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lovelynim · 26 days ago

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Fanfiction

Zenless Zone Zero - Asaba Harumasa (feat. Reader x Harumasa)

A/N: I don't even know where I start to explain the idea behind this one. Well, fanfics are canon in ZZZ and Harumasa is aware his fans write fics for him so... yeah.

Summary: Harumasa is reading a fanfic at work.

Word count: 1844 words

Harumasa sighed, slouching in his chair while the report pages rested empty on top of his desk. There was still about two hours before he could finally clock out and his body simply refused to waste its energy on filling those insufferable documents.

He already had to risk his life fighting ethereals, exploring hollows and doing medical check-ups, why did he also have to worry about explaining how any of those went? Why did it even matter in the first place? They just happened, weren’t the higher ups glad enough that he saved the day?

“Asaba-kun,” a cold, firm female voice came from behind him, making Harumasa jump in his seat and sit back up straight, dragging him from his thoughts back to reality. “Are you making progress with your reports? It would be troublesome to request another deadline extension after a two month delay.”

“D-deputy chief, you scared me!” Harumasa whined softly, his hand pressing flat against his chest while he looked up to Yanagi with puppy-like eyes. “Of course I’m making progress, but it’s just so har-”

“Good,” Yanagi nodded with a smile, giving him a gentle pat on the shoulder, “I’m sure you can make it up for all the reports behind the schedule, Asaba-kun,” she added before walking away to pay some mind to whatever matter was going on with Soukaku and Miyabi.

‘So mean!’, Harumasa thought, how could the deputy chief of all people not even bother to offer him some help with that endless pile of work? He frowned, resting an elbow on top of his desk and his head on top of his hand. Well, there were still two hours, right? He could kill off some time and do that report later…

He reached for his cellphone, which was just by the side of the pile of work he was trying so hard to ignore, and mindlessly moved his thumb around the screen, drawing an arrow and unlocking the device.

Browsing through the interknot shouldn’t be that much of a big deal to most people, but things may get a little interesting when you have an army of restless fans that are chronically online, to say the least. It was still a little hard for him to believe what kind of thing his admirers would do and create: drawings, banners, edits of his fights’ footage with upbeat songs, and even fictional stories… Now that he thought about it, Harumasa was probably the one inside the Section 6 that paid the most attention to these contents: Yanagi usually brushed them off with a polite smile, not even daring to give them a second look; Miyabi didn’t understand the concept behind people’s admiration towards her; and Soukaku only cared about the gifts she could eat.

Still, while being popular could be a little troublesome at times (like when he was trying to sneak out with a certain proxy), having a legion of followers would come handy at boring moments like this. After all, Harumasa knew there would always be something to entertain himself with.

“Masa-masa enthusiasts explain why he is so cute; Check it out!”, “Ten things you didn’t know about Asaba Harumasa!”, “Harumasa caught secret dating?!”, “Harumasa spotted at the Lumina Square! See more pictures here”...

Harumasa rolled his eyes, scrolling past all the posts he deemed dumb. Why was the tag with his name filled with so many weird articles anyway? Where was the good stuff at? He let out a quiet groan, continuing to search for something that actually deserved his attention.

He continued to search, post after post, article after article, photo after photo. After a couple moments digging throughout the interknot, a post from the “Archive of Our Eridu” caught his attention. Finally some good fan made content, Harumasa through, smirking slightly as he clicked the link and opened it.

“‘Harumasa/Reader’, huh..?” He mumbled, shifting in his chair as his eyes moved past the tags, skipping the summary and the author’s notes to finally get to the actual story.

‘You watch your captive slowly regain his consciousness, his muffled groans barely making past the improvised gag and his limbs’ moving restrained by the tightly tied ropes’- Harumasa arched one eyebrow at the content and its form, remembering one of the fanfic’s tags.

Right, this should be someone else’s point-of-view, which means… the said ‘captive’ was him? Wait, how was he supposed to read it if he was doing both roles?

Harumasa frowned, shaking his head. Probably the author never expected him, of all the users in the interknot, to stumble upon this. Still, he should probably just think of ‘reader’ as a different person while reading it, that should make things easier for him to understand and get through the text.

So, back to it…

It was a straight forward setting. The reader in question was playing the role of some sort of criminal organization’s leader while Harumasa played… well, his own role. For some reason, the author skipped the previous events that led to the current scene - Harumasa assumed that would be too much context - and the first paragraphs described some sort of… interrogation? At least, that’s what it sounded like.

“Heh, am I going to fall in love with the bad guys here..?” Harumasa giggled with the thought, surprisingly amused as the reader threatened and tried to intimidate him. “They are making me sound so stubborn here…”

Harumasa continued to read, flinching when the reader snatched the tape off his lips, imagining how much it would sting, and even unawarely mimicking his reactions described in the story: parted lips, half closed eyes, erratic breathing…

‘We already took care of your colleagues. No one is coming to save you, Asaba, you better speak’, he shifted in his seat at that line. ‘Hah, even better. Do your worst, you’ll get nothing from me’, was he actually this sassy? And what’s up with the attitude? Harumasa shook his head, rolling his eyes at the cliché threats from the reader. Maybe he did set the bar too high for some amateur stor-

‘Pain? Who said anything about hurting you, my dear Asaba? I have my own methods of making you talk’, oh? Was that the beginning of the steamy parts? Harumasa looked around the office, making sure Yanagi was still in her seat before continuing his reading.

Being caught reading this kind of stuff would be even worse than getting caught slacking off. Gladly, Soukaku seemed to be doing an amazing job at keeping the deputy chief busy.

Alright, time to resume it.

‘What?’. ‘Ah, Asaba… I’ve always been fond of you, I could never bring myself to hurt that pretty face of yours, but… I still need to make you talk, right?’ He could feel his cheeks warming up a little, imagining the scene a bit beyond what was written.

Ah, this better not be something weird awakening inside him, Harumasa thought.

There was still no action. The story only described how the reader walked around him, wandering in the room and circling the chair he was tied to while explaining to Harumasa the roots of their affection for him. Still, Harumasa couldn’t help but to feel his heart beating a little faster with anticipation - both as the audience and as a form of sympathy towards his character.

The next part had Harumasa leaning more and more on the edge of his seat, going an inch forward with each word read. The description mentioned something like the reader sitting at Harumasa’s lap, popping his shirt’s buttons open one after the other and pushing his shirt away, exposing his bare chest.

‘Get your hands… off me, you f-freak!’. “Why? Are you nervous? Feeling shy? Maybe there is something stuck at the back of your throat? Let me get it out for you’.

Harumasa felt a shiver run up his spine, regretting ever underestimating one of his fan’s work. The description had him wrapped around its finger and even he himself couldn’t figure out what was so good about it - neither what made it sound so awfully hot.

‘You began to drag your fingers around his toned midriff, circling his navel before teasing his sides. You watched Harumasa tense up, sucking in stomach, trying to avoid your touch. You chuckle, fondly, tickling the edge of his waist.’

So this was the torture they had in mind? Tickling? Harumasa looked up, lowering his phone for a moment and contemplating the idea. Unexpected, yes. Unwelcomed? Not sure. He couldn’t really tell if he was ticklish - was there ever a time for him to figure it out?

Of course, the lack of this confirmation didn’t stop this fan, it seemed. He should probably leave a like in their work for the effort - finding a piece of information that Harumasa himself wasn’t aware of. Heh.

But, back to the fanfiction… Why was it making his heart flutter? Or, even better, why was he struck by the imaginary feeling of it?

He could feel a ghost-like sensation roaming his body. Unconsciously hitching his breath, brushing a hand over whatever spot was mentioned to get rid of the phantom feeling and even catching himself smiling at nothing but his own thoughts.

‘Harumasa laugh helplessly under your hands. You dig your finds under his arms, squirming your way past his defenses despite his efforts into clasping his elbows to his torso. He throws his head back and you can’t help but to give his neck a little tease’.

“...w-what kind of freak would be into this stuff?” He groaned quietly, pouting while his cheeks felt warmer than before. Harumasa even lifted his hand - after hesitating a little, for some reason - to rub his neck, trying to shift his attention from the nonexistent sensation.

Stomach, side, neck, ears, thighs, knees, waist, feet, back… even his hands! How many words did that fanfic even have?!

Harumasa crossed his legs before leaning back into the chair, his breathing quickened for some reason. “A-ahm, does anyone mind if I turn on the AC?” Harumasa whined sheepishly, hooking a finger around his collar to loosen it.

“No, go ah- Asaba-kun, are you feeling alright?” Yanagi asked, furrowing her brows slightly with concern. “You actually look sick, do you need me to-”

“I-it’s fine, deputy chief,” Harumasa sighed, wiping a drop of sweat from the side of his face and fanning it with his hand. “Just a little… overwhelmed, I’ll be fine,” he pulled out a forced smile, making Yanagi nod despite the doubt.

He should stop reading these things at work…

Brr, brr.

Wise lifted his head from his pillow, turning around and giving his attention to his phone instead of trying to sleep. Reaching out to it, taking him less than a couple swipes to check the reason behind the noise.

[A guest left ludos on Harumasa’s Interrogation], read the e-mail. Wise shrugged, placing his phone back on the table. Well, at least something was doing numbers, unlike this commission he was stuck at… but he should be able to do it after a good nap!

#zenless zone zero #zzz #zenless zone zero tickling #zzz tickling #asaba harumasa #lee!harumasa #ticklish!harumasa #kinda #i mean #there is also a bit of #harumasa x reader #but oh well #whatever

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porcelainseashore · 1 year ago

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Teenage Headache Dreams (1)

Series Masterlist

Pairing: High School! College! Leon Kennedy x Dancer! Fem! Reader

Summary: You’re a bored, but ambitious high school student who can’t wait to escape small town life and make it in the big city. You thought you had it all figured out, until you unwittingly befriend the resident golden boy, Leon. A series of events beginning from junior year to college until Resident Evil 2 Remake.

Warnings: 18+ Swearing, Recreational Drug Use, Eventual Smut, No (Y/N), Ambiguous/Open Ending

Content: High School AU, College AU, Pre-Resident Evil 2, Fluff, Romance, Cliche, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Lack of Communication

Author's Note: This is my first RE / Leon fic, but I wanted to try my hand at writing this little self-indulgent and potentially clichéd series. As you can guess, I love dance and high school dramas. I also created this with a sequel in mind, which will take place post-RE4R and involve more horror and mystery elements.

Title from Teenage Headache Dreams by Mura Masa and Ellie Rowsell / Wolf Alice.

AO3 Link

Chapter 1: An Unexpected Friendship

It was one of those beautiful late summer days with endless light and clear blue skies overhead. You leaned back against the bleachers, feeling the sun cast a warm glow on your face and the sultry breeze against your skin, sighing in utter bliss. The football field and the running track surrounding it were completely empty, just how you liked it, silent except for the relentless trilling of insects and the occasional bird that flew by. No one in your face, no one judging you or telling you how you should be like, no one you had to put up a front for. Just peace and quiet. A place where you could sit alone with your thoughts - and you had a lot of them - mostly about leaving this goddamn small town with its insular, mind-numbing inhabitants.

A trail of thick smoke wafted from your mouth as you took a drag from the joint you had been nursing for awhile. You weren’t exactly high as a kite, but you were definitely feeling some of its effects. You chuckled and gave a wry smile as the thought of being caught red-handed visualized in your mind. Sure, it was highly illegal what you were doing, much less on school property, but you were always a bit of a rebel. And frankly, you couldn’t give a shit. It was already August, but most students were still away on holiday. Not you though, you had to work on your extracurriculars. That’s what you had put your mind to this summer. No fancy beach getaways like the rest of your cheerleading mates had jetted off to. Just a grueling dance intensive and showcase you had auditioned successfully for in one of the larger cities nearby, as well as a bunch of campus visits. You needed to perfect your performance technique for that arts college application coming up in about a year’s time. You started way earlier than the rest even thought about it, because you knew you only had one chance for a one-way ticket out of this hole and you sure as hell weren’t taking any chances. Well, except with that funky smelling thing in your hand.

No one would be here anyway, it’s a Sunday for crying out loud! You shook your head in exasperation. Besides, you needed to relax and take the edge off a little.

Just as if you jinxed it with those thoughts, you heard the gate to the field unlocking and creaking open behind you.

Shit, shit, shit! Your eyes darted around frantically, but your movements were just so slow. Why the fuck would someone be here now?

Before you could drop the joint and stub it out with your shoe, a mop of dirty blonde hair and what you made out as someone dressed in a blue tracksuit with a duffel bag slung over his right shoulder entered your peripheral vision. It was soon accompanied by a sharp twist of his head in your direction, bangs falling over his deep blue eyes and you knew he had found the source of the offending smell, probably even from a mile away. His gaze trailed their way from your startled face to your joint hanging limply at the edge of your fingers and then back to your face again. His expression turned from confusion to a frown and then into a knowing smirk as he crossed his arms and leaned against the bleachers.

“Oh, hello. Didn’t expect to see you here. You got cheer practice or something?”

God, he was teasing you. At least you hoped that was all it was and not some form of blackmail. Well, no point hiding now.

“I’m off-duty,” you retorted. You tried to jog your memory of the boy standing in front of you. You were social, or at least you had to be with the rest of your girlfriends to keep up appearances, but you never really bothered with the people here beyond superficial conversations. Then you finally found it - a vague recollection of last season’s track and field meet. He had been one of the better sprinters, maybe the best even, you can’t really remember. There was an afterparty, and you congratulated him, but you doubt there was anything more substantive than that.

“Leon, isn’t it?”

His eyes perked up slightly and he smiled. “In the flesh.”

You snorted at his cheesy reply. What was he pulling?

“They gave you the key?” It almost sounded as if you were jealous.

He uncrossed his arms and placed his duffel bag on one of the benches in front of him, rummaging through its contents. “Yeah, I got a comp in the new term coming up.” Every now and then he glanced up at you, as if he wanted to ask something, but stopped himself.

A sense of boldness surged within you, as you felt like evening the odds a bit. “What? You want some?” You waved the joint in his face.

That certainly caught his attention. He stared for a good moment, before giving another one of his playful smiles and shaking his head. “Maybe after practice.” He unzipped his jacket and put it away. It was warm enough to train in his sports tank and as you admired the lean, muscular structure of his arms and shoulders now bared open, you couldn’t complain.

“So, how did you get in?”

Fuck. You snapped out of your reverie. He got you there, but you didn’t feel like lying. “Jumped the fence. You should try it some time.” You replied as nonchalantly as possible.

“Didn’t know you had it in you,” he laughed.

“Oh, you’d be surprised.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Will I now?” The way it rolled off his tongue felt like a challenge and you secretly enjoyed this banter going on between you, as if you had known each other for years.

Shrugging your shoulders, you took another hit from the joint and let the calmness envelope you. “I never disappoint.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” Leon flashed a wide grin that made you feel a knot forming in your stomach, but you didn’t know why.

He started to move towards the tracks, but stopped short, turning back to meet your eyes again. “Look, you don’t have to worry about all of that.” He gestured to what you were holding and the general surroundings. “I’m not going to tell.” With that, he made a sign that resembled crossing his heart. “It’ll be between you and me.”

You would have thought it was a joke if not for the sincere look he gave you, before heading off to train. That, and the fact that he did indeed take up your offer to join you afterwards in sharing what was left of the joint. You didn’t expect someone like him to. He seemed a bit too much of a straight-laced, golden boy for that. But then again, life was filled with surprises and you quietly scolded yourself for playing into stereotypes again - something you despise others doing to you.

It prompted both of you to converse even more until the late evening where you even missed your dinner. The questions and responses just flowed.

It turned out that you would share a number of classes together in the new term, specifically Math, History and Biology. Leon was a real earful when it came to his “insightful” one-liners on the teachers, which made you bury your head in your hands and groan. You never realized he would be such a goofball, but you found it somewhat endearing.

Like you, he was popular at school, but unlike you, he seemed to enjoy the company and appeared to be an open book. He would say it how it is, sometimes to the point of being blunt to a fault. Still, you guessed people found him rather easy-going and likable, in a non-threatening sort of a way. A part you wondered if chance meetings like today were how he made most of his friends.

Leon didn’t really have a plan for college yet. He just knew he wanted to do something good and help other people. You had a word for it - “idealistic”. He just shrugged in response, eyes downcast, until you assured him that it was an admirable quality, and you were the jaded one. He made a toast to your future in some arts college in the big city with his water bottle, remarking with a hint of self-deprecation that he wished he had a clearer idea of what he wanted to do with his life.

In turn, he asked you about your dealer. You had to stifle a laugh at that one. Generally, you weren’t as big into smoking up as he thought, but this time you bummed it off one of the seniors as a favor he owed you for hooking him up with one of your cheerleader friends. It didn’t stop Leon from calling you the “high school’s little pothead” every now and then though. He peered at you intently with his lip curled in amusement, as you rolled your eyes each time.

It had been such a long time since you could joke and speak your mind with someone this way. There wasn’t that suffocating nausea of pretending to be someone else around him and he had been so relaxed with you too. You could finally breathe again, and you’d like to think it wasn’t just the weed talking.

Whatever it was, you guessed this was the beginning of a real friendship - one that happened out of serendipity, but made you feel like you weren’t going to rot away in this small town. Well, not alone anyway.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy #leon kennedy fluff #leon kennedy smut #high school au #college au #re2 leon #re2 remake #resident evil 2 #resident evil #fic: teenage headache dreams #porcelainscribbles

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defectivevillain · 2 years ago

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this broken design, ch2

“Dr. Lecter?” You blink a few times, convinced that you’re dreaming. The man’s gleaming eyes and concerned expression seem a bit too realistic to be conjured by your sleeping mind, though. You’re not sure if you’ve ever seen him look worried. You quickly decide that you don’t like it.

“Hannibal, please,” the doctor responds nonchalantly. You stare at him in utter confusion. Just what is happening right now? You thought you were dreaming, but this feels a bit too vivid. “What are you doing out here?”

read chapter one here. this part won’t make sense, otherwise! :$

[ao3 version of the fic]

reader’s pronouns are unspecified but masa-intended.

warnings: canon-typical violence & gore, spoilers to the first few episodes

You wake to find yourself resting on the plush sofa in the living room. You’re in virtually the same position as before, except there’s a woolen blanket tossed over you. It takes you several seconds to process everything and, once you do, you freeze. Your unintentional adventure onto the middle of the road, Hannibal’s rather convenient appearance, your trip back to Hannibal’s home. And…

Hannibal is the Chesapeake Ripper. You take a deep breath in, not very fond of the way your heart is racing. You were entirely vulnerable last night; he could’ve killed you with ease. That begs the question: Why didn’t he? Why didn’t Hannibal take the opportunity to take you out? Surely, the FBI being close on his trail must be aggravating. Then again, the Ripper has always acted as if he’s several steps ahead of everyone else (and, unfortunately, he often is). You ponder the thought for a moment longer, before quickly distracting yourself. You don’t want to think about it for a while—it’s too disturbing to contemplate so early in the morning.

Once you feel slightly better—you’re not sure if you’ll ever grow truly comfortable with the events of the past night—you get to your feet and pace around the room. Honestly, you’re not entirely familiar with the layout of Hannibal’s home. Plus, you hadn’t exactly had the chance to look around last night. There’s a door off to the side that must lead to the kitchen. You hesitate for a few seconds, before shaking your head, clasping the doorknob, and twisting it open. The door falls open to reveal a beautiful kitchen. You’re then struck with the uncanny resemblance to a theater. Perhaps that was the idea. Cooking is a performance to Hannibal, after all.

“What did you put in that tea?” The words fall from your lips before you can stop them. Hannibal stands with his back to you, but he quickly turns upon hearing you enter. He’s wearing a suit already. You feel immensely underdressed, in your filthy pajamas from the previous night. You resolutely pretend not to look as uncomfortable as you feel.

“Good morning to you, too,” Hannibal responds, an amused expression on your face. His sleeves are rolled up as he continues to prepare whatever he’s making. You can’t shake the belief that he must be absolutely furious with you. Hannibal values his privacy, his space, and you’re intruding on it. You’re not quite sure why he hasn’t killed you yet.

“I’m serious,” you frown. The thought hadn’t graced your mind until now, but you can’t seem to rid yourself of it. How did you fall asleep so quickly last night? You were extremely fatigued, of course. However, you suspect Hannibal had something to do with it, too. “What was in the tea?”

“Chamomile,” Hannibal answers with a helpless expression. You’re not convinced, not even when he’s smiling like that. He walks out to the dining room and you follow behind him. “Breakfast?” You warily glance down at the plate on the table, only to find an innocent enough egg scramble. It’s reminiscent of what you ate that one morning in the motel, except without the suspicious meat. You have to consciously push away the thought—the likelihood that the meat was from one of the Ripper’s recent victims. The egg scramble today doesn’t have meat—at least, not that you can see. You inhale slowly and sit down at the place he’s set for you.

“No suitable candidates for meat?” You can’t help but snipe. It takes your mind a few minutes to recognize the fact that you have no power in this situation and, thus, you shouldn’t be pushing the limits. You chance a glance up at Hannibal, fully prepared to see an irritated expression. Instead, all you see is amusement and intrigue. You’re not sure which expression is more dangerous.

“The harvest wasn’t quite bountiful,” Hannibal responds. How on earth hadn’t you made the connection to the Chesapeake Ripper sooner? Hannibal is constantly making those kinds of comments—allusions that just barely scrape the surface of his true actions. Before, you merely thought him to be an eccentric European. Now, you can’t help but think that his eccentricities mask his brutalities–his actions as a killer.

“You garden?” You say, instead of throwing out the accusation you know to be true. If Hannibal wants to play this game, then so be it. You take a bite of the egg scramble, unsurprised that it turns out to be quite good. Hannibal is an excellent cook—at least, when he isn’t putting people on the menu.

“Occasionally,” Hannibal remarks loftily. He finishes chewing and levels you with a strange look. “Nothing measures up to the quality of homegrown herbs.” You let out a breath through your nose, hiding a full laugh. Of course, Hannibal is pretentious about his herbs. That makes complete sense. You wisely keep quiet and take another bite of your food, making sure to compliment Hannibal on his cooking skills. He really is quite good.

“I was hoping you could drive me back to the institute,” you say, once the two of you have finished breakfast. You feel guilty about asking so much of Hannibal but, then again, he insisted that you come with him to his residence. “I don’t have my car, so…”

“Of course,” Hannibal nods, making your doubts diminish. You exhale slowly. You aren’t sure why you worked yourself up so much over that simple question. The clatter of plates draws you out of that spiraling thought process and you watch as Hannibal moves to stack his dishes.

“Here, let me,” you say before he can object. You quickly take his dishes and walk them over to the sink. Thankfully, there aren’t too many dishes—just yours and his. You find a strange-looking brush and internally hope it’s a sponge, before drowning it in soap and attacking the plates. Silence settles in the space as you busy yourself with the dishes. Hannibal walks over to you and leans against the counter a few feet from the sink. He levels you with an inquisitive gaze.

“What?” You can’t help but ask, once the staring begins to stress you out. You steadily focus on the running water, the dirty plates, anything but Hannibal’s keen eyes. Droplets of water fall down your skin as you steadily wash the last remaining dish, shelving it to put away later.

“I’d like to accompany you on your next assignment.” That completely throws you off. You don’t hesitate to ask for an explanation, which Hannibal doesn’t exactly provide. Instead, he paces around for a moment before leveling you with a weighted gaze. “Only if you’re amenable, of course.”

“Okay,” you decide to say, instead of arguing like you want to. Hannibal doesn’t typically budge when his mind is made up. Ironically, it appears as if Hannibal expected you to argue, because he raises his eyebrows for a second. You decide to ignore that. “Before we go… Do you have any clothes I could wear?”

“Of course,” Hannibal nods. You want to feel self conscious, but it’s a bit too late for that. You’ve been wearing your dirty pajamas since the night before, so the psychiatrist has already seen them. Hannibal leaves the room with the promise of bringing you sufficient attire. You just hope that the clothes aren’t extravagant.

Hannibal returns moments later with a neatly folded pile of clothing in his hands. He offers you the clothes and you take them. You hardly get the chance to unfold them before you’re freezing to stare up at your psychiatrist. “Um, Hannibal?”

“Yes?” Hannibal asks casually, calm and composed as always. Silence descends in the air, creating a thick tension that you’re scared to break through.

“I didn’t mean you had to give me nice clothes,” you manage to say, looking at the dress shirt and pants he’s provided you.

“Nonsense,” Hannibal shakes his head. There’s clearly something he’s refraining from telling you, because his lips part for a moment as if to speak. The psychiatrist then shakes his head. You shrug silently, glancing around the space. There’s a hallway off to the side and you take a step in that direction.

“I’ll change and then… we can go?” Hannibal nods and you duck into the nearest room, closing the door behind you. Upon closer examination, you realize that it’s a linen closet. However, it’s not like a typical linen closet—a bureau or dresser; instead, it’s an entire room. You exhale slowly and put on the clothes he’s given you. You're surprised to find that they fit perfectly. Why or how he has clothing in your precise measurements, you're not quite sure. You take a moment to fix up your appearance before stepping back out into the hallway.

Hannibal turns around when he evidently hears you exit the linen closet. There’s a satisfied expression on his face. You hastily button the sleeves and straighten out your shirt—well, the shirt he gave you. Before you can adjust the fabric more, Hannibal leans closer and smoothing out your collar. You send him a grateful smile that you hope will hide your anxiety at his proximity. Thankfully, he’s backing away before long and the two of you are free to walk out to his driveway. Hannibal pauses for a moment and you just narrowly avoid running into him.

“Shit, sorry,” you murmur, putting a hand on his shoulder to steady yourself. The man walks to the passenger side first and opens the car door for you. You move to sit and Hannibal looks down at you from where he’s standing.

“Apologizing again?” There’s an abstruse smile on his face as he speaks. You roll your eyes.

“I wasn’t aware this was a therapy session,” you reply with a wan smile. Hannibal shakes his head in amusement, walking back to the driver’s side and getting in. Luckily, the ensuing car ride is smooth and painless. Before long, the two of you are at the crime scene that Jack summoned you to. You exit the car and take the lead, leaving Hannibal to follow behind you. Jack is standing off to the side with a concentrated expression on his face. You greet him and he snaps out of his reverie. It seems like your boss is about to say something to you when his gaze suddenly falls to the space next to you.

“Ah, Doctor Lecter,” Jack smiles thinly. “What a pleasant surprise.” The look on Jack’s face suggests that it isn’t, in fact, a pleasant surprise. You can’t say you’re terribly surprised at that development.

“Hello, Jack,” Hannibal responds amicably. You can’t quite elucidate the expression on his face. “I must insist that you call me Hannibal.” The man smiles charmingly, a gesture that would work on most people. Unfortunately for him, Jack Crawford isn’t most people. You resist a laugh at the annoyance that just barely shows through on your boss’s face.

“Hannibal, then; what brings you here?” Jack looks at Hannibal warily. Just before the psychiatrist can respond, you decide to interject.

“I brought him,” you blurt out before your brain can catch up. Jack blinks at you in confusion. You chance a glance at Hannibal and raise your eyebrows at him, trying to telepathically communicate that he should go along with it. The man nods ever so slightly. “I figured we could use the help.” Jack assesses you for a second.

“Don’t distract my best agent,” Jack then warns Hannibal. You immediately grimace, knowing that the statement is entirely unnecessary. The likelihood of Hannibal distracting anyone working is slim to none. Also, wait... Jack considers you his best agent? That’s certainly unexpected.

Thankfully, Hannibal doesn’t seem to be too bothered by Jack’s remark. There’s a knowing smile on his face, as if he expected a warning along those lines. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” Hannibal remarks smoothly. You decide to walk down the path towards the house, Hannibal in tow. He doesn’t say anything, but you can feel his unanswered questions lingering in the air. You take a deep breath.

“Jack gets antsy at crime scenes,” you explain, trying to contextualize why you lied about being the one to bring Hannibal along, when, in all reality, it was Hannibal’s idea. You shove your hands in your pockets, feeling the need to find something to channel your restless energy into. “I’m used to being on the receiving end of his rather short fuse.”

“Interesting,” Hannibal muses, falling into step next to you, “I wouldn’t have gathered that from our interaction. He seems to think rather highly of you.” You chuckle wryly under your breath.

“Lord knows why,” you mutter, continuing to walk towards the house. You don’t intend for your comment to be perceived, but Hannibal seems to hear it regardless. You fidget and ignore the discomfort tugging at your core.

“As a friend, I must point out that you’re quite skilled in the field,” Hannibal remarks, to your utter surprise. It takes all of your energy to maintain a neutral expression. Despite your efforts, your eyes widen. “Jack likely appreciates your work etiquette and talent.”

“Somehow, I doubt that,” you frown, letting your gaze fall to the cobbled path below your feet. You kick at one of the upended rocks and it goes skittering along in front of you. Hannibal is your psychiatrist—he’s supposed to say things like that. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, though.” Hannibal’s expression suggests that this won’t be the last time you have this conversation. You resist a shudder at that, imagining sitting in Hannibal’s office and being forced to pick apart your self-deprecation.

You finally enter the house and begin to wind through the halls, listening for voices. Eventually, you manage to find the scene of the crime: the master bedroom. The victim’s corpse lies against the mattress. Their blood seeps through the white sheets and spreads out around them, creating a puddled effect. Perhaps the most noticeable thing, however, is the gruesome way in which the victim’s chest is torn open, leaving the organs on display for all to see. You don’t realize that you’re blocking the doorway until Hannibal places a gentle hand on your shoulder. Following his movement, you step aside to let him in. There’s no trace of emotion anywhere on Hannibal’s face as he takes in the corpse of the victim.

“Hey!” Beverly greets you, breaking you out of your thoughts. The agent gets to her feet and grabs her clipboard. You greet Beverly in response. She smiles at you, then looks at Hannibal for a moment. Her gaze is scrutinizing and suspicious. “What’s he doing here?”

“Dr. Lecter, psychiatrist and former surgeon,” Hannibal introduces himself, before you can answer. “Please call me Hannibal.” Beverly raises an eyebrow at his outstretched hand but shakes it, albeit begrudgingly. You decide to interrupt before she can ask the question you’re expecting.

“He has clearance,” you say. Your comment goes mostly unnoticed, as Beverly and Hannibal appear to size each other up. Your two most terrifying acquaintances are now meeting. You begin to regret everything that’s led you to this moment.

“Former surgeon,” Beverly repeats, staring at Hannibal in disbelief. You look at your friend, begging her not to say what you think she’s about to say. Unfortunately, Beverly doesn’t seem to care about your distress. She swivels to focus her attention on Hannibal. “What, did you kill someone?”

“Bev,” you groan, wanting to bury your head in your hands. Beverly has never been quite good at filtering her thoughts—always saying whatever’s on her mind. Normally, that’s just one of the many things you love about her. Right now, however, you wish Beverly had a better filter.

“No, I did not,” Hannibal responds, his eyes glittering. There’s nothing but politeness in his frame, but you can sense an aura of irritation emanating from him. You resist the urge to laugh. You felt remarkably similar upon first meeting Beverly, because her blunt honesty can easily come across as rude.

“Well, since you have clearance, Lecter… I guess you can stay,” Beverly says to Hannibal. You chuckle under your breath at the way Beverly refuses to call him by his first name. The thinly concealed annoyance on Hannibal’s face is equally amusing. Beverly then turns to you. “Anyway. Time to do your thing?” Beverly asks. You nod and she walks over to Price and Zeller, putting a hand on each of their shoulders.

“Let’s give him some space.” She sends you an understanding smile, which you return with an exasperated eye roll. Beverly then raises an eyebrow at Hannibal, evidently expecting him to leave with them. Your friend turns to you and squints between the two of you, before shrugging and taking her leave.

“I prefer to do this alone,” you murmur, after the weight of Hannibal’s gaze grows to be too much. The air between you feels charged and tense. You clench your fists at your sides and listen for his footsteps as he exits the room. You wait a few moments and turn around, only to find that the man hasn’t moved.

“I will not be a bother,” Hannibal says. You resist the compelling urge to argue. It’s not that big of a deal, really. It’ll make you uncomfortable, but you can still slip into the killer’s mind with someone else in the room. Besides, Hannibal is your psychiatrist, after all. Nothing he sees will disturb him.

“Fine,” you sigh. It’s not like Hannibal will witness much, anyway—other than you staring off into space. Resolved to your fate, you pinch the bridge of your nose. The pendulum swings before your eyes once more. You close your eyes and, when you open them again, the bedroom is empty.

The victim sits on the mattress, looking down at their phone. You approach them with a knife in hand. You’re not fond of guns—they create too much of a mess. You’re eerily silent, enough so that the victim doesn’t expect your appearance [they never do]. An unsettling prickling feeling runs down your skin, creating goosebumps and sending a shiver down your spine. For a second, you’re struck with the uncanny belief that the victim sees you for who you are. The sensation is gone a moment later, as you realize they still haven’t noticed your presence. Heart thudding loudly in your chest, you reach out and stab them in the back of the neck. The victim flails and you turn them around, shoving them into the mattress before stabbing them once more in the chest. They’re dead within a few seconds. The prickling feeling along your skin hasn’t gone away, even with their death. Weirdly enough, the victim almost looks at peace—if not for the wounds to the back of their neck and their chest. You plunge your trembling hands into their chest and pull. Their blood taints your skin a murky red. The victim is open and vulnerable; their organs are on display for all to see.

Something still isn’t right, though. Anger bubbling up in your chest, you rip their eyeballs out of their sockets. Blood seeps out of their eyes and you streak it downwards across their face—an uncanny resemblance to tears. You put your knife away and survey your masterpiece one last time. This is your design. You glance down at your hands, expecting to see them stained with crimson. They’re clean and unmarred. That’s strange.

“What do you see?” Hannibal asks. You can’t suppress a flinch as you’re roughly brought back to the present. You blink several times and shake your head to clear your thoughts. “See?” Your eyes take in the strange painting the killer has made: the blood streaked across the victim’s skin, the pathway to the heart being ripped right open. It doesn’t take long for you to come up with an answer.

“This killer is at a crossroads,” you frown. You can feel the emotion rolling off of this corpse and each mutilation feels symbolic of something. Even without slipping into the killer’s skin, you could see the anger, irritation, and discomfort. “He feels… vulnerable, perceived in ways he hasn’t been perceived before.”

“How do you reckon so?” Hannibal asks, a strange note of something intangible in his voice. You can’t quite tell, but his voice almost seems sharper. You push the thought aside; you have more things to worry about—namely, the murder scene in front of your very eyes.

“The chest is carved open, yet the heart is left entirely intact,” you tap your chin in contemplation as you look down at the corpse. “It’s unusual for the organs to remain, but that omission was a conscious decision. Furthermore, the eyes are gouged out. He could have left them as is, but he took an extra step and smeared the blood down the cheeks to resemble tears. It speaks of grief. Possibly, also, acceptance? I’m not really sure. This feels… weirdly intimate.”

“Intimate,” Hannibal repeats, evidently intrigued. You take a shuddering breath as the man takes a step further into the room and, subsequently, closer to you. “Few can see past the initial brutality of such an act.” He looks down at the victim’s body, entirely unperturbed. His eyes are fixed on the body like a moth drawn to a flame.

“I can’t quite put my finger on it,” you start, walking around to the side of the bed to look down at the victim. “This feels like a reckoning. The killer is coming to terms with who he is, while simultaneously reaching for something more. It’s a strange juxtaposition: contentment and yearning.”

“Incredible,” Hannibal whispers, his eyes wide with an unrecognizable emotion. The sight grows to be too much and you rip your eyes away. The room’s air feels heated and stifling all of a sudden. You feel at your temple, recognizing the beginning of a headache.

“I suppose it is, in a gruesome way,” you frown, taking a look at the victim one last time. There is a sort of absurd beauty in the way they are laid to rest. Their heart is no longer caged by ribs and skin—it is free to roam. There’s even a restful expression on their face. “I can certainly feel the emotion embedded in the details.”

“I was referring to you,” Hannibal murmurs, drawing you from your thoughts. You look over at him, only to be met with a gaze so intense that it nearly makes your knees buckle. You take a half-step backwards habitually, nearly knocking into the bedside table. The look on his face is nothing short of dangerous. Thankfully, you’re saved from responding by Beverly’s sudden entrance into the room.

“Find anything?” You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. You relay your findings to Beverly, Price, and Zeller, who all look significantly intrigued and disturbed at the same time. Price and Zeller then go over some of the forensic evidence they found. Eventually, the four of you decide to let Price and Zeller brief Jack on the new findings. Hannibal walks outside—evidently to get some fresh air—which leaves you and Beverly alone in the room.

“Hey, Bev, do you have aspirin?” You ask, feeling a familiar pulsing ache in your temple. You find that slipping into the mind of the killer often makes your head spin. It almost feels as if someone is hammering into your skull. You grasp the side table to steady yourself.

“Yeah,” Beverly nods, digging around in her satchel. You breathe a sigh of relief. “You gotta remember to bring some with you, dude.”

“I know,” you sigh heavily. Beverly then pulls out a capsule of aspirin. You smile gratefully and grab two pills, before handing it back to her. It takes you a moment to remember that you don’t have water. Thankfully, Beverly procures a water bottle for you–not without a remark about you being forgetful–and you take the pills.

“Anyway, what’s Lecter’s deal?” You frown at Beverly’s back. She’s bent over the victim’s body, evidently looking for traces of evidence left behind. You already have a bad feeling that she won’t be able to find anything. “He’s a little weird.”

“I’m a little weird, too,” you argue, crossing your arms across your chest defensively. Beverly’s gaze finally falls away from the victim and she stops bending down, instead looking at you for a moment. For a few seconds, the two of you are left staring at each other.

“No, you’re very weird,” Beverly then counters, a mischievous smile on her face. You slap her shoulder playfully, which prompts her to let out a dramatic hiss of pain. “Whatever. As long as he doesn’t get in the way, I don’t really care.”

“That’s the Bev I know and love,” you grin. You take a peek out into the hallway, only to find that Hannibal is nowhere to be found. Shit, you realize. He was your ride. You bite your lip and turn to Beverly, who still looks rather proud of herself. “Hey, on an unrelated note… can you drive me home?”

“Wow, trying to flatter me into giving you a ride?” Beverly laughs. You realize your blunder and you quickly stammer out an apology, but your effort only makes Bev laugh harder. It takes a few moments for her to evidently catch her breath. “I’m just messing with you; I should be able to drive you.”

“Awesome, thanks,” you reply breathlessly. “I’ll just need to speak to Jack and then I’ll be done.” Beverly nods and returns to her work. You’re sure that you could scream at her and she wouldn’t notice—that’s just how concentrated she gets at crime scenes. You decide to stick around for a while longer to conduct your own investigation. Together, the two of you spend an immeasurable amount of time performing tests and examining the corpse. You’re not even aware of time passing until Beverly’s phone goes off and she informs you that it’s getting late. This time, you walk out to meet Jack and deliver the news. You find your boss standing out in the front lawn, ordering some officers around. The poor guys, you shake your head in sympathy. Jack must sense your approach, because he turns around and levels you with an expectant gaze.

“Bev and I performed some tests,” you start, already dreading this conversation. You’ve learned that Jack has begun to expect far too much from you. You can always glean details from the killers, sure, but your method is far from perfect. There are always holes in the logic you acquire. “Ultimately, we’re looking for a middle-aged man. He works some sort of day job… maybe a businessman? He has a wife and a daughter.”

“That’s not enough,” Jack interjects predictably.

“It’s going to have to be,” you respond, staring back at him. Unfortunately, that’s all you found. Jack will have to make do with that information. More accurately, your team will have to make do with that information. You’re certain it won’t be long before you find the killer, though; Beverly, Price, and Zeller are all talented forensic experts. Jack seems to come to that same conclusion, although he clearly isn’t happy about it. Your boss asks you a few more questions—most of which you’re unable to answer—until he frees you from duty.

Finally, you can get back home. It’s been a long day. You take a few steps towards the front door of the home to get Beverly when you feel eyes digging into your back. You turn around instinctually, only to find Hannibal staring at you from his car. You return his gaze for a second, before realizing that he seems to be summoning you closer. After walking over, you lean into the open window on the passenger side and grin awkwardly. Hannibal’s gaze shifts from you to the empty passenger seat of his car and you begin to connect the dots.

“Bev’s going to give me a ride…” You smile, resisting the urge to itch the back of your neck amidst the awkward tension.

“I’ll drive you home,” Hannibal remarks, apropos of your statement. His voice is entirely assertive and you find yourself agreeing with him habitually. You manage to grab Beverly’s attention and point at Hannibal’s car. She raises her eyebrows suggestively and, in a fit of exasperation, you send her a vulgar hand gesture. Beverly quickly returns the gesture before waving. You roll your eyes and get into the passenger seat of Hannibal’s car. Before long, you’re on the open road.

The ride is mostly silent. Most of the time, you’d feel pressured to fill that silence with something. With Hannibal, however, the silence is comfortable. That recognition is startling and it nearly forces your next words out of your mouth.“Thanks for, well, everything.”

“Of course,” Hannibal nods, his eyes fixated on the road. In the darkness, they hold a dangerous metallic gleam. Your gaze falls down to his hands grasping the steering wheel. Just how many lives have those hands taken? How many times have they been stained with blood and marked with violence? The thought makes your stomach turn a little. You decide to focus your attention elsewhere.

Before long, Hannibal is pulling into your driveway. You immediately unbuckle your seat and move to grasp the door handle, but the man places a hand on your shoulder. Confused, you remain seated and watch as he walks around the car. Hannibal then opens the car door for you.

“Thanks, Hannibal,” you murmur, pushing yourself up and out of the car. Somehow, this leads to you standing quite close to the man, only separated by the car door. Your fingers twitch as you grasp the door. Hannibal’s gaze doesn’t falter in intensity and you suddenly need an escape.“See you later.” The moment is broken and you push the door closed. Hannibal nods and makes his way back to the driver’s seat. You stand in the driveway and watch as the sleek car pulls away, driving off until it entirely disappears from your view.

chapter 3

I feel like there is a lot of unmasked potential regarding Beverly and Hannibal… I think they’d get along rly well. They’re definitely gifted at getting on each others’ nerves, too,,, lmao.

anyway, thx for reading! <333

tagging: @embalmed-roses @blood-070 and @yourlocalratwriter

#hannibal #hannibal lecter #hannibal nbc #hannibal x reader #hannibal x male reader #hannibal x masc reader #male reader #masc reader #transmasc reader

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yonezawacastle · 1 year ago

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brittle (1/?)

Pairing(s): background Masamune/MC (here named Aya)

This is an excerpt from an unfinished fic I wrote purely for myself, in which the Oshu family adds a tiny new member, thanks to an injudicious act of compassion by Masamune. Things...don't go smoothly.

I've never liked my own writing. I am trying to be less of a perfectionist in the coming year, however, so forcing myself to finally put something longer than a sentence or two out there is part of my commitment to that. Anyway.

-----

The girl’s name means stop.

This fact bothers Masamune sometimes, when he’s sifting through his papers, and finds the word among the plans and correspondence. The girl’s name is written only in hiragana --とめ -- but the implication of the name, the character that crosses his desk every so often and never fails to stop him, is plain as day given the girl's personal history.

The character 止 carries no trace of softness. It is stiff and unyielding lines, the rightmost stroke an arm stretched in prohibition. Unwanted. Forbidden. No.

It suggests an unwished child, and Masamune knows all about being unwished.

After all, his eyes are much like her own.

“It’s actually a common enough name,” Aya tells him one night in his annex kitchen, his wife's back to him as she chops vegetables for their dinner. “A lot of families will call their daughter that, if they don’t want any more children. Especially if they have one too many mouths to feed.”

But Tome had been born to a samurai family.

_________

In one sense, he must admit, the girl’s name is suitable.

Tome is a brittle, sticklike figure, her bones sharp and prominent in places where Aya insists there ought to be a peachy softness. There is a faintly skeletal quality to the six-year-old, something wholly insubstantial, and sometimes Masamune feels that if he breathes too hard, she might blow away.

The greatest stiffness, though, is in the way she regards them, in the fragile quiet that suggests she is all too used to being shattered.

Watchful, Kojuro calls her. Both men know this is a polite gloss on afraid.

(“We rescued her, Masa,” Shigezane says to him once. “Even if we had to make her a hostage to do it.” Masamune watches the uneasy set of the girl’s shoulders beneath Aya’s hands and wonders if they’d rescued her from anything.)

These first months have made him awkward and clumsy. Masamune has never loved his own body, and now he feels there is too much of it altogether: standing near the girl feels more like looming, and on the vanishingly rare occasions that Tome finds the courage to reach for him, one of his hands easily swallows both of hers.

“Bend down when you talk to her,” hisses Shigezane in his ear. “Kids like it when you get on their level.”

He has felt less menacing on the battlefield.

#my fics #slbp masamune #slbp kojuro #slbp mc #slbp shigezane #oc: inaba tome #slbp #samurai love ballad party

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asianpoplover143 · 6 months ago

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I don’t know if I will be like taking to myself in here or not (probably 🤡), but anyways…I tried on Twitter (https://x.com/taemlnti/status/1826883398834466925?s=46) and now I decided to try here.

I’m sorry if it will be a long way, but I promise it will be worth it!

Lets begin!

Questions here:

1) Would you all read a High&Low fic with the title "High&Low The Return (2024)"?

2) And if I put Bernie and Pearl (Alan from GENERATIONS character and SWAY from DOBERMAN INFINITY's characters) dating?

2.1) But not them as main characters tho, they would be just part of the fic.

3) What about the following characters dating:

a) Sameoka Shoji + Himuro Reiji

b) Hanaoka Fujio + Takajo Tsukasa

c) Shibaman + Tsuji

d) Diddy (Likiya's character) + Fujin (Zin's character)

e) Ken (Shogo's character) + Hikaru (Yamasho's character)

3.1) Just to remember who they are:

a) Makoto = Sameoka Shoji, 3rd year student and leader/main head (advisor) of Ebara High

b) Itsuki = Himuro Reiji, 3rd year student and leader main head of Kamasaka High

c) Kazuma = Hanaoka Fujio, 3rd year student and leader main head of Oya High

d) Hokuto = Takajo Tsukasa, 3rd year student and leader head of Oya High (I don't remember if he is the leader alongside Fujio or not 🤔)

e) Ryu = Shibaman, 3rd year student and member of Todoroki Faction

f) Takahide = Tsuji, 3rd year student and member of Todoroki Faction

🇯🇵(Tsuji and Shibaman are the only members of Todoroki Faction besides Todoroki himself obviously)

g) Likiya = Diddy, Member of Mighty Warriors and Ice's younger brother

h) Zin = Fujin, 3rd year student and leader/main head of Ebara High

i) Yamasho and Shogo = Hikaru and Ken, Sannoh Rengokai members and Chiharu's best friends

4) Because those the following couples will be (or at least mentioned) in my Ballistik Boyz fic

a) Makoto + Itsuki

b) Kazuma + Hokuto

c) Ryu + Takahide

d) Likiya + Zin

e) Yamasho + Shogo

4.1) The Rampage members that were also part of the High&Low movies and series were: Likiya, Zin, Hokuto, Kazuma, Itsuki, Makoto, Yamasho, Shogo, Ryu and Takahide.

5) If I add the characters that were played by the boys from FANTASTICS? So:Chiharu, Kamui Ito, Monji and Magoroku?

5.1) To remind everyone:

a) Taiki Sato = Sannoh Rengokai, Yamato's son/Younger brother (Chiharu)

b) Keito Kimura = Kamui Ito from Suzuran, 2nd year student, leader/head of Suzuran 2nd year students alongside Kansuke Seta (That's what I would say since Rao's faction is the strongest from the new generation even though Suzuran doesn't have a leader or anything)

c) Natsuki Hori = Monji from Housen, 2nd year student, leader/head of Housen's 2nd year students (and Sachio's heir according to Odajima)

d) Yusei = Magoroku from Suzuran, 3rd year student

5.2) Would you agree with this following "pairing"?

•Keito + Natsuki + Yuri Takahashi

6) Would you read even if it would be my second AO3 fic, however my first fic about High&Low universe?

7) Would you be patient about it?

8) Would you be willing to forgive me if apologize in advance if I make any mistake?

•So basically I would say that my idea is pretty much: "pretend" that I am Mr.Exile and make another High&Low with now all of the cast from the first one until High&Low the worst X being part of it. However, I want a new cast as well (in this case for now: Ryusei from Ballistik Boyz, Ryushin from Psychic Fever, the Twins Masa from Ballistik Boyz and Weesa from Psychic Fever, Ryuji from J Soul Brothers, both Ghee and Hiroto from Wolf Howl Harmony...); All I know for now is that, I want that the 2Ryu (Ryusei and Ryushin) duo and the Twins Masa and Weesa, well I want to put them together in one of the schools of the 3 school alliance, but like 2Ryu in one school and the Twins in the other. But neither of them will be part of Senomon High, also the 4 of them will be 2nd year students, and best friends with the 2nd year students from the other high schools including Oya High, Suzuran, Housen, etc.

⭐️I don't remember if I said that already or not but I also want the 4 of them to be leaders/heads of the 2nd year students from the school that their characters study alongside their dynamic duo let's say, for example Masa and his twin Weesa will be the heads/leaders of the 2nd year students from whatever school their characters will attend, does that make sense? And same with Ryusei and Ryushin.

💎And everyone that will be back and etc will be friends and getting along, including the Kuryu Group members + Mighty Warriors. And something funny is that Ranmaru will be Senomon's principal, and Kidra will be working for Chanson Group that is the true enemy.

👑So here is the thing in my AO3 fic, when ØMI asked Ryusei which school he wanted to attend he answered Ebara High. Then ØMI asked the same question to Masa and he said "Probably Kama High I guess..., maybe just to be part of the same one as Itsuki-San I guess". But I made a poll asking which school would be matching with them both it was a tie so I had to do the poll again to de decide and see.

%>Side Note: Kama High (at least in my point of view) is the most psycho school among the 3 of the 3 school alliance.

🍷I was thinking that Ryuji's character could be like Koo is to Rocky (White Rascals), but Ryuji's bios could be the singer HYDE and their gang could be called Black Rascals. So neither of Ryusei's, Ryushin's, Masa's, Weesa's, Ryuji's, HYDE's, etc's characters don't have any names yet; And the Black Rascals would help the White Rascals and HYDE's character is Rocky's friend since they were in kindergarten.

🐺About WOLF HOWL HARMONY boys: Their characters won't have names either however Ghee's character will start with the letter "K" for sure, but Hiroto's character I don't know yet which name I will put. Anyways, they will be also 2nd year students as well, attending Senomon High and and both will be heads/leaders of both 2nd and 1st year students. Plus, Ghee will play Ryoki's younger brother, and Ghee will also 'be the head' of the 3rd year students alongside his older brother which is Ryoki's character.

⚔️And not just that, also: both Ghee and Ryusei "will have some lines in Portuguese with one another"; Ghee's character will be part of the Mighry Warriors and also head of Amagai Family/Kuryu Group with Ryu, that is Taichi's character.

🤔Would the following couples be accepted?

a) Masa + Ryusei (High&Low universe fic)

b) Weesa + Ryushin ("")

c) Ghee + Hiroto ("")

d) Elly + ØMI (not High&Low fic because I already shipp Ice with Ryu which is Taichi's character and Hiroto with Smoky, and even though he is no longer with us, Hiroto is "widow". So Elly and ØMI would be a couple off the High&Low fic, more like in the Masa + Ryusei fic)

🧡So long story short: basically a continuation story of the High&Low universe, I got the idea from my fic I wrote about Ryusei and Masa.

9) Is it okay if I put "Normal"they are speaking Japanese, for "Italics" it's Portuguese, and other (probably "Bold") it's them speaking English.

9.1) If I put some words in other language (not English), I will put the translation in parentheses, or in parentheses in Bold if you all prefer.

9.2) The fic will be in English, but let's pretend that they are speaking those languages 🙈.

9.3) Hope you like the idea and if not that's is okay, all comments are welcome and appreciated.

9.4) If anyone is up for the idea I will write just one chapter and see how it goes, and I also hope to make this idea with more than 1 chapter, but that will be only possible if this has at least 1 Kudo and 1 comment (positive or not), and that is due the fact that it motivates me to continue. I don't know what else to say for now so...

9.5) If you made it through here, well you are a legend and a true warrior. (I always wanted to say that by the way).

9.6) But to be honest now, I'm glad you made through this yay 🫶! If you are reading this it means I'm not as much as a failure as I thought that I would be, so that's a good thing a guess, and it means that I did at least one thing right in my entire life.

9.7) Anyways...I forgot to say that I have ADHD so it is normal that I probably make a grammar/names/etc mistakes and won't even notice, and if I do it will be already too late 🤡, but I will correct as soon as I notice, even if it's already done, so for that I also apologize in advance.

9.8) I will probably write "bow greeting" a few times (a lot maybe 🤔 {hopefully if I remember})

10) So I will obviously include the following J Soul Brothers members:

a) Naoto = Jesse, Prison Gang leader and also Mighty Warriors member

b) Elly = Ice, Mighty Warriors leader

c) Hiroomi (ØMI) = Amamiya Hiroto

d) Takahiro = Amamiya Masaki

e) Kenjiro = Dan, Sannoh Rengokai member

f) Takanori (Gun) = Hino Junpei (Cobra), Sannoh Rengokai's leader

g) Naoki = Genji, Kuryu Group

10.1) I already talked about Ryuji so...

10.2) Sometimes it might take some time to update (if there is actually any) but I sometimes I can get busy and not gonna lie, can even forget about it. But I will definitely try to give a warning if I remember. Like I probably mentioned before (or not I can’t even remember 🤡) I have Dory The Fish memory.

10.3) Please leave your comments below and let me know what you think the ideia. (Even if you hated or disliked, or even disagreed with something, pretty please be honest about it and let me know).

10.4) Or even if there is a Shipp that you like and would like to see in the future or a Shipp that you don't like and won't like to see at all. Whatever it is. (Even if it's on the fic abut Ryusei and Masa).

10.5) Since I have Dory The Fish memory I can't remember if I've already said that or not but: If you made it through here, well you are a legend and a true warrior. (I always wanted to say that by the way).

10.6) This picture made me had the idea of putting Reiji (Ituki's character) as Cobra's (Gun's) younger brother. Should I do it? Or not?

11) Do you want me to create polls for all of those questions? In The following posts? (In this case separate posts probably right?)

Option 1: Yes

Option 2: No

Option 3: Maybe

Option 4: I don't know

👑This is the link to the poll on Twitter: https://x.com/taemlnti/status/1827026671544795147?s=46 that is related to this tweet: https://x.com/taemlnti/status/1826883439527702616?s=46

🖤In case no one remembers or knows about the Ryusei + Mass fic is this one right here: https://x.com/taemlnti/status/1825917462837170514?s=46

The end! At least for now 🤔!

#mighty warriors #cobra and murayama #kuryu group high and low #tatsuhito ryu and ice #itsuki fujiwara #makoto hasegawa #oya high high&low #suzuran high high&low #senomon high high&low #s.w.o.r.d high and low #high&low #hyuga high and low #himuro reiji #high and low

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danikatze · 2 years ago

Text

Muddle

a multi-chapter Saraiya Goyou fic

[ID in alt text]

Chapter 1: What the Hell was the Hurry

Summary: The Five Leaves decide to leave Edo with Masa and Yaichi. Ume and Okinu are the first to arrive in their new home town, soon followed by Matsu. While Ume wants to give "opening up" a try, Matsu struggles with Feelings more than ever. An unexpected relationship develops between the two.

Read it on AO3 - or read it here:

Matsu arrived in town much, much sooner than Ume expected.

At the moment he and Okinu left Edo, heading for the place the Five Leaves had decided to try and make their new home, Matsu was still frantically running around (that is to say, walking everywhere much faster than a short guy like him should realistically be able to do) trying to get things done before his own departure.

The news that Matsu was closing up shop and moving someplace else must've spread like wildfire. The day after the Five Leaves agreed to leave Edo with Masa and Yaichi, there was a small, but undeniable queue of servants from rich families in front of his row house. Some he could please with the few hairpins or pipes that were still lying around and wanted to get rid of before moving anyway. The others placed more specific orders.

Otake, Ginta and Matsu still hung out at Ume's place while Ume and Okinu were preparing to leave, and every time Matsu was there he heartily complained about the orders. He hadn't declined any that Ume was aware of. Matsu was not good at refusing clientele.

Ume and Okinu were the first to start their trek to their potential new hometown, and, predictably, they were also the first to reach their destination. The two were planning to stay at an inn and explore the town from there. Miraculously, they found a vacant row house within mere hours of their arrival.

On her trip to the market the next day, at the end of the afternoon, Okinu spotted Matsu in the crowd. She was shocked to see him: not only did she not expect him to be there yet, he looked exhausted. As usual Matsu insisted that he was fine and asked her directions to the nearest inn. Okinu didn't believe it for one second, and dragged him home with her without completing her shopping.

As soon as Matsu stepped into the row house he collapsed. He was burning up and slept for nearly a full twenty-four hours.

Ume managed to get water and tiny amounts of porridge into Matsu in moments of sort of consciousness. Still, when Matsu finally woke up fully, he was craving food. His fever had gone down, but he looked pretty worse for wear still: he was very pale, his eyes were puffy and the fact that he hadn't shaved for almost two days didn't really help him. He was usually so presentable, which made this sight all the more concerning. It actually reminded Ume of the time Masa just rescued Matsu, after being held in the storage room of that candle maker for a few days. At the very least he didn't have any injuries this time.

Ume made him an elaborate meal, with a little help from his neighbours. They were already quite friendly to Ume, thanks to Okinu. He always let her introduce herself first, and made sure she mentioned he raised her on his own. Ume wasn't really comfortable taking the credit for that. She'd done so much of it herself, somehow. It was a really good ice-breaker, though. People were always much less scared of him when they knew that he'd single-handedly raised such a lovely girl.

"So hey," Ume stepped into the row house with a pot of tea that his elderly neighbour on the right made for them. Ume waited a moment for a sign of acknowledgement from Matsu. It did not come because he was too busy scarfing down the contents of one of many bowls Ume put in front of him ten minutes prior. It went in so fast Ume was unable to discern what exactly it was. Ume continued anyway: "did you do the impossible and say 'no' to your customers?"

Matsu put the empty bowl away and grabbed a grilled fish with his chopsticks. Before he himself seemed to realize it, he'd taken a big bite. He held up a hand, asking for Ume's patience. After a moment it appeared that he didn't have any patience himself, because he just moved the fish inside his cheeks so he could reply.

"Nah," Matsu said, then, realising his cheeks could not contain all the fish while talking, attempted to swallow a portion of his large bite and seemingly hurt himself in the process. With a strained expression he thumped his chest a few times, as if that would make the food go down easier, and continued with a tight voice, "I just kinda hid from people at some point, so I could finish everything in time."

"In time?" Ume placed two cups on the floor, and started to pour out the tea, but paused to squint suspiciously at Matsu. "For what?"

"Didn't wanna take longer than a week, or -- ow," Matsu now attempted to swallow a chunk of rice that apparently did not fit down his throat. Ume waited calmly - and judgmentally - for Matsu to get it down and start breathing normally again.

"- or I would've been stuck in Edo forever," Matsu finally finished his sentence.

Ume tried doing the maths in his head - this just obviously didn't add up. Admittedly, he and Okinu hadn't exactly rushed their journey, but they didn't make a leisurely trip of it either. The whole thing had taken them over two weeks.

If Matsu really did leave a week after them, that meant he'd done it in a week and a half.

Ume looked at Matsu, just woken up from sleeping pretty much twenty-four hours straight. He saw the bags under Matsu's eyes and the amount of food that he was currently consuming, and suddenly started to get very annoyed indeed. He sat up straight and crossed his arms. If Matsu noticed, he didn't show it: he only had eyes for the food before him.

"And you made the deadline?" Ume asked, hoping Matsu would say he finished everything sooner than he thought.

"By a hair," Matsu said, casually.

"What the hell was the hurry, you idiot?!" Ume failed miserably at staying calm. It was the indifference that really pissed him off. "Did you even sleep or eat?"

"Of course I did," Matsu's glower would almost be endearing if it hadn't been preceded by one of those infuriating eye rolls. To make matters worse Matsu decided to add, "I just didn't waste time on a bunch of hour long breaks in between, like you guys probably did."

"I'll have ya know that I didn't practically drop dead at our doorstep when we got here," Ume fumed, "and neither did my kid!"

"Good for you," grumbled Matsu, while stuffing some more rice in his face. "Anyway its none of your business how I travel."

"Oh yeah?" Ume laughed incredulously, "well then, in that case feeding you is none of my business either, lemme clear everything away for you."

"Don't --" Matsu practicality threw himself over the food that surrounded him, to shield it from Ume, "- touch anything."

His pale face flushed with embarrassment, although it didn't stop him from grabbing a bowl of miso and slurping it down as soon as Ume turned away in a huff.

Ume's blood was boiling, but he was really not in the mood for any of the bickering that he and Matsu normally liked to engage in. He was pretty tired from the trip himself, despite taking all the necessary rest stops at the roadside, in addition to the longer breaks they took for food and sleep. The first night they spent in their new place, it knocked both him and Okinu out for about two hours longer than usual.

Ume looked over at Matsu and narrowly avoided snorting at him. Matsu scowled so hard that his eyes almost vanished in his frown. A smile formed on Ume's face before he remembered that he was, in fact, still angry.

Well.. no, he wasn't in the mood for that either. And maybe it wasn't really fair to go all parental on a grown man who managed to run a successful business for a good while back in Edo.

He's so bad at taking care of himself though!

His anger subsided, but got the urge to make Matsu feel a bit self-conscious with a fun little snarky remark. Y'know, a little reward for not arguing.

"I'm impressed you still manage to get food in there, the way you're scrunching up your face," he said, with a self-satisfied grin.

"I'm impressed you- you're..," Matsu faltered, "Shut up, I'm exhausted.."

Ume's grin broadened. Matsu turned into such a pubescent teenager whenever Ume went into dad mode. He looked at the few signs of age on Matsu's face, and wondered how old he could be. In his thirties probably? None of the Five Leaves knew any of the other's ages, and they never asked. Ume didn't ask this time either. Instead, he collected some empty bowls to wash up, and left Matsu to simmer down a bit as well.

When Ume returned Matsu had cleared out all the dishes and was stretched out on the floor with his hands on his stuffed belly. At the sound of the door sliding open and Ume stepping in, Matsu lazily looked over, his head lolling to the side. After following Ume with his gaze for a bit, and Ume pretending he didn't notice while collecting more bowls, Matsu sighed.

"Thanks, Ume," he said.

"My pleasure. I like cooking," Ume presented the empty bowls, "and seeing people enjoy my food."

"I didn't mean the food," Matsu stared at the ceiling, and patted his belly, "although, thanks for that as well."

"Then what?" "Dunno,"

Matsu shrugged, "for worrying, I guess."

"Oh," this took Ume by surprise. He hadn't expected Matsu to cool down this much, "yeah, no problem. I have years of worrying experience, raising a sickly kid by myself and all." He laughed a bit and then added in a quasi stern tone, "She was never as damned reckless as you were, thank fuck."

"Hah," Matsu covered his eyes with his hands, groaning, "Masa used the same word to describe me ages ago. I should really do something about that."

It took Matsu a few more days to really get back on his feet again. If it were up to him he would've set out to find a place to stay for himself the very same day he woke up. Ume wouldn't hear of it, and made Matsu rest until he felt fit for at least one full day.

He didn't trust Matsu to be honest about that, but he was fairly good at evaluating someone's well-being. He'd been through too many instances of Okinu claiming she was better, and her falling ill again the next day. Once he started implementing his a-full-day-fit rule, she experienced much fewer relapses.

Matsu grumbled about it a lot and then, to Ume's great surprise and suspicion, put up a lot less resistance than he had prepared for. Ume kept an eye on Matsu as much as he could, and the only way to achieve that was to have Matsu take part in Ume's chores and other activities. As time went on it seemed that Ume didn't need to be distrustful of Matsu's compliance. In fact, if Ume hadn't known any better, he would have said Matsu enjoyed being forced into slowing down.

In the meantime Okinu used her charms to find a place for Matsu to live. In no time at all she managed to get half of her neighbourhood either keeping an eye out, or actively searching for a vacant row house. By the time Ume allowed Matsu to go free, he could move into one that was only a fifteen minute walk away from Ume's - or probably ten minutes at Matsu's pace.

Ume started looking for a building that would be suitable for an izakaya, because his little row house of course wouldn't do. That didn't stop him from providing his neighbours with home cooked snacks and (side) dishes. A bit of advertisement for his as of yet non-existent izakaya. He didn't have much luck yet though. Not that he expected to find something after being there for only a week or so, but he was a bit jealous of Matsu, as unlike him, he would easily be able to set up his business from a row house.

#Saraiya Goyou #House of Five Leaves #I posted a link to chapter 1 yesterday but I don't like the post? It's messy so let's try again #who knows how many chapters there will be lol #I'll post chapter 2 later (it's already on ao3) and I started writing chapter 3 and 4 #right now it looks like there'll be like six or seven idk #I'm not known for writing fanfic so I will not be surprised if this doesn't get many hits #or sad even - I'm just glad I'm writing it down #I made so many notes and connecting the dots is super satisfying (and hard)#it's mostly me getting my post canon hcs down on paper in a comprehensible - and hopefully nice to read - way #Matsukichi #Umezou #UmeMatsu #fanfiction #muddle fic

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