#hopefully I can get to watch a hidden life or the counterfeiters next time

[namazunomegami]

Yesterday I finished Munich The edge of war with my mom. My love for August Diehl won’t get out of hand this time

[thewildwilds]

We’re Runners

A little ficlet for @artsy-dragoness for the very beautiful fanart she drew for this AU!!!

And uh… I’m sorry, this is technically out of chronological order from what’s currently happening with this ‘verse, but uuuuh, hopefully I’ll catch up to it soon?? Consider it a little preview I guess.

Also Gambler/Yakuza AU is gonna undergo some Changes. I’ll post about it soon (hopefully).

Even as prolific as they are, it’s not impossible to find a casino that isn’t Pekoyama-operated. They’re small, sure, and usually hidden in some residential area, masquerading as a respectable home or business. It’s a far cry from the fancy bars and elaborate underground set-ups the Pekoyamas and other big-name gangs got going on. Fuyuhiko doesn’t mind them so much, really. He got his start in seedy casinos and back alley gambling rings, and he likes to remember his roots.

A little gambling house doesn’t necessarily mean a smaller turnout though. The gamblers risk just as much, whether they’re hoodlums or salarymen, and everyone brings cash. He foregoes the virtual gambling machines in favor of the private poker room. It’s more fun when he’s got a face to put to the cash, and sometimes the pot is still just as sweet.

They don’t know him by his face, and at that point, it’s easy to offer up a fake name and some counterfeit identification. After that, he just lets the night run its course.

“Wow! Looks like I won. Lucky me!” he says airily, sweeping up the wrinkly bills piled on the table. It wasn’t hard convincing them he didn’t know what he was doing, but not everything has to be a challenge, and besides, it’s funny to see the looks of disbelief on three different faces.

“Well, better get going while the going’s still good, you know what I mean? Better luck next time, gentlemen. Good tidings and all that.”

He stuffs the entire wad into his pocket and starts to leave, but before he can reach the door, a large hand drops onto his shoulder and spins him back around. “Wait a minute.”

“Hey. I won fair and square,” Fuyuhiko says, holding up his hands. “Nothing up my sleeves, see?”

“You little shit. Nobody fucking hustles me!”

“I’m just as surprised as you! Didn’t think I’d get this far. Beginner’s luck, maybe?”

The guy is big, wide around the shoulders, and at least a foot taller than him, probably more. Still, Fuyuhiko’s mouth runs faster than his brain can keep up.

“You know, if you spent more time actually minding your cards rather than scratching your ass, maybe you wouldn’t be nursing such a heavy loss.”

“Why you little—” The guy rears back and takes a swing at him, but he’s slow and he telegraphs it so much that it’s easy to duck under his giant fist. Fuyuhiko dances in and out of the goon’s reach until he gets bored and delivers a hardy swing, right to the guy’s throat. He doubles over, choking.

That’s pretty much all it takes to start it up. The scantily-clad waitresses scatter out of the room, shrieking. Another gambler goes at him, fists flying. Fuyuhiko twists out of the way and gives him a good punt in the gut, because why not. The guy falls onto the rickety card table and causes the whole thing to collapse. The last guy tries too, and when he overextends and stumbles forward, Fuyuhiko grabs the bottom of the guy’s coat, yanks it over his head, and shoves him into the nearest table, littered with used whiskey glasses.

The room’s a mess of splinters and bodies and scattered cards, but he got what he came for, so there’s no reason to stay. In one fluid motion, Fuyuhiko’s out the door and closing it behind him.

It’s not that he didn’t expect this type of response, only that it’d be a heck of a lot easier had it not come to it. While he speed-walks down the hall to the front door, he digs his phone of his pocket and punches in the first speed-dial.

“Hey,” he says. “I’m gonna need a quick ride outta here.”

“Of course you are,” Natsumi groans. “Thanks for the heads-up, by the way, bastard. Luckily I’ve got way more foresight than your sorry ass. She’s waiting outside, around the corner. I told her if you didn’t make it in five minutes you were probably dead, so move your ass.”

Natsumi hangs up.

Easy enough. Just out the door and he’ll be out of here in no time. But right when he turns the corner, he sees three hulking goons—three angry hulking goons—heading his way. One of them slowly pulls a pistol from his coat.

“Aw shit,” Fuyuhiko hisses under his breath. He spins on his heel and backtracks quickly. He can hear the guys pick up the pace behind him, so he does too, ducking into an open room and locking the door behind him.

“Just my luck,” he groans, hauling a bureau in front of the door for extra measure. They’re pounding on the door right now, and it won’t be long before they get past his half-assed barricade too. He scans the room quickly and makes for the window. There’s a balcony outside. He clamors onto it, making sure his clothes don’t catch on the frame, and looks over the railing.

By some miracle, Peko and her bodyguards are just down below, waiting by the running car. “Just my luck,” he repeats, smiling.

“Hey!” he yells over the rail. “Up here!” Peko looks up, and he grins down at her. “I’m coming down! Catch me, okay?”

“You have got to be kidding me,” she says, but she doesn’t move from her spot. One of her bodyguards—Genji, he thinks his name is—offers to do the job, but Peko doesn’t listen.

He swings one leg over the rail, then the other. Behind him, he can hear the guys smashing the door open. He only takes a few seconds to orient himself before hopping right off, one hand slapped over his hat to keep it from flying away.

She catches him, like he fully expects her to, arms curling under his knees and back. It’s not a far drop, and she barely buckles under his weight. Their eyes meet, and for a moment, it’s just Peko holding him in her arms. He grins, wide and smug, and she wrinkles her nose at him.

“Aww, babydoll. Were you waiting around just to see me drop in?”

“I’m letting go,” she deadpans. She’s generous enough to give him a second to stand on his own two feet before she drops her hands—too fast, he thinks.

He’s not so generous though. He takes her by the hand, and her cheeks color beautifully. “C’mon! We gotta go.”

They duck into the car and speed off, just as the front door to the casino bursts open. The bunch of goons trip over each other stumbling out, spitting and hollering and waving their pistols. Fuyuhiko twists around in his seat and watches them grow smaller and smaller in the distance from the back window. There’s no way they’re shooting at this time of night, not in this neighborhood, and the car’s bulletproof anyway. Honestly, his cheeks are starting to ache from grinning so much.

“I wish you didn’t waste your time with those low-lives,” Peko sighs beside him, smoothing a hand over her hair. (He doesn’t know why she bothers. It’s always perfect.)

“Life’s full of risks, princess,” he says, winking at her. “It’s way more exciting when you up the stakes.” He pulls the wad of cash from his pocket and waves it in one hand. “And so lucrative, too.”

He manages to pull off one more cheeky grin before she shoves his face against the leather seat.