chimes of the steps of the bride walking down the aisle.

An audience to shed tears of happiness for many happy moments to come from this union.

Smiles shown at one another in the joys of the moment.

A breath to fill her lungs trying not to cry as she smiled up at the man in front of her. The one she were going to marry and have a life with. But this moment couldn't wait. This magical moment after a year. Some say it was fast but she supposed it was called love at first sight for a reason.Or at least it was supposed to be. A wedding was nothing if a groom never had given up on the woman that grabbed him by the heart and refused to let him go whether she wanted to or not. Whether she knew or not.

The softness of the cushion under her legs helped little to calm her nerves. Neither did the figure of the tall man next to her dressed in the traditional black attire for the ceremony. The smiles of the few guests in attendance also did little to comfort her pounding heart after being brought to this place. Everything happening so fast and too soon. Only to clutch her wrist and bring it up to his chest. The stare of six darkened eyes of love and obsession. A fine line between both melting into one unholy merge. He supposed she knew what would happen after that night when she awoken the next morning after that day-

Cold.

The bed felt colder when you awoken. The warmth she felt only came from the blanket that covered her body and the dim embers in the fireplace as her eyes slowly opened up. Delicate turquoise blinked awake at nothing before she realized that your back was cold. Twisting around, she flipped onto her back head turned but paused seeing that the other side of the futon was barren. Nothing but the cold air hitting her body. Her eyes blinked at the empty space before slowly sitting up.

"Kokushibo?"

A hand reached up to rub her face as she looked around your home. The sunlight cascaded down through the windows and lit up the entire place however not one trace of himself could be seen by her position.

"You are awake."

She nearly jumped out of her skin seeing the demon sitting right above her head. His stoic, calm aura was as unchanging as another other time they both interacted but there was something else added now. Something more..focused. More serious as the six eyes focused on her reminding her of how a cat would look at a mouse. It sent an involuntary shiver down her spine before she shook it off and smiled at him..

"You're still here. I thought you were going to leave as soon as day broke."

"Hardly. I have other business with you now."

Her head tilted in confusion. "You want me to make you more food before you go?"

"It's more serious than that." His head tilted. "I will be blunt and forward with you. You are to come back with me and become my wife."

There was silence. Nothing but then both staring at one another until she finally blinked.

"What?"

"You heard me," he bluntly stated making her hands drop the blanket in her hands. "Our union is already closed. All that is missing is the proper ceremony which we will have back home. We are leaving today."

"I- You- ...H-Hold on!" She held up your hands leaning away as he leaned forward. "Who said anything about m-marriage?!"

"I did and it will happen. We're in too deep now. We have obvious attraction to one another."

"B-But to jump straight into marriage?!"

"No. Not yet. You'll spend a year with my family as my fiancee before you and I will have the ceremony. That is how long it will take me to best this war."

Her eyes widened considerably. "You win the war?"

"Yes." His eyes became half lidded. "You'll be safe on the right side. Or I should specify the east."

Her brows furrowed. "East... Impossible. That province is under the control of the Tsugikuni Clan. Unless you're fighting for them, the province won't accept you."

"They already have and will continue to considering you are having a conversation with a member of that same clan." He watched as her face dropped and eyes widen in realization and possible horror. He supposed there was only a matter of time before she found out anyways.

"What-...Who ARE you?!"

"I go by many names. My enemies know me as Death. Strangers as Kokushibo. My men as their Lord. My family as Michikatsu Tsugikuni." Those beautiful turquoise eyes widened even more, especially when a hand reached out to tilt her chin back up to him, the feeling of his claws making her shiver under his careful grasp. "You as Husband. And our family as Father. I have favored you for quite a while now and I have decided that I dislike how these weaklings treat you. As my wife you'll be given the respect you deserve. As my lover, I'll fulfill any wish you want."

"....I don't-"

"These people have already figured out what I am and how you sheltered me." Although that was of his own doing making a show of that wretched old woman's home by completely destroying it by bare hands and claws in a fury. He had taken care of two nasty lose ends, he wouldn't forget about the third. He only spared the old wench because it was more satisfying to watch her break and morn over that ugly pig she spoiled and see the fear in her eyes with every destruction of his palms until the house was nothing but a dirty sarcophagus of the past karma. They looked at him in horror but he revealed in the way fear made them bend like a twig under his fingers. "They only do not approach for they fear of what I may do. As soon as I leave, they will surely seek their ire on you if you stay."

Her mouth worked out but no sound came out. No doubt stunned by the suddenly reality and dazed.

"I trust you will make the smart decision."

The war had ended roughly a year after that. He was filled with more determination than before to end it knowing that he had a ceremony to host. His father's reaction was as expected. Disappointment at both of his sons marrying ones not from nobility. His brother a farm girl, and himself a candle carver. But he didn't care. For once in his entire life he did not care about his father's disappointment. He could take his anger with him to the grave, he more than made up for his disappointment by leading several bloody battles personally and ending so much of the enemies forces by hand alone.

He EARNT this.

He DESERVED this.

He NEEDED this!!

That's why she chose him over staying. She needed him too. That's why she was here dressed in the finest silk shiromuku and sitting next to him patiently as the priest continued on with the rites of ceremony.

"BAH!"

It was only briefly interrupted by one of his infants. The chubby young boy probably did not appreciate being held in one place for so long by his grandmother who quickly shushed the fussing three month old into being still again. It was a gift from whomever gods was watching him he supposed. He wasn't expecting the shock of finding out in a short amount of time he himself would be becoming a father, but he nearly passed out when not one but two children were born unexpectedly. He remembered the exact moment the doctor relayed to him the good news that he would become a father. After so many days of her being sick after being introduced to his family, Yoriichi suggested that Y/n should be looked over in case she was suffering from a cold. A good idea. With their mother's fragile health they couldn't risk it. However he wasn't expecting the results of the doctor's diagnosis. Yoriichi was there with him when it happened.

The impatient tapping of a claw against the wooden table was the only sounds filling the room as impatient eyes narrowed in growing annoyance and worry stared at the elderly woman closely examining his fiance carefully. Asking her question after question. If his brother wasn't there to restrain him he might've throttled her for an answer already.

"How long have you had these symptoms, My Lady? Throwing up every morning and having such a aches."

Y/n frowned more in concern. "Almost two months now. I'm really starting to get worried."

"I see...Let me ask you something. Have you ever carved anything food wise? Anything really strange such as sushi dipped in batter or apples with fish?"

Both brothers had looked at each other in confusion but her face had lit up in realization. "Yes! I've been doing exactly that!! Why?"

The elderly woman smiled widely. "Well then you're not sick at all my lady. You're merely experiencing the first hardships of your pregnancy."

The shock of the diagnosis left him going wide eyed and all breath leaving his body. As if his soul had left the confines of himself for a while leaving nothing but a numb empty husk. However his brother on the other hand-

"Pregnant? As in my brother is going to be a father? And I am to be an uncle?? Oh how wonderful!" He smiled wider than he had in ages. "This is wonderful news! Truly our family is blessed after so much hard times have befallen us! Mother will be delighted when she learns about this! Won't she, Brother?"

THUD-

Yoriichi turned to find his brother unconscious and sprawled upon the floor.

....He shall NEVER speak of that moment again.

Currently his smiling mother held one while his twin napped blissfully unaware of everything Yoriichi's arms. Both twins seemed to favor his mother and brother, tolerated his brother's wife, and absolutely refused to let his father hold them. As soon as their tiny eyes laid on their grandfather's faced they wailed and wouldn't stop fussing if he ever held them making his father give him scolding looks and telling him he'd have to start training them to stop that soon....He conveniently ignored him every time. The only thing he cares about is how happy his mother was with them and that was more important than making them tolerate his presence. He missed enough of their early life as it was during the pregnancy and first month. It was only by pure chance he was visiting the very day they were born. It has been an intense few hours of himself pacing the corridors with Yoriichi trying and failing to calm him and their mother patiently sitting by with a smile as his fiance was shut away with the finest doctors and midwives. Until his heart stopped when the screaming stopped, a baby wailed, and a little while later a midwife had come out of the room with a small blanketed bundle in her arms....he couldn't bring himself to move so the infant was given to his crying grandmother to hold. Which he didn't mind. She seemed in happy bliss holding her first grandchild in her arms. The boy was the spitting image of his mother with those big turquoise eyes that blinked at them as he sniffled.

He was...tinier than he imagined. So chubby and watery eyes. So unlike him. But at the same time a deep pride of something he created was seated beneath the shock.

"Oh he's just so precious," Akeno cooed expertly shushing the whimpering boy in her arms before looking at the smiling midwife. "But how's my daughter-in-law?"

The midwife smiled happily. "She's doing just fine. She's in a small rest before she births the second child."

His head SNAPPED to the midwife all six eyes wide. "SECOND?!"

"Yes! The doctor discovered that she's in fact having twins-"

THUD-

Yoriichi tried and failed to catch his brother before he again collapsed to the floor.

....He was NEVER speaking of that incident again either.

His hands squeezed hers tighter as she smiled at him from under the hood of the shiromuku. A smile that was his and his ALONE as he vowed to her.

"The gods may have brought you to me, but they won't take you away from me. I will deny them just like they've denied me. You're mine eternally."

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needle-noggins · 1 year ago

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My book club reading this morning started with me goofing on Legato and etc., but then I got hit with the cafe scene. Let's talk about it, because I've been ready to bring up the body autonomy/exploitation/rape stuff for a while. This is going to get heavy, so fair warning.

Spoilers for Trigun Stampede, which I'll compare this to, in case anyone here is coming into the book club completely blind to Trigun (I assume most fans at this point have seen Stampede).

So. Damn. This is where the very heavy theme of bodily autonomy and exploitation really comes into the story. Obviously we have the conflict between the slavers and Legato. These girls are going to be sold for organ harvesting, but first... yeah, those slavers are fucking awful. Legato kills them by forcing them to kill themselves/each other, and Legato frees the girls. I think this is the first time we see what Legato's powers are - he makes people's bodies to move against their will. He later muses on this scene, wondering why he felt sympathy for the girls and spared them. If you've read Trigun Maximum before, you know why.

I want to compare this to Stampede, because it's the easiest way for me to talk about this theme without spoiling more of Trimax. When I watched Stampede for the first time, I remember being floored by the tank scene with Vash and Knives. Vash floating helplessly, paralyzed by Knives, his roots extending to the plants in the tank, and the reveal of those plants being pregnant. Knives boasting about making new Independents. It was so heavy that I had to pause the show and walk around for a bit. I still can't totally watch it.

Then, when I read Trimax, I saw just how much of a recurring theme this is in the story on a whole. OK, Nightow, that's fucking painful and kind of triggering for a lot of folks - so why does the story have to include this?

Well. It highlights just how horrible Knives, Legato, and other people can be, but more importantly, it's central to the entire plot and its resolution. We have to look at the other side of the conflict and zoom out a bit. In all versions of Trigun, there is exploitation - of the plants, of innocent people, of Vash's power. And, in all versions of Trigun, there's the struggle to find freedom and autonomy against it, specifically. Knives struggles to give the plants freedom (or his version of it). Vash struggles to free humanity from Knives (who not only kills indiscriminately, but also exploits people to kill for him. Hello, Wolfwood). Vash also struggles to find freedom from Knives, who uses Vash's powers against his will. That's a really boiled-down version of the central conflict.

So, what happens in this conflict?

Vash heals plants who have been damaged by humans' exploits. Vash helps people in any way he can, no matter who they are - because he wants what's best for humanity - all of it. And, at least in Tristamp, who saves Vash when Knives is using him? Fucking Meryl. Meryl, who jumps head-first into danger to save Vash. I could write an essay on Tristamp Meryl's character development in alone, but I won't (yet).

There's exploitation and rape and terrible abuse, but there's help. There's healing facilitated by others, sometimes others who have experienced something similar. I'm sure someone else can say this much more eloquently than me, but I wanted to get the conversation started.

#trimax #trigunbookclub #trigun

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angelasscribbles · 8 months ago

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Savage Love Chapter 37: Gone

Series: Savage Love

Fandom: The Royal Romance

Pairings: Riley x Liam, Riley x Drake

Rating: R

Warnings: Mature themes, violence, guns

Word Count: 987

A/N: Wow, I can't believe it's been five months since I posted an update for this! I've known since before I started writing it back in December 2021 how it's going to end. This is the downside of having so many ideas.... I can't work on all of them at once.

That said, this is a bit shorter than my regular chapters, but I just needed to see what Drake was doing while Riley was in Hidar in her quest to take down the Via Imperii and Leo was in Rivala getting the shock of his life. The next chapter will bring everyone back together again in Cordonia.

A/N2: I realize it's been a while and readers may be confused with all the OC's in this chapter, so here's a rundown. Nick is Riley's ex-fiance and also another GIA agent. Frederico Sanchez is Nick's informant. Saguaro Laurent is the head of The Gladius Company. Lorenzo is not in this chapter but is mentioned as a loan shark to whom Tariq owed money and who, on Saguaro's orders, leveraged Tariq's gambling debt to get him to abduct Riley (Tariq failed and was murdered for his failure, Lorenzo is in custody at the palace). Rico Mendez is the son of a former mafia don who wants revenge for Riley using him to take down his father's organization.

My other stuff: Master List.

Series Premise: Agent Riley Brooks is undercover on assignment in New York when she has a one-night stand with a handsome, mysterious stranger. Both of them hiding their true identities, names are not exchanged. After one scorching night, they part ways, both returning to the duties they have pledged their lives to. Fast forward several months later and Agent Brooks is assigned a new case: investigate and infiltrate any Via Imperi influences in the small, Mediterranean country of Cordonia. Her cover? Posing as a suitor competing for the hand of the crown prince. Her way in? Civilian contractor and cyber security expert Maxwell Beaumont.

Drake…..

Nick and I arrived at the warehouse where we were meeting his contact in the Liberation Core. The one that had gotten me a meeting with the head of the Gladius Company.

The air in the dimly lit warehouse was thick with tension as we made our way through the maze of crates toward their rendezvous point. The echo of our footsteps ricocheted off the walls, adding to the sense of foreboding that permeated the atmosphere.

Nick's informant, a wiry man named Frederico Sanchez, stood waiting nervously near the entrance. His eyes darted back and forth, scanning for any signs of danger. As we approached, Sanchez straightened up and extended a shaky hand.

"Drake," Sanchez said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Nice to finally meet you. Nick here has told me a lot about you."

I nodded curtly, assessing Sanchez's demeanor. I could see the fear etched into the man's face, evidence of the high stakes involved in the mission. Time was of the essence; we needed to infiltrate The Gladius Company as quickly as possible.

"Likewise," I replied as I returned the man’s handshake. “Now let’s go over the plan before we meet with your guy.”

Being on the same page was crucial. If any of these guys got a whiff that this was a setup, we were both dead. Nick would stay in the surveillance van, ready as backup if necessary. He couldn’t be seen by Saguaro or any of the men he’d brought with him from New York. They’d recognize the GIA agent that had brought down their last organization in an instant.

We poured over the plan twenty times, looking for inconsistencies, committing our cover story to memory, and working out the kinks. When it was time to go, I waved goodbye to Nick and got in a nondescript sedan with Sanchez. A quick check-in with headquarters told me that they had picked up Lorenzo’s contact, but he wasn’t talking.

With any luck, we wouldn’t need him to. I was hoping to set eyes on Rico when I met with Saguaro. If he was there, I was giving the order to breach. I knew what Nick’s objective was, but I didn’t give two shits about arresting Saguaro Laurent. It was Rico I was after. The man that had sent a kidnapper, albeit a bad one, after the woman I love.

The American justice system had failed and released a known mobster, allowing him to slip through their security net. But he wasn’t in America anymore. He was on my turf, and I had a literal license to kill.

Rico Mendez would spend the rest of his life in a Cordonian prison, or he would die, and it didn’t matter much to me which one it was. All I cared about was getting him off the streets and keeping Riley safe.

We arrived at the rendezvous spot, but nothing went according to plan.

I found myself in another damn warehouse. This one was on the waterfront and, if our intel was correct, not far from the empty factory that was serving as headquarters for The Gladius Company.

We arrived first and waited. Saguaro and his men were late, which only served to ramp up the already rapidly percolating anxiety in the man at my side.

Sanchez was too damn twitchy. Saguaro picked up on it instantly. He barely glanced at me before fixing Sanchez with a piercing stare. “What’s the problem, Freddy?”

“What?” Sanchez tried to laugh it off. “Nothing. What do you mean?”

Saguaro’s flinty eyes squinted at him, then flicked to me as his hand went to his waist. I had my gun in my hand before he could pull his. “Don’t do it! I really don’t want to shoot anyone today, but I will if I have to. What’s the problem?”

Saguaro moved his hand away from his piece and put his arms in the air. A flash of metal in my periphery caught my attention. “Get down!” I hit the ground just a shot rang out. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! This wasn’t how it was supposed to go down.

Men scattered everywhere. We were outnumbered, but not for long. I could hear Nick in my earpiece giving the order to breach. Sanchez was hit. I drug him with me out of the line of fire, ducking behind a stack of metal barrels as the rat-a-tat-tat of machine gun fire spattered all around us.

“Hey, Laurent!” I craned my neck to peek around the barricade.

The only answer I got was more gunfire. I retreated back behind the stack of barrels for safety as my team poured into the building.

Now they were outnumbered, and the warehouse was surrounded. Less than fifteen minutes later, Saguaro and his men were cuffed and being loaded into the back of several guard-issue SUVs.

“Johnson, hold up!” I jogged quickly across the asphalt to intercept the lieutenant escorting the head of Gladius Company to one of the waiting vehicles. I grabbed him by his shirt and shoved him roughly up against the car. “Where’s Mendez? Was he with you?”

“Fuck you!” He lurched forward in an attempt to headbutt me, but this wasn’t my first rodeo. I snapped my head sideways, causing him to stumble forward.

I grabbed his shoulders to steady him, then brought my knee up hard into his gut. “I look forward to interrogating you, asshole.”

I beelined for the tactical van. Bursting into the mobile command center, I demanded, “Did we get Mendez?”

“Sorry, man, no,” Nick shook his head. “No sign of him. But the good news is, we got Saguaro and his second in command. There’s a second team sweeping their headquarters now. We successfully took The Gladius Company down!”

He was far too jubilant for what I considered a botched mission. I slammed out of the van with a huff. Goddamn it!

Rico was in the wind.

#savage love #agent riley brooks #captain drake walker #prince liam rys #trr fanfic #trr au #angelasscribbles #trr poly #the royal romance #the royal romance fanfic #trr #choices #liam rys #drake walker #choices fanfiction #playchoices fanfic #choices stories you play #drake walker x mc #liam rys x mc

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holylustration · 2 months ago

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Dopamine Week #4: Fic Recommendation

My theme for Dopamine Week is "WIPs." And on that front, I have two WIPs in mind: one that I am currently caught up on and another that I haven't gotten to fully sink my teeth into yet.

Recommendation #1: Edge of Daybreak Unbroken by @themagnificentmags

So, I think I began reading Edge of Daybreak Unbroken during the very first Dopamine Week, so I'm glad to be able to give it a recommendation and bring it full circle!

Here's why Edge of Daybreak Unbroken is worth your time:

The premise is Warhammer 40,000: Rogue Trader, New Game Plus. And I love that. I find it has that meta quality narrative where I, as the reader, can empathize with the main character when she sees the outcome of a choice she never took.

Despite it being a game "retelling," it isn't a one-for-one copy and paste of the game's script. And even the events that we see happening through Eltura's eyes aren't always a match for what we see in the game, as she might just nuke the planet from orbit rather than deal with the obvious and problematic trap that lurks on its surface.

The prose is a beautiful balance of matter-of-fact, dry humor, and evocative description. Mags gets you the necessary information to understand what's going on in a very unfussy, reader-friendly way, and then hits you upside the head with a bat as she describes what its like to wiggle teeth loose from their sockets with a tongue and subsequently choke on them.

You really can't help but cheer for Eltura. She comes back to relive all her horrors because she wants Heinrix to stay with her this time (and who WOULDN'T want that?), only she slips and falls into Iconoclasm along the way. Also, I put her in the category of fashionable Rogue Traders because of her coat. She is criminally underrepresented in Rogue Trader art.

Mags is not just a delightful person, but also meticulous. She really wants to think through the lore and the canon implications of the story. So, you can be sure that Edge of Daybreak Unbroken is being written in a way that is thoughtful and deliberate.

Recommendation #2: Omnissiah Forgive Me by @jaal-ama-daravv

Having not gotten very far yet into Omnissiah Forgive Me, let me give you the reasons why I've chosen to catch up on the fic this week:

Pasqal is one of the hardest characters for me to write; his speech pattern and motivations generally elude me. And Jaal's got seven chapters of him? SEVEN chapters? Emperor above, grant me blessed cognition so that I may better write him!

Sometimes, I just need a little break from Marazhai or Heinrix, so why not sample something that isn't Nocturne or Calligos? :D

I've had the pleasure of hearing Jaal narrate excerpts during our live readings, and she puts so much raw emotion into each and every word. It is electrifying. I cannot WAIT to see how that plays out on the page.

Damn, if Kassard's description doesn't come off as an absolute and utter badass. Tall, strong, scarred woman? Not afraid of her emotion? Heck yes.

A shout goes out to Jaal herself for her dedication not just to the story, but also the Rogue Trader community. Whether she's a mod or organizing the gift exchanges, she's somewhere being a positive contributor! And she does all of that on top of one of the hardest real life jobs that I can imagine, so she deserves double the praise!

Whether you're reading one (or both) of the fics above, or you're starting on something else, thanks for joining us this week!

#rogue trader #warhammer 40k #rogue trader crpg #warhammer 40000 #fanfic #writing #Dopamine Week #fic recs

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grogusmum · 1 year ago

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JUNE: Litha

A Javi and the Beekeeper Summer Solstice Story

JAVI GUTIÉRREZ X GN!READER

W/C: 1465ish

WARNINGS: mentions of consuming food and wine As always, if you see something, say something. Please let me know in my DMs, and I'll add it.

A/N: Here is the June installment of The Wheel of the Year, my theme for @yearofcreation2023 Organized by the effervescent @oonajaeadira and @writeforfandoms

Javi and The Beekeeper

Wheel of the Year Masterlist

The smell of beeswax and pine paneling warmed by the summer sun, fills the small building. A slowly whirling ceiling fan does its best, but the small cauldron of melted wax has you running a bandana up the back of your neck, and reaching for your water bottle.

The hinged windows are open wide, catching the gentle sea breeze, and that same breeze catches windchimes hanging from the porch, just as the bell on the shop door tinkles They blend together merrily, making you miss a possible customer coming into the small storefront- it's not so much a storefront as it is a glorified farmstand- but you don't miss the creak of the old wood floors.

"Hello," you call, "I'll be right out!"

But the footfalls continue, then ducking his head, Javi enters your workshop, filling the space with his sunshine.

"My bee charmer," he has some wildflowers from the meadow across the way in hand.

"Javi!" You come around your work table wrapping him in a hug, he is not supposed to be home until the weekend. Being mindful of your waxy hands your hug is just arms and chest, with your chin in the crook of his neck.

"Sorry 'bout my hands."

"You should be," Javi says, affronted, then whispers, eyebrows quirking, "they are not on me."

When you pull away to look at him, he snorts a laugh-

"Pfft, like a line in a movie- a pretty cheesy one!"

"I like cheese." You say softly looking at him through your lashes.

"Oh you are always so much better at this," Javi’s wide hand comes up and cradles the back of your head, bringing his soft lips to yours, his tongue impatiently looking for entry. You grant it. He hums, deepening the kiss until you both need to come up for air.

"You're better than you think," your smile presses against his cheek as you catch your breath.

Javi holds you another heartbeat, two, three… then looks around, pairs of candles sharing the same cotton wick hang from rows of dowels on simple stands.

"Candle making day?"

"Yup, all week. But tonight is special!"

"What is tonight?" Javi frowns slightly, worry in his sweet eyes, "while I was supposed to be away?"

"I can't move Litha to another day, silly."

Javi looks at you nonplussed.

"The summer solstice, love."

"Oh," his brows go up with a smile, "It's part of the reason I'm back early, to be here for the party for the crew," here, his face falls. "Were you not coming?"

"When I thought you wouldn't be there, no, I wasn't going to come this year… but not because of my candle making, usually I do both. I can do both."

"Can I do both?" Javi wraps his arms around you again, "can I help with your special candles?"

You hum in the affirmative, kissing him as you do.

Javi wears sun colors to the summer celebration, one of the many ways the Gutiérrez family thanks their crew for the work they do. There are strings of pennant flags with suns on them, live music, and long tables, piled high with food and festooned with gazanias, looking like little suns themselves.

You needed to finish up some work and Javi had to oversee the party preparation- so you arrive later with Lola and Juan, wearing pale yellow with a necklace with a sun pendant.

Javi beams when he sees you, he is blinding, you think.

"How is he mine?" You ask no one in particular.

Together Lola and Juan answer:

"Don't question it."

"You're a good match!"

You look at both of them and laugh openly.

After enjoying the second half of the longest day, dancing, eating and drinking more sangria than you planned, you look over the rolling hills, bee boxes dotting them, and in the hollows fireflies begin to blink languidly.

It's time to go.

Back at your workshop, you turn on some string lights. The little globes run from the porch to a large holm oak. You love this tree - also known as the holly oak, as it has pointed evergreen leaves, though the edges go smooth over time It reminds you of the duality and oneness of the oak and holly kings. Their battle for dominance through the seasons- though in the end they are one and the same, the two sides to an ancient coin.

Your cauldron awaits by the fire pit, while your tools and ingredients are laid out on a scrubbed pine table.

In the months you've been together, Javi has joined you in your celebrations and rituals. Just like with the bees, he is eager and observant. So he knows your habit of walking clockwise around the fire circle and stopping in the south to light it. He does so, you watch his attentiveness to the things that are important to you, and your eyes glass momentarily.

"I love you, you know."

In the catching firelight and string lights it's impossible to see the blush dust his cheeks and the tips of his ears. But his sweet crooked smile and eyes drifting to the side let's you know.

"Well, I know, you know, I love you, because how could you not know, you know?" He is in a silly mood, which is one of your favorites.

"You would never let me forget, sweet man."

You wrap your arms around his middle, kissing his freckled neck.

Javi looks down at you, and brings your chin up so he can kiss your mouth. Soft and languid.

When he has kissed you thoroughly, Javi pulls back-

"Shall we call the quarters?"

Feeling a bit drunk, which seems to be less about the sangria and more to do with Javi, you nod with a smile.

"We should."

Javi moves back several paces staying to the south of the fire, while you move to the north of it.

You call on the spirits, the guardians, of the four directions. Beseeching them to bestow their blessing and elemental attributes upon the ritual.

Your circle is cast.

Javi takes the cauldron and places it on the fire.

As the fire roars and you place the beeswax in to melt, you close your eyes and focus on the sun, it's radiance, warmth and power. Javi follows suit, closing his eyes, breathing deep the smell of the wax, like summer itself.

Breathing in, breathing out, breathing in, breathing out…

You move to the table and press the power button on a small speaker, a celtic harp plays. And you take up the pestle and begin crushing the dried herbs and flowers you have laid out. Javi attaches several lengths of the cotton wick to one end of wooden dowels.

When all is prepared, you give one dowel to Javi and take one up yourself. Back in your places at the cauldron, you hold the wicks over the cauldron.

"The music sets the pace, when in the south we dip the wicks, then pull them out and walk clockwise around the cauldron. So you start and when I am in the south, you wait at the north. Make sense?"

Javi nods.

And so you went round and round in the direction of the sun, dipping your candles into the liquid wax. The walk round allowing it to solidify enough for the next dip. When they are good sturdy candles, you roll them in the mix of plants. Rose petals, oak leaves, calendula, holly leaves and berries, basil flowers, red clover, rosemary, flowers, bee balm, and of course gazanias and the red berried mistletoe that grows on olive trees. Either foraged or from your garden.

When you finish, you dismiss the spirits (if they wish) with thanks and close the circle. The candles are placed in the workshop to finish setting, and you spread out a blanket under that huge holm oak and lay out some wine, fruit, and cheese. It's late, but both your bodies hum with energy from the ritual. Music still plays, but you've switched it up to some uptempo Spanish guitar.

Javi pours the wine and you feed him some grapes with a laugh.

"Thank you."

"For what, mi amor?"

"For being loving to what I love," you say.

"You have watched every Nic Cage movie with me, you sit in that dark little theater when I know you'd rather be outside…"

"I love movies too."

"Yes, but… I know."

You sip your wine with a gleam in your eye, then lean in to kiss him. Quickly you are shuffling on your knees to get closer. "I need to finish charting every freckle, I have constellations still to name."

Javi smiles wide as he catches you round your middle-

"So you do."

💚THANK YOU FOR READING��REBLOGS AND COMMENTS ARE MUCH APPRECIATED💚

If you care to read more of my Javi stories or any of my writing you can find my masterlist here and if you would like to be tagged for any of my fics you can find my handy dandy taglist form here.

#wheel of the year series #pagan holidays #javi gutiérrez x gn!reader #javi gutiérrez #javi g x beekeeper!#year of creation!#pedrostories

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sarroora · 6 months ago

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Hi I just wanted to ask if you have any tips on like organizing writing because currently I just make shit up as I go along and then that gets me burnt out rq

Cos I have like 3 Top Cat fanfics I wanna work on but then I get stuck almost immediately 😭

-The most important thing when you begin writing a story is to decide on the beginning, AND the end. The middle can always be handled as long as you have the destination in mind.

-A good story begins with a question/mystery, and must end with an answer to that question. [Eg. Spook left the gang and is roped up with another one. Will T.C. be able to get him back?]

-Show, don't tell: don't be a bodiless narrator of the story and don't try hitting readers on the head (DO YOU SEE THAT THING? DID YOU SEE WHAT JUST HAPPENED READER LOOOOOL). Just let events happen. Let characters breathe and talk. Let the readers come to their own conclusions as to what's really going on as if they're invisible spectators there in the middle of the action.

-Pay attention to how characters speak realistically: this is super important to make a character feel like a real person, not a parody. Be attentive to how people talk in general, both in real life and in good quality media. Realistic speech patterns, tics, accents, dialects, etc is very important.

-Although it's tempting, not every single character in your story needs to have their own full-blown arc. I mean, take Harry Potter for example. Amazing world building and characters, but not everyone is super important or central to the plot.

-Stories that reflect the human condition in their worldbuilding are more interesting to read. In CGaL, for example, one of the themes you'll find in the story is classism and power/wealth imbalance, if subtle.

-I'm forgetful and probably have some form of ADHD, so sometimes during the most random times of day an idea comes to my head and I immediately wanna put it into the story before I forget. That's what your Notes app on your phone is for. Write snippets, conversations, ideas, etc. as notes. They don't have to be pretty, you're just keeping them so you don't forget. Then copy them later to your story doc so you can eventually use them. For example, I have snippets written for what'll eventually be the last chapter of the story since like 2013. They're just sitting pretty for later.

-Pacing is very important. Your story - especially if multi-chaptered - shouldn't move too slowly, nor too fast. That's off-putting. Learning how to pace your story comes with practice, and with watching/reading other high-quality stories.

-Don't hesitate to delete entire pages if you think they're bringing down the story's quality. Don't fall for the Sunken Cost Fallacy. Sometimes you'll write a lot and then eventually decide it's just not working. Delete it and move on. What's important is the quality of the final version, not how many pages you wrote.

(Good timing btw! I just finished these new CGaL Pfp icons. Let me know if you wanna use any of them.)

#top cat #don gato #hanna barbera #classic cartoons #cgal #jellystone #fandom #fanfic #writing #writers on tumblr #writing advice #I tried to keep it short so I don't keep going on and on like a lecture XXD #Choo Choo #Benny the ball #the brain top cat #spook top cat #fancy fancy #officer dibble

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archduke-enver-gortash · 8 months ago

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ok wait one more song rec that doubles as a question (and rambling)

ive been thinking a lot about what kind of music Gortash would like, ive been thinking prog rock (all the layers) but i especially think he’d like roxy music and brian eno. (glam rock with a jazzy flair, cheesy and pretentious but in a fun way, very methodical at times)

sending this as an example because it has a very film noir theme to it *points at detective zeke* i also think he’d like roxy music’s 2HB, or their cover of eight miles high

https://youtu.be/CRnaYJcTd5c?si=hotIexbAjbkn2eaA

so the question: what music do YOU think he likes? what about zeke?

AH that one‘s so cool thank you!!!

but i also see gortash as one of those people into things like religious choir chanting, classical instrumentals, the opera, and so on haha. (and my way by frank sinatra. somehow i feel it in my bones) there, like this

i think he can play the organ in his room, and quite well, as everything he sets his mind to. his excellent memory sometimes even allows him to play with his eyes closed and so on.

but i think he ultimately sees song and music as something for him. a formula to express and extrude power. music has been a way to worship for aeons and i think he likes to claim that worship. i mean, he literally kidnaps a woman and transplants her brain into the slack-skinned head and makes it sing for him occasionally. a form of art, an expression of people’s many strong ideals, emotions, and life experiences is of course something the machine would like to conquer/‘devour’.

the greatest song of all, the screams of enemies & especially his archnemesis zeke, still follows that same formula, but in an elevated position. ‘the woman trained for it will never sing as sweetly as the bird born for it’ he’s addressing his favourite opera singer here. the bird being zeke, obviously. that’s true song.

zeke i think likes music that comes from the heart. loud, wild, unpredictable to the point of improvisation, expressing emotions and so on. zeke actually plays the violin! his play i think is extremely unusual and carries his ferocity in it with every tune. again, all improvised on the spot.

that aforementioned opera singer & also owner of an entire opera house, annya spiritpetal, is the reason zeke picked it up in the first place. she was one of his first clients and she, similar to zeke in his detective work (but not too similar since she was trained for nothing else since birth, unlike zeke using his natural talents) was considered a child prodigy in her field and despite zeke not really caring for her, she looked out for him occasionally. eventually even asked him to play in the background during her shows for her. zeke does not like crowds very much and he only really did it because she always promised him access to places in higher society whenever he needed it for a case, but she always made sure that he was accommodated very well. so, context for that sentence above? gortash ruins one of these violin performances by simply appearing. zeke is extremely paranoid, sick and just generally mentally unwell at this point in the story because of him and annya would never have let him play if she saw the state he was in, so gortash. ahem. prevents her from attending that evening & doing so, having her arrested for the access she provided for zeke and punishing her transgressions against gortash this way. (again song is for him, and especially zeke’s, whose true song she isn’t even capable of bringing out. this eventually leads to her becoming that singing brain in the slack-skinned head when they meet again years later btw.) what does gortash do at that performance exactly? absolutely nothing besides watching on the highest and best seat available. but zeke spots him in the audience immediately and his paranoia gets the better of him. how does he know about this? why is he here? he has something planned for sure. and after his play reflects the mental state he’s in, he stops after and just fully freaks out, like sobbing, screaming, falling to the floor levels, in front of thousands of people while gortash conducts the finest of the finest melodies.

gortash also actually makes him play a duet (on a violin made out of zeke’s body parts too) with him once, but the song is composed after zeke’s screams of pain from the first time gortash scarred zeke, with his piano part being sort of the ‘inflicting’ power in the piece.

oh my god. i am uh. sorry. this got so long.

#oc: zeke #oc: annya #bg3 #enver gortash #gortash #baldur's gate 3 #gortash & zeke #the dark urge #song recs #satanic-fruitcake

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fangirl-erdariel · 7 months ago

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If you were given the job of 'showrunner of a show about Faramir' what would you do?

Oh that's a fascinating question, thank you! I will freely admit that I don't necessarily consider myself the most knowledgeable person about Faramir or the best at writing him even in my immediate fandom circle, so this is unlikely to be anything particularly groundbreaking or interesting, but I'll give it a shot

I think, since you've not given me specific limitations on when in the timeline this will be set, and that I would go for a show that focuses on Faramir in the months leading up to Boromir leaving for Rivendell, ending with that event. Not that a show about him in the times after the War of the Ring wouldn't be fascinating, but I don't think it's something I'd be very good at writing. And I'm not necessarily interested in following the story through the events of LOTR, either. So, like I said, following Faramir in the times leading up to the event that basically ties him and Boromir so tightly into the events of the story.

Wouldn't be a very long show, obviously, with that sort of time frame, but I'm a firm believer in deciding on the limits of the story you want to tell and narrowing it down to something you can manage, before starting to tell it. (Let's ignore the fact that I don't actually do that irl when I write fanfic, I just sit down and write and see what happens; the imaginary me who is a showrunner of a tv show is obviously more organized than the real life me anyway.) Not everything needs to be ten seasons long. And you could still get a full-length season or two out of even that premise, I think.

I would probably go for a somewhat episodic problem-of-the-week format, but with some overarching themes and plotlines developing across the whole show. I can't off the top of my head give you a list of episodes or their synopsis (how do you pluralize that? synopsis? synopses? synopsises? why is English so difficult), but, you know, most episodes probably focusing on the various troubles of leading the soldiers in Ithilien, one episode focused on the planning of an attack on an enemy troop that will be moving through, another of "how the f*ck has the enemy been managing to constantly mess with our supply lines that we thought were secure and how do we stop them from doing that", maybe one of the classic "there's a spy among our midst but who is it??" plot, one where Faramir has to handle a bunch of young inexperienced soldiers who are either uncertain or too reckless and eager to pursue glory and probably going to get either themselves or other people killed if he can't get them to get their act together. And so on and so forth, I'm sure you get the gist. Probably mix it up sometimes and have some episodes set in Minas Tirith, maybe a couple bringing Faramir on some errand to more southern parts of Gondor, too. Ithilien episodes would probably have elements of military drama, Minas Tirith episodes elements of political drama.

I think the second-to-last episode of the show would have the first time Faramir has the dream that'll send Boromir to Gondor, and would have the attack on Osgiliath and that whole thing. And the absolute last episode would be just focused on the dream and what to do about it, and would see Boromir leaving on his journey.

I think one thing I'd explore a lot would be the differing ways that other characters see him. Both in terms of the relationships with his family, the way that he is a beloved little brother to Boromir but always the less capable and worthy in Denethor's eyes, but also in terms of outside that family circle. Like, we see in the books that he is adored by the people, and that he is greatly respected by the soldiers under his command, he is a captain they are glad to follow, a skilled leader who is able to keep troops from panicking and retain good order even in difficult, chaotic situations.

And then, going off of that, how does all that compare to the way Faramir sees himself? How does the place he is appointed by those around him fit, or not fit, what he himself would want to be, if he could choose? Even people who love or admire you can still view you in ways that aren't entirely true, or treat you in a way or put you in situations that you find constraining or poorly fit for you, and I think playing with that with Faramir could be interesting. I think I might go for making one of the conflicts carried through the show be that while Boromir loves Faramir, he doesn't always quite treat him as a responsible adult and an equal, but a little brother to be protected and watched over and helped, and for all that Faramir also loves Boromir, it's still frustrating. And though Boromir does insist on being the one to make the journey to Rivendell because he's older and stronger and doesn't like the idea of Faramir going off alone on a long journey to the unknown, it is still in some ways also an admission on his part that he trusts Faramir to be responsible and clever and capable enough to be in charge of the lives of soldiers and of various duties Boromir has that will fall on Faramir in his absence, without Boromir's constant oversight and being always somewhere near enough to come to his aid.

Besides that, I think I would like to incorporate hope and despair as one central theme, seeing as it's also so very central to LOTR. Also, this isn't anything about deep themes or being clever or whatever, it's really just self-indulgence, but I think I'd like to incorporate songs and poetry the characters actually sing and recite into the story. Just, like, whatever, military marches, funeral laments, narrative stuff sung to pass the time, people competing on who can most accurately memorize some tricky poem just for the hell of it, all that. Like, Middle-Earth just has music so intrinsically bound into the stories and it's an aspect of the books I really love, but so few adaptations incorporate it much at all! (I am tooootally not jealous to my mom because she got to see the 1988/-89 LOTR play that actually included a bunch of the poems from the books set to music, totally not, why are you asking)

Also, can we cast Luke Pasqualino as Faramir? No particular reason except that I think he's pretty

Geez, that got long ':D Idk how much sense any of that makes, but, hey, thanks for giving me an excuse to ramble!!

Out of curiosity, if you were given the same job of being a showrunner for a show about Faramir, what would you do with it?

#answered ask #cycas #faramir #lotr #lord of the rings #middle-earth #headcanons #meta #honestly idk if this fits either of those last two tags but idk what else to tag it either

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blazer5402 · 6 months ago

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Have you ever hyperfixated on a single fandom? What about hyperfixating on a single fanfic. Because that's been me for nearly the past year.

Trailblazer's a Worm/Gundam crossover fanfic. It's 1.6 million words long, nearly as long as canon Worm is. I've read it twice in the past year, and am re-reading it again. It's living rent free in my head.

Trailblazer takes place in a Worm AU where Scion was killed 10 years ago in the Gold War (akin to canon's Gold Morning). While it draws on elements, themes, and characters from Gundam - mostly Gundam 00 and Iron Blooded Orphans to my knowledge (I'd only watched like 4 episodes of Witch From Mercury before reading Trailblazer), you don't really need any Gundam knowledge to read Trailblazer.

While the end of the world was averted with Scion's death, the world's still dying a slow collapse. The Endbringers are predicted to bring global trade to an end within a few short decades. The slow collapse of society is predicted to start soon after. Anti-Parahuman sentiment is on the rise. If the Endbringers don't end the world, humanity may end up ending it themselves.

One bitter, broken, bullied girl sees a world she isn't satisfied by and sets out to save it. She saves herself along the way.

I love Worm. I spent most of my high school years obsessing over it. But I can't read Worm anymore. Not all the way through. I know how it ends, and it's really not something I have in me to reread.

Trailblazer, on the other hand, is a fic I actually enjoy re-reading. It treads brighter where Worm canon goes darker, but that's not to say it's all sunshine and ponies. If Worm's grimdark, Trailblazer's... more hopepunk? noblebright? Whatever you want to call it.

Worm's the story of a girl who gives everything she has to save the world. By Worm's endgame, Taylor's barely a person. She's thrown her life into it, she's cut every tie in the name of it. She's alive, but she's not really living.

Trailblazer's the story of the same girl going in an orthogonal direction. Taylor's character arc in Trailblazer is about realizing that she wants to live. It's about overcoming her death seeker mindset from canon, and realizing that she doesn't just want to save the world, but that she wants to live in it too. It's like if canon Taylor went to therapy, and therapy actually worked.

Trailblazer's biggest theme is that the world might suck, but it can be better, even if you have to go out and make it better yourself. That even if the system is broken, good people can still do good things within a broken system.

Anyways, what I'm getting at is that Trailblazer is fucking fantastic. It's the best thing that's come out of the Worm fandom. It's complete at 1.7ish million words, just about as long as canon. It'll make you laugh, it'll make you cry. Go read it!

#parahumans #wormblr #worm web serial #worm fanfiction #trailblazer #worm parahumans

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hyuninho · 2 years ago

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How do you write horror?

I actually had like a conversation with my friends abt this a little bit ago so I'll talk about it here- this is a very broad question so I am going to answer it to the best of my abilities (like, how do I write vs. how do I write horror), so,,, pls be patient with me haha.

So, to kind of lay the groundwork I've kinda come to the conclusion that there are maybe 3 types of horror writers/ways to come at horror?? Or at least, that's how it gets categorized better in my head! Inspired by a post where someone described Jacob Geller as an architect's mindset, I think the 3 main ways to come at writing horror are as follows;

- The Language

- The Philosophy

- The Architecture

Keep in mind that this is all like ENTIRELY my own opinion and just how I come at writing my favorite genre, & I was/am an on and off fic writer and that's where most of my style was able to be developed!

Understandably these categories do seem a bit random but I think the example I can use best to explain it is gore, probably?

So with gore & body horror as an example, I'll go in the order of Philosophy > Language > Architecture for it to kind of make most sense.

Philosophy - Gore is many things. A lot of times the human mind meets it with, "that's wrong- that's wrong, wrong, wrong!"- and it gets worse with body horror, which seems to almost make an art form out of it. It is grotesque and obscene, and it forces you to be vulnerable- all things the mind hates. Organs that were never supposed to see the light of day are now being exposed to air they were never supposed to touch- and it's incredibly disturbing and upsetting because this isn't supposed to happen.... and worse, the longer you sit in it all, and you let it fester, it starts to become a "What really makes us human?" kind of thing. Everyone's reaction to the initial reaction to horrifying vulnerability of viscera is different. Some curiously engage with it, some will become obsessed with how intimate it is, some will still desperately want to get away from it. It's always a fun little "how will I write these gore scenes this time" & understanding how I want ppl to react, which brings me to the next bit- language

(P.S. no body horror in it, but if you do want a good horror book that delves into like the "What Makes Us Human?" bit of things, I rec Obscura by Joe Hart!! like it literally becomes an overarching theme in the book! A+)

Language - I spend a lot of time trying to put human experiences down on paper, and it just... doesn't work because language as a whole is not enough of a vehicle to get across all of my thoughts and my feelings on this one subject- this one subject that is, undeniably intricate (no matter what subject it is, at any point in time). With body horror or just generally terrifying scenes where I really need to get across what exactly is happening and why it's so terrifying and you should be scared too- it helps to find words that are as specific as possible to the moment, especially with gore, because it forces the character(s) and the reader to be vulnerable. I focus a lot on character's reaction to things as well, as a way to convey like 'holy shit this is NOT OK!!! I am not cool with this!!', and really- it wouldn't be a good story if I didn't intrigue myself a bit imo- whether I terrify, or I scare, or I just get myself obsessed... understanding the concept of what I want to get across as much as I can, so I can then spend as long as I want trying to get it across as accurately as possible in a way that will have others sharing my fear/intrigue/obsession... that is my personal goal!

Architecture - Your terror needs legs to stand on. Your dread needs legs to stand on. Fear/scares can be induced from a simple movie's jumpscare, or a couple of terrifying lines that build a scene quickly and get the ball rolling- but for good 'ol gothic terror it's a bit of a consistent slow burn that slowly grows over the course of the story. It's usually why the gore happens towards the end of a story if it's the climax of the story, or, in other cases, gore tends to be used as a way to break a character. It's not only about the structure of the story, it's about the structure of the character. When you develop a character it's like you've carefully constructed a small building- and in this case, the gore scenes are direct attacks on where this character's support beams would be. A building within a building.... within a building...? If you will.

Kathe Koja's short story The Neglected Garden (Extremities) is actually a perfect example of this, as it starts off with the gore straight off the bat- and from there it's a slow decline (in this story specifically, it's akin to watching a team of workers construct a house incredibly quickly, then being like "it doesn't seem that sturdy-" right when a storm comes by and the house itself sinks and gets *really* fucked up... and then from there starts to slowly deteriorate and crumble.)

I think this applies to writers as well lol- like, I'm definitely more of a language oriented horror writer because of how much I focus on my vocabulary, my sentences, my prose, etc- and not even in a way where grammar is my strong suit. In fact, I am like, incredibly bad with grammar and this post is probably a prime example of it! but I really try hard to get across a concept/idea with the tools available to me and I try to expand those tools when I can, because it frustrates me when there aren't enough words in the dictionary for "he screamed".

Outside of gore and body horror, I usually have a concept, and then I write the scenes were I'm very into the concept of it and what I want to be portrayed... and then I start expanding from there and building plot, etc, until I eventually sit down and write it in it's entirety- so my personal order tends to be; Philosophy, Architecture, then Language.

(And yes, these are all just fancy words for plotting and drafting but they help me think about it easier so pls be nice to me LMFAO)

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scribefindegil · 1 year ago

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71?

71. When it comes to more complicated narratives, how do you keep track of outlines, characters, development, timeline, ect.?

A big old messy scratchdoc!! I try to use headings to keep the information somewhat organized, but they work best if I let them stay pretty sprawling. It's usually something like:

Top section: What are The Themes? Why am I writing this story? Are there important symbols or visual motifs I want to keep track of? Are there reminders to myself that I want to see frequently to bring myself back into focus (re: tone, characterization, types of description or details to focus on)?

Character Section: I don't always do this, but for big fics or things with a large ensemble cast I usually lay out each important character, the basis of their arc/conflict, and how they contribute thematically to the story. If it's AU or set post-canon or there are other reasons that information about the character would be different from their canon counterpart, I note it here.

Reference section: Any specific research I've done for the fic. Lists of things like minor characters' names, descriptions of settings or OCs, etc.

Revelation List: I stole this from DMing advice blogs, but any time there are mystery elements to a fic I always lay out the Revelations (what the characters need to learn) and the specific clues or circumstances they encounter that allow them to reach those conclusions. Do they find and interpret evidence? Do they get information from another character? Do they do research? Even if I don't plan out all the details of the plot, I need to understand how the characters are going to reach each of the Revelations or I'm going to get stuck.

Timelines: I don't always do these either; it really depends on the fic, but if there's a specific chronology I need to keep track of (or a secret structure that would get lost in the full outline) I try to write it down

The Plot: Finally!! The actual outlining part! I start by writing bullet point versions of the events I know will happen (I usually have a pretty strong sense of the beginning and climax of a fic by this point, even if I still have a bunch of fine-tuning to do) and then work backwards or forwards to fill in the gaps. If it's a mystery fic (and most of my longer fic has at least some mystery elements) I refer back to the Revelations list to make sure I have scenes that cover all the necessary Leads and Revelations to get the characters to the endpoint.

Snippets: For certain scenes, the outline version doesn't accurately capture the Vibe I'm going for, so I have a section at the end where I write quick, tiny, scaffolding-style first drafts. These usually have almost no relation to what the final scene actually looks like, but it's about pinning down the idea and the atmosphere.

These documents are really big and messy and I usually need to go back and edit them as I go, because my original ideas inevitably undergo some shifts as I figure things out, but that's the fun of it!

It has to be the right type of fic to make this worth it, but sometimes I'll also do a scene-level outline in an Excel spreadsheet, with columns for Scene, POV Character, Location, Characters Present, Events, Reactions, and Plot-Important Info. This is good for super plotty/mystery-heavy fics and fics with big ensembles that I can't keep track of other ways. I have an enormous and beautiful outline in this style for the Owl House Tam Lin AU which I do still want to write someday, bc while I didn't end up loving TOH as a whole I do love a lot of the characters, and also we came up with possibly the best plot twist of my life involving 400 years of moon phase records so. It's on the back burner but it's still on the stove, as it were. And the good thing is that because I have such an exhaustive outline it will be easy for me to pick back up at any time if I want to!

#memeses #thanks for the ask!#this makes it sound much more organized than it actually is lol #but!! the important thing is to write everything down!!#even if you are not cursed you probably won't remember things as well as you think!#and if you are cursed it makes it a lot less scary to have all the info there so if you just Absolutely Cannot Write for six months #you don't risk losing all your cool ideas

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yokohamabeans · 2 years ago

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Chapter 5: cowherd and weaver

We know how the story ends: in all versions of it, the crane leaves her lover in tears.

(In which: Kakuchō meets you at his worst. Eight years later, you meet him at yours.)

Pairings: Kakuchō x F!OC/Reader (ft. Haitani Ran x F!OC/Reader)

Series Tags / TW & CW / Notes: Dark/Mature Themes, Bonten!Timeline (or rather, pre-Bonten / Rise of Bonten Era), TR Manga Spoilers, Angst & Hurt/Comfort, Pining, Organized Crime, Blood & Violence, Mentions of Domestic Abuse, Japanese Culture, OC will have a name but this will largely be written in 2nd POV, Character Study, Hostessing & Forced Prostitution, etc.

(WC: ~7.5k)

Series Index | Read on AO3 here!

The summer heat peaks with each passing day. There’s a sheen of sweat on your skin and you worry that even with the air-conditioning turned all the way up, this junky old van will not get any cooler. Discomfort you can bear with, but not the risk of Pierre suffering a heat stroke. His panting is becoming rather noisy and short-nosed dogs like him run hot easily—though perhaps his loud heaving ought to be pinned on the excitement of riding shotgun, watching other cars and buildings and people whiz by. You give his soft, floppy ears a fond rub and ask him to relax.

You never wanted Pierre. But like a seed he’d been blown in by the wind, and you just couldn’t bring the axe down on this sprout that had taken root in your life. He was a gift from a customer: Yamamoto-san had asked to meet at a café and, to your surprise and horror, pulled a puppy by its scruff out from a bag. It was the ugliest thing you’ve ever seen—it had a face that caved into its massive head at the nose and bulbous eyes that were set so far apart it couldn’t even look straight. Girls love cute pets, right? How Yamamoto–san thought he could win your affections by dumping such a burden on you is still a mystery till this day. Clearly, he didn’t think much of an animal’s life. But because he was spending just enough at Murasaki, your only choice was to take the hideous pest off his hands. You excused yourself and headed for the pet shop immediately.

I’d like to make a return, you told the staff at XJ Land, setting the little runt down. I can’t care for it.

Maybe you should’ve thought about that before you got him. The man at the counter barely hid his disdain. Sorry, but this isn’t a place for fickle returns.

Someone gave it to me—I didn’t ask for this. You didn’t appreciate his tone but you understood the sentiments behind it. You matched his face to some pictures on the shelves behind and concluded that he owned the shop. C’mon, Matsuno-san, you read from his name-tag, cocking your head in the way that guaranteed you another round of drinks from your clients. I’m just thinking about what’s best for this dog. He’ll be better off back in those arms of yours… Won’t you take him in? Can’t you consider it a favour?

The young man sighed, muttering something extreme under his breath about how humans deserve nothing good, but picked the puppy up with blushing cheeks nonetheless. Do you have the certificate of ownership? Or the receipt?

Well, no, you replied rather sheepishly, I was simply told this is the shop he’s from.

He shook his head and inspected the tiny dog in an attempt to identify it. You couldn't help but notice that even though he was being perfectly gentle and careful, the animal was frightened to its bones from being handled by yet another stranger. It bore its sad, pathetic eyes into yours, as if trying to worm its way into your heart. Too bad, you almost sneered, but that old trick won't work on me.

And yet, you couldn't look away.

Sorry, lady, but he isn’t from my shop, Matsuno finally said. You’ll need to check with whoever bought him again. Or better yet, why don’t you give him a chance?

I can’t take care of a pet in my life now. But neither could you risk offending Yamamoto-san, though your respect for him had all but vanished. Are you sure he isn’t from here?

I know every single one of my pets, and I only have pedigrees so far. He tried to calm the puppy down with a hug. This little guy looks like a Jatzu.

It was still shivering. What’s a Jatzu?

A cross between a Japanese Chin and Shih Tzu, he answered, then sized you up and ventured: It’s a ‘designer’ dog, if you care about that sorta thing. You couldn’t blame him for his assumption because you knew how you appeared with your dress and make-up.

This dog doesn’t look anything like a Shih Tzu, you retorted. Your mother used to talk about keeping one in her village a long, long time ago, so you were aware of the breed. Looks like pure Chin to me. How can you tell?

Your question lifted the frown off Matsuno, who fortunately took it as a sign of interest rather than an accusation. He proceeded to demonstrate by pointing out the length of its body and shortness of its legs. Something about the texture of its coat too. The more he spoke, the brighter his blue eyes shone, and soon it became too late for you to stop him from sharing everything he knew about the dog. By the time he remembered to breathe, he’d delivered a full pitch about why you should bring it home. Even you had to admire how hard he was trying to sell a product that wasn’t even his in the first place.

Did you know? Both the Chin and Shih Tzu were once treated as royal pets in East Asia, he added excitedly. The Shih Tzu were especially precious to the Chinese for bringing good luck and fortune. See this white patch between his eyes? That’s where the Buddha kissed him. That makes him a blessed dog who’ll protect you from evil!

What a load of bull. If that were true, your mother never would’ve met your father. Your aunt, who presumably shared the same dog in their village, would've won more than she lost at every casino she went to. Your life could've turned out entirely different—maybe you wouldn't even exist! This misfortune is intergenerational. You’ve got a pretty useless cousin somewhere, huh? you thought wryly at the mutt, catching its pitiful gaze again. Trust me, pal, you don’t want in on my life. There’s nothing good for you here.

It gave a small whine, which you'd liked to think was mere coincidence, and Matsuno ran a soothing palm over its massively deformed head. It really was an ugly dog. You simply couldn’t find anything adorable about it. In fact, it was a painful sight, looking like it was bred to suffer. Its marbly eyes were always watery, likely from the discomfort of sticking so far out its skull, and it was hard to fathom how it could eat or drink from its flat face without choking. Even breathing must've been a chore with how squashed its nose was! And this was a designer dog, wasn’t it? So, this anatomical tragedy was by design, by fancy!

You could empathise now: this poor creature was born to live out a nightmare. All because a couple of humans wanted something to love. An existence so wantonly bestowed!

Sucks, doesn’t it? you felt like saying. Before you knew it, your heart had gone out to it completely.

Tell you what, onē-san. A man sidled up to Matsuno and slung an arm over his shoulder. A tattoo peeked out from his turtleneck. We’ll let you leave him here if you also leave us your LINE. How about that?

Dude! Matsuno hissed. You’re at work!

What? Don’t we need someone to call if anything goes wrong? The other young man smirked deviously, the mole below his right eye bending. Man, you have no sense for business. Here you are, getting a fancy new dog to sell at zero cost, and you're turning it away.

Seriously, if you don't shut the hell up—

Matsuno never got to finish his threat. Without thinking, you had taken the puppy off his hands. Strange. It didn’t feel so warm and soft when you were holding it before. It stilled upon your touch, wagged its skinny tail and seemed to grin victoriously while it panted. I’ve got you now! it’d probably like to say. Don’t you think we can make each others’ lives better? And just like that, you caved in like rotting wood.

A blessing, huh? you said, giving a small tap on its wet, sputtering nose. I guess I’ll take your word for it, Matsuno-san—

The red flash of a traffic light hits your eyes and your van groans to a halt.

“Say, Pierre-kun, you're running out of food. Why don't we make a stop by XJ Land after this?" you offer, to which the dog barks happily in agreement. It's amusing how much of a personality he's grown since you both left the pet shop that day. "If you and I really go at it, we can make Matsuno-san give us a discount."

While pedestrians are still gliding across your windscreen, you turn to the back of your van to check the boxes left in it: only a couple more to drop off at—you quickly consult your phone—Chiyoda Ward. You succumb to a groan.

Chiyoda is a little out of your way, so there will be less time you can spend at the store before you must head for Murasaki. The bigger problem at hand, though, is that the packages are due at Marunouchi district in Chiyoda, where most of your clients from the club work at. Things will get sticky if any one of them is to spot you unloading boxes from your van. It won't take them long to figure out the kind of day job you hold. You’re supposed to deliver fantasies and dreams, Mama will seethe, not online purchases or some hikikomori’s second lunch! She may even throw in a slap for good measure. Murasaki does not forbid its girls to moonlight—god knows that some of you need to—but Mama has driven her contempt for it into everybody’s heads. Men climb mountains to see the tennyō who live in heaven, you once heard her telling a girl who no longer works at the club. Do you think they’ll still do so if they can just find one at a fucking Seven-Eleven, cashing in their change? Do you think they’ll even want to anymore?

Well, that much you must agree with Mama. Utsu and Yū and the women of Murasaki aren’t supposed to exist in the real world. But with the lion’s share of your salary going to her and the Mara-kai, you needed a second job, and a girl clutching only a high-school diploma didn’t have many options. Service jobs like store-keeping or waitressing were out of the question—you will never have the strength to deal with human beings all day and all night.

You were drawing crosses on job listings when a delivery man rang your door to hand you some toys you’d bought Pierre, and you noticed he wasn't wearing a uniform. Yes, m’am, anyone can do freelance delivery, the young man answered with a blush, demonstrating on his phone how you can start. Shortly after, you bought a minivan for cheap at a second-hand dealer and ever since, you’ve been driving around the city and ringing doorbells on your afternoons. The payout is just enough to cover your meals and utilities, but there isn’t much to complain about: you get to work on your own hours (or not), and with the company of your dog. Really, the only fly in the ointment is the worry of someone asking if you also work at Murasaki—but you figure you can slip under the radar with drab clothes and a bare face.

As you turn into the grove of steel towers and skyscrapers, your glove box buzzes with a ring. Your stomach drops when you remember that it's where you kept your work phone—the one you use for Murasaki. Shit. Were you somehow already seen? Did some passer-by catch a glance while crossing before your van? Fuck! You'll never hear the end of it from Mama. The old shrew may even take a bigger cut off your earnings as punishment! Suddenly, you are stricken with regret. You should have cancelled those bloody requests when you had the chance!

"What a coincidence, Yamamoto-san," you answered, disguising your nervous voice as a coy one. Yamamoto-san is a director at a financial firm, so you know his office is in the area. “I was just thinking about you.”

“Oh, hey, Utsu.” He sounds a little curt, like he's still figuring out the best way to confront you. “Really? What are you doing now?”

The red light turns green, and you find an alley to pull over at. “I’m just at the pet store with Pierre-chan, which was why you crossed my mind.”

“Right. Anyway, listen. What’s going on at Murasaki?”

“What do you mean?”

“Mama-san just told me she’s cancelling our appointment on Tanabata. My friend—Sawada, you’ve met him—got the same call too for his date with Aoi. What’s this about?”

Your delivery job is still in the bag! But what Yamamoto-san has said is too puzzling for you to enjoy the relief. It's come out of the blue entirely. "I wasn't informed. Is there a mistake? As far as I know, you're still my eight o'clock on the seventh."

"No, we even got a message about it in black and white. Don’t you women communicate?”

"You must be really important to Murasaki if Mama's told you this before me." That utter cow! Leaving a mess like this to clear! You're curious about the reason behind these sudden cancellations. Concerned. But still you decide not to ask to avoid stoking Yamamoto-san's fire. "I apologise for this. I'll check with her. I trust that she's also offered you some sort of compensation?"

"Yeah… Store credit for a half-hour session."

"I'll throw in some Yamazaki too, how about that?"

"Fine. Make it an 18-year bottle at least."

You roll your eyes at Pierre. This old fogey must be out of his depth if he thinks he's worth that much. Still, you agree just so you can hang up quickly. The bartenders at Murasaki will know how to swap it with something cheap.

"Utsu, the free whiskey is nice and all, but what I really wanted was to spend Tanabata with you, you know?" he added in a cottony tone. "It's a night for lovers, after all."

"That makes the both of us, Yamamoto-san," you say, instead of suggesting that he spends it with his goddamn wife. "I'm so sorry, but Pierre-chan's getting frisky with another dog. I'll contact you again to reschedule, alright? Goodbye!"

Pierre lets out an indignant huff, and you pet his head in apology for using his name so unjustly.

You remember to breathe again. It’s not too much of a mystery when you think about it: Aoi pulls in the most sales for Murasaki and you come up second—some fat cat must’ve insisted on booking out the club’s top girls. It’s happened before, and Mama was also brusque in informing everyone then. Which zaibatsu scion is it this time? Or could it be a celebrity? Well, whoever walks through the door that night better bring some new faces and wallets with them. It’s proving to be hard for you to fish three-million yen from your current roster of clients.

As if to thwart the ease that’s settled, your phone rings once more. But instead of a call, it is now exploding with messages. A cold, unpleasant hunch tells you that the Tanabata thing is bigger than you thought, and you raise the screen up to your eyes to prove it true: customers are complaining left and right about the abrupt cancellation of their appointments. They’re not the only ones either. Your colleagues are also voicing their bewilderment in the group chat, assuming some kind of grievous error on the club’s website. Even second-tier hostesses like Atsuko have all their meetings struck off, and they worry about their fickle clients turning to another club for the night.

This is unprecedented. Murasaki has never once been booked out in its entirety. Mama will never give her customers a reason to visit other establishments, and there is simply more to earn from multiple parties than just one. Her heels are dug firmly in the ground when it comes to business. You feel sick, guts wringing bile up your throat. Like an eclipse upon light, it dawns slowly: the name for which Mama has bent her own iron rules for.

Bonten.

Is there something to be made of this glowering sky? Kakuchō is not a superstitious man and yet he cannot perceive these dark clouds as anything but ominous. It'd been sunny all day with no sign of precipitation, but as soon as he entered the car, thunder began to roll. Normally, this jarring turn of weather wouldn't throw him off, but as it's happened right before Bonten's meeting with the Mara-kai, Kakuchō cannot help but wonder if it might be an indication of sorts. In the end, he supposes with a bit of humility that even he is not immune to the dread of meeting the most dangerous man in Japan—especially when they are soon to take one of his most important assets: the hostess club Murasaki.

"Lighten up, will you?" drawls Ran from the seat beside. His lazy smile is bright in contrast to the brewing storm. "It's sacrilege to walk into a club with a glum face."

"We're walking into business," Kakuchō retorts, narrowing his eyes at the glass of whiskey in Ran's hand. "You can be a little less relaxed about this."

Ran responds pointedly with a sip of alcohol. When they were all younger, it grated on Kakuchō how unfazed Ran could bring himself to be about the world. No matter what kind of pinch he was in, Ran’s air of nonchalance was unwavering. He’d always figure out a way to make light of his situation and smile. Did he truly not care? Was he just that confident about himself? Or could it really be what Izana said, that he was an idiot and had once again let his head drift off to the clouds? In any case, it annoyed Kakuchō, who often took things seriously. These days however, as it becomes harder and harder to sleep without a gun by his bed, Kakuchō finds this quality of Ran somewhat enviable.

"Rindō and Mocchi just got to the club,” Ran breaks the silence again, reading off his phone. He taps on the headrest of their chauffeur, who immediately apologises for his slow driving. “Rindō already has playlists for Murasaki. Have you heard them?”

“Yes. And you should stop him from playing them if you want the club to profit.”

“Well, I happen to like some of his tracks…” Ran appears to mull. “But I must say it’s not the vibe for Murasaki. It’ll be your first time there tonight, won’t it?”

Kakuchō refuses to answer, which satisfies Ran all the same.

“You’ll have your pick of girls, or you can leave it to the mama," he explains, finishing his last swig of whiskey as their car turns into the Azabu-Jūban district. “She’s got an eye for choosing the right one.”

“I know how a hostess club works.”

“I never said that you didn’t. Oh, I’ll let you meet my girl too.”

“Didn’t ask to.”

“You know, I can’t wait to tell her who her new bosses are." A sinister sort of smile spreads across Ran’s lips. “She’s going to lose it.”

Kakuchō rolls his eyes, hoping that his colleague will remember where their priorities are at the moment. “Will the mama be working for us as well?”

“Presumably, because she works for Murasaki. Just like a CEO working for a new board. But her loyalties seem to lie with Tanida…" Ran trails off, gazing out of the window now. The Mori Tower passes his view—they're getting close to their destination. “Murasaki will be ours, for sure, but it won’t be worth as much if Mama-san doesn't have our interests at heart. We'll talk to the Mara-kai about this later."

Kakuchō feels urged to mention that something like that should've already been discussed. It is common sense that a club is only as valuable as the mama who runs it, and from what he’s heard, there lives no mama who’s made as much money as the one in Murasaki. But he also sees no point in starting the conversation when they're about to alight, so he decides against his comment. It's not like he's in the right position to speak, anyway; it'll be like telling a fish how it should swim. The Haitani Brothers were practically put on earth to run Tokyo’s nightlife—there was never any question about who was to lead Bonten’s foray into the trade. Even though he outranks Ran, Kakuchō knows to hold his tongue when it comes to that business.

After a series of turns, their driver finally pulls into a quiet street. It appears that night has since crept up, unnoticed amidst the dark rain clouds.

Takeomi’s mentioned that Murasaki was once a dingy snack bar in the basement of an old wooden shophouse. It’s not something anyone will guess of the sleek, steel-reinforced building that stands before Kakuchō now. In fact, it hardly resembles any establishment of that sort. Blinding neon signs, fast-talking touts and even garish menus of the ladies on shift—hostess and cabaret clubs are rarely shy about what they are. Even modest ones will sneak in the word 'girls' somewhere on their storefronts to let the men of the world know just what they are really selling.

But Murasaki is none of those. Its glass and concrete façade blends well with the other buildings in Roppongi-itchōme, where major offices and foreign embassies are close, almost as if to present itself as one of them. Any indication of its true order of business is contained in a small sign at its porch, which only spells the romaji of its name in backlit brass letters. Still, it can easily pass off as a restaurant’s plaque to passers-by who don’t know any better.

So—this is Murasaki. It is as unassuming as a club can be, but Kakuchō supposes the inconspicuousness is appreciated by most clients.

“Sanzu-sama’s car will be arriving in fifteen minutes, and the boss will take another ten,” notifies a subordinate as he shelters Kakuchō with an umbrella. Hardly a necessary gesture when they can reach the club’s entrance in just a few steps, but Kakuchō’s been told to accustom himself to the executive treatment. Noone’s gonna look up to you if you don’t put yourself higher than them, said Takeomi when he caught Kakuchō telling a lackey he can open his own doors. The advice still doesn’t sit well—partly because it came from a man once ruined by hubris—but Kakuchō understands the need to be commanding. He enters the foyer, where Ran is already waiting.

“Party’s on the fourth floor for us,” he informs. Ran is, of course, referring to themselves and the other Bonten executives. “All our other guys will be having fun in the atrium. Mama-san’s cleared the whole place out for us. Isn’t she nice?”

“Or she could be laying a trap,” frowns Kakuchō, prompting the other man to sigh. “Pretty convenient to have us all in the same place at once, don’t you think?”

“We’ve been through this… Have a little faith,” Ran pats him on the shoulder, the mild exasperation in his tone warning him not to continue. He turns to the concierge, who greets them with obsequious familiarity. “Good evening, Koremitsu-san. Big night, huh?”

“We humbly look forward to your guidance, Haitani-sama. I’d toast to you, but I am on the job.” Koremitsu, if that is his real name at all, bows deeply. In bronze letters, the wall behind him boldly reads: there are as many sorts of women as there are women. “Mama-san is at the VIP lounges with your brother and Mochizuki-sama.”

“And Utsu?"

"Still getting ready, the last I heard…" He dials a telephone on his desk and whispers into it, vaguely annoyed. "I apologise. You know how she likes to take her time for you."

"And you know how I'd gladly wait for her."

Ran has always held the passing of seasons and women in the same regard—Kakuchō knows this of his friend, but in seeing the grin he's flashed, wonders if the man is now capable of real attachment.

“Well, instead of waiting, why don’t you sample our new shipment of Dom Peris?” Koremitsu offers, rubbing his hands together. “Mama-san would also like you to pick the champagne for tonight.”

“Now that is a job for me,” Ran gleefully agrees, wasting no time in following the concierge to a door on their right. Clearly, he has no qualms about leaving Kakuchō at all. “Elevator’s down that hallway,” he points out, waving over his shoulder as he disappears just like that. “See you at the fourth floor in a bit, brawler!”

It is now Kakuchō’s turn to sigh, which is the most he can do about that rascal, anyway. The Aigner on his wrist tells him that Mikey and Takeomi are due to arrive, Sanzu and Kokonoi even sooner, so he settles to make his way up as Ran instructed. Once inside, Murasaki reveals itself as a different world entirely. Kakuchō is not a man of culture and neither does he pretend to be one, but even he can recognise a couple of the western paintings hung around the walls. It becomes apparent from every piece of furniture and artwork that the club was designed to flaunt Tanida’s wealth. A little too extravagant for his own tastes, but definitely something right up the Haitanis' alley.

The passage Kakuchō's been sent to is washed in black, which makes the walk seem longer than it should. By the time he reaches the metal doors at the end of it, he feels as though he’s walked into a different plane altogether. Kakuchō, unrelentingly cautious, beckons for three of his subordinates to follow him into the elevator. He quickly regrets it when the space turns out to be too tight of a squeeze for four built men—a sly trick, apparently: according to Rindō, it gives the hostesses an excuse to cosy up. How Mikey will take to being packed in this tin can later is a problem he cannot help but worry about. The boss has always needed his space from others.

The ride is soon interrupted at the second floor. Someone else is on their way up too, though Kakuchō doubts they’ll have much luck getting in with how his guards have walled themselves around him. The doors slide open and they see a young woman waiting on the other side: while her dress and make-up are more subtle than the other girls he's been brought to, she is unmistakably a hostess.

"Oh, please excuse me…" she mumbles in surprise, the crowd catching her off guard. Her expression suggests that she wouldn’t have entered even if the space allowed her to anyway. "I'll take the next one."

One of the guards grunts an apology while the other two release the guns by their waists. They are disciplined enough to keep their faces steely, but Kakuchō can sense their disappointment about her leaving—even he has noticed how lovely the woman is. Kakuchō has always been somewhat proud of being level-headed, so this compulsion to stare at her is becoming quite the bother. Under the soft glow of the elevator light: her eyes, her nose, her cheeks, her lips—Ah, shit… By the time the doors have closed, he is cursing himself for learning the full map of her face. At some point his heart has also quickened, beating as though it is on the verge of an answer to some great question, and he is left to dwell on its betrayal as the elevator ascends.

The fourth floor introduces itself with a blast of amber light and a pungent mix of cigarette smoke and perfume. Though he still has a corridor to pass, Kakuchō can well imagine from the raucous laughter that Rindō, Mocchi and their trusted men have already succumbed to the club’s hospitalities. Those idiots… Just save Tanida the trouble and roll over, why don't they? Has it ever occurred to anyone else that the Mara-kai can still be a threat? Apparently, age does not represent wisdom, and therein lies the reason why Bonten is led by its three youngest members. He presses on with his journey into the private lounge.

“So, this is Bonten’s Number Three… Where've you been hiding all this while?" It doesn't take long for the shark to circle in. An older woman—the mama, he presumes—purrs, teeth gleaming at the scent of fresh blood. She turns to Rindō, who’s joined them to make the introduction. "Why haven't you brought this stud to my club before?"

"Hey, aniki and I tried our best, but Kakuchō here is not that sorta guy," he explains with air quotes, smirking. It's obvious from his loose speech that he's already drunk more than he should. "Seriously, it's like he's sworn a vow at a monastery or something."

Are the Haitani Brothers genetically predisposed to get on his nerves? Kakuchō wishes that Rindō would at least have the sense to keep his mind clear before an important meeting, but he supposes that even sense in general is too much to ask from a fool. Seeing that his best course of action is to simply ignore Rindō, he gives the mama a curt nod. "Our business is in your care."

"Ah, I know the stoic type well," she remarks, eyeing him up and down as she sips on her long pipe. "I have just the girl you need, but I'd rather give my customers a choice. So, anyone you like? What's your eye for beauty?"

If it was truly up to him, Kakuchō would very much like to be in the company of his guards only. But as the saying about Rome goes… He seeks the expanse of the lounge for someone to pick, only to realise that he is already bound to a choice. At once, the young woman from the elevator comes to mind. The dim lights then have left an unreliable rendering of her hair and he wasn't very observant about what she wore, but everything else about her is burning starkly behind his eyes. It seems that her face has filled his head entirely and spared no space for anything else. But how does one begin to describe a face? It is perhaps as hard, if not harder, to put into words as a feeling.

“So?” Rindō slings a probing arm over his shoulders, teeming with anticipation not unlike a paparazzi in wait for a scoop. He must’ve guessed from Kakuchō’s hesitation that there is a genuine answer at stake. So smug is his shit-eating grin that, despite himself, Kakuchō is resolved to deny him any further satisfaction instead. “Anyone will do,” he grunts to the mama, the decision leaving a rather bitter taste on his tongue.

"Hmm, thought as much… There's no need to be shy, you know?" Smoke swells from her nose, and she motions for a hostess waiting by the bar to come over. "This is Rokujō, and she'll lead you out of your shell by the hand."

"Call me Jō," the hostess insists, bowing slowly so that both men will not miss how full her breasts are. He immediately detects a difference in age between them, and it strikes Kakuchō that Jō is one of the more mature women of the lot. Is that what the mama thought of him? He cannot find it in himself to protest, so he greets his companion politely and lets her fill the space by his arm. What does it matter, anyway, when he isn’t here to enjoy himself in the first place? Still, he cannot suppress his growing dismay for how the night is turning out.

Rindō grumbles in disappointment at how boring Kakuchō is determined to be and leaves with the mama for a livelier corner of the room, where Mocchi has made himself at home with an armful of girls. Kakuchō is instead steered away to a quieter corner by Jō, who must've either sensed his preference for it or is planning to keep him all to herself. Both reasons may also be at play together. Her courtship proceeds formulaically: she praises how hard his biceps are, twice, refills his drink, and attempts to learn all there is to know about him. He entertains her sparingly.

Jō is undeniably beautiful but not beautiful in a way that frustrates him, and that is why she cannot stop him from glancing at the lounge’s doors every so often. He doesn’t mean to be rude, but duty has to come first: Mikey is to appear any time now. Tanida too, if everyone is keeping to the plan. However, as the minutes tick by, it becomes harder and harder to pretend that the unease spreading between his lungs is caused by anything but the possibility of never meeting the woman from the elevator again. Could it be that she was heading for the third floor instead of the fourth? Was she assigned somewhere else at the last minute? Will he see her again? With all these pointless questions clouding his mind, Kakuchō can feel himself slipping into a pathetic state. The last time he felt so reduced was when he'd been seventeen and still a boy. Because the girl in question was something special, he can accept the torment he was put through then, but, now, for a woman he's barely met...? Beauty alone has never been enough to sway Kakuchō of Bonten—why should that change?

"Utsu, you little tart. You were supposed to be here thirty minutes ago!"

"Sorry, Mama. I was getting ready."

The mama's distinct tenor voice breaks his reverie but it is the softer one after it that holds his attention. Helpless to the familiar call of the sound, he looks up and his eyes land on her immediately despite the flock of bodies in the room: the woman, by the door! She is bent in a slight bow—presumably one of apology to the mama—and so her face is still partially concealed, but Kakuchō has no doubt about who she is. He's even developed a strange confidence that he’d be able to recognise her anywhere, like he's known her for a long time.

The woman straightens herself, bringing her features into the light, and something between his lungs moves. Stirring, fluttering, thrashing, writhing—Kakuchō cannot tell how it is moving exactly, only that it cannot be stopped. It takes him to a realisation he should've arrived at a long time before, and by the time he's caught a clear view of her face, Kakuchō knows deep in his bones what he must do.

He must not let her slip away again, not the way he did eight years ago.

Embarrassing: you still wring your fingers into knots when you are nervous. Didn’t you leave this bad habit behind in your girlhood with the rest of it? Or have you simply not been nervous enough for it to surface? Whatever the case is, this shameful display is unbecoming of you, so you summon Mama’s advice to mind and cross your arms to keep your hands from moving.

“How about this?”

You look up and the only thing you see in the mirror is the searing glare of your hairdresser. Chū Reika has been giving blowouts to the girls of Murasaki for nine years and is only ever thanked for it. Therefore, you can see where her temper is coming from when you request that she changes your hairstyle, again, for the fifth time.

“You know you look fine!” she seethes, obviously harbouring a desire to scalp you then and there. “Are you messing with me?!”

“I think I want an up-do after all…” you pretend to mull, fingering the loose waves falling on your shoulder. Chū throws her hands up in defeat and moves to pack her brushes, so you dig around your wallet for something to win her back with. “C��mon, Chū-jie. It’s a special night. I just want to look my best.”

The other hostesses refer to her by Chū-nē out of affection, but you prefer to use the Mandarin equivalent that is ‘jie’. Chū Reika landed on the shores of Japan a decade ago to escape the poverty of her village in China—a rather common story you’ve heard. Her Japanese has since grown to be impeccable but she has yet to find a way to mask her unusual intonation. Most other girls cannot tell where it’s coming from, but because your mother had given you an ear for the Chinese accent, you could ask where her provincial hometown is right off the bat of your first meeting—in the language she is most natural with. To tell the truth, you didn’t really care for the information, but you reckoned it'd be helpful to endear yourself to the hairdresser.

“Stop lying, I know you’re just dragging time.” Chū sighs, considerately switching to Mandarin when calling your intentions out even though there is no one else around. She pinches the five-thousand-yen note from your hand and gets to work again. “Your hair will fry, you know.”

Chū has hit the nail on the head but you don't praise her for it. A week ago, some time after your call with Yamamoto-san, Mama made the executive order for every hostess to punch in on the night of Tanabata. "We're reserving the club for some very important guests” was all she indulged, but word had somehow gotten out that Murasaki is changing hands and the event is meant to welcome the new owners. You are capable of simple arithmetic so it didn’t take long for you to conclude that the Mara-kai had sold to Bonten, and from the moment you summed that up, you’ve been afflicted with a sinking feeling in the pits of your stomach. What will happen to you? What will Tanida do with you? Now that it is Tanabata, the gutting ache is at its height. You'd woken up at mid-day wishing you could hide the night out under your quilt, but because Mama has ruled that out as an option, you were left with the next best thing to do: delay it.

The phone in the dressing room rings just as Chū is about to pin your last clump of loose hair, and she leaves to answer it only when the noise has grown too annoying to bear. You don't need to hear the angry hissing of the receiver to know what the call is about. It's half an hour past the time you were ordered to be on the fourth floor—Koremitsu must've been tasked with summoning you there, probably by Mama or Ran. That utter tool. You've never liked his snivelling, grovelling ways.

“Well, this is the best I can do,” Chū tells you as she finishes her job. The previous hairstyle suits you better, but in your best interests you keep that to yourself and give your thanks instead. Besides, there is something strangely gratifying about not looking your best for the night. To hell with Mama. To hell with Ran! With any luck, the last-minute styling may even dampen your appeal to that greasebag. When he was a customer, you could at the very least count on the good old excuse of club etiquette to keep him at arm's length. But now that Ran's the fucking boss, he is free to step over all the rules and become as much of a pain as he wants. Can’t you be allowed even a single respite in life? Can’t the gods show you mercy for once?

So indignant you are at the perversity of it all that you don’t even realise you’ve called for an elevator. The sudden beeping startles you into awareness, and you’re glad that it did before you can walk into the wall of meat that is practically spilling out the doors. Ah, right. Mama did warn that Murasaki will be welcoming more testosterone and muscle tonight, but even then it did nothing to prepare you for the shock of having three large men scowl down at you.

“Oh, please excuse me…” you take a step back to appease them, who you’ve identified as bodyguards from their plain dressing and defensive stance. “I’ll take the next one."

These men must be from Bonten, but unlike Ran’s guards who always seemed to care more about your tits than their boss’s safety, these three golems appear to be actually competent at their job. You attribute their discipline to the man brooding quietly behind them. He is a little smaller in stature, but the authority exuding from his stern gaze is definitely one of a leader. The closing doors have stolen your chance to catch a proper look, but the hasty glimpse you’ve snuck of him shows dark hair and what resembles a large scar across his left eye. The sight comes accompanied by a sense of familiarity, but you dismiss it easily because there’s no way you’d forget a Bonten member like that.

The next elevator comes soon enough—too soon, in fact—and you brace yourself for the night of torture. It shortly begins with fierce shrieking from Mama.

"Utsu, you little tart,” she rounds in as you enter the lounge, spitting smoke all over your face. “You were supposed to be here thirty minutes ago!"

“Sorry, Mama,” you bow, not minding that there isn't a shred of the sentiment carried in your tone. “I was getting ready.”

“Oh, were you?” You can tell from her constipated expression that she’s torn between yelling at you more or letting you go. Mama hates to flog at dead horses so she settles on the latter with a sigh, making sure to clip you in the shoulder as she leaves. “Ran is coming up soon. Prepare yourself.”

You don’t suppose she's left a sympathetic sort of meaning to her instruction, but the idea amuses you nonetheless. That, and Ran’s absence itself, lift your spirits enough for you to power through with your job. You walk over to the bartender to place an order for Ran’s favourite drink, going by a roundabout way to avoid Rindō, who is presently egging on a blonde, goateed man in his endeavour to chug a full bottle of whiskey straight. Another Bonten executive, you presume from his flashy, moss-green suit and the throng of your colleagues he's gathered. How many of them are there, again? Four, seven executives? Well, you don't care enough to recall. You'll find out soon, anyway.

The bartender nods and smiles in greeting as you approach the counter, but his eyes are distant—the courtesy is meant for someone behind. You turn around to face the tall, imposing figure looming over your back.

Dark hair and a scarred eye: it's that man from the elevator.

Though the intensity of his gaze suggests that he's been staring at you for a while, he looks to be even more surprised than you are about the meeting, like it never occurred to him that he'd see you again. Normally, you'd instantly peg him as some kind of creep for displaying such an odd demeanour and set the bouncers on him, but for some strange, inexplicable reason, you empathise with his shock instead. It doesn't take you long to connect it to that sense of familiarity you felt when you first saw his face, which has now returned in an overwhelming wave.

“Nikaidō.” Breath escapes him and he looks relieved, as though your name is something he’s lost and found. The confidence he declared it with, however, falters by the time of his next question. He points to the streak across his eye. “Do you remember me?”

Upon his bid, the world gives way to this man before you. The haze of eight years starts to thin, and slowly he takes on the shape of that boy outside your door, the one who so earnestly asked if he’d see you again. He’s been made unfamiliar by a taut face, longer hair and a sleek, dark suit—but because this is someone you once learned by touch, you have no doubt about who he is. A name gathers at the tip of your tongue, like a song once beloved.

“Kakuchō.” You’re smiling before you know it. “I’d remember you even without that scar.”

Never have you spoken truer words in your time at Club Murasaki.

Glossary of Terms / References Used | Next Chapter TBC

A/N: It's been a hot minute and I apologise for that! Several things going on here in this primarily MC-centric chapter, I hope you enjoyed the little reveals about her life! I promise, her background is plot-relevant. Oh, and I guess her reunion with Kakucho is in this too, huh! :P As always comments and reblogs and tag-coments will be loved till the end of time!

#tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers fanfiction #kakucho #haitani ran #haitani rindou #matsuno chifuyu #hanemiya kazutora #kakucho x oc #kakucho x reader #haitani ran x reader #haitani ran x oc #ran haitani x reader #ran haitani x oc #bonten #mochizuki kanji #akashi takeomi #requital of a crane

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