#NOT you‚ yakuza like a dragon. YOU need perfect guards

[front-facing-pokemon]

#skrelp #i shiny hunted this thing in sv. after i got Properly Into shiny hunting. it was the third-to-last pokémon i shiny hunted for my #all-shiny-dragon-types team. which ended up being dragalge‚ dragapult‚ kommo-o‚ noivern‚ flygon‚ and archaludon #and then i just. stopped. shiny hunting. there are other pokémon i would like to shiny hunt like shroomish but i don't have a ton of #motivation to since i beat the game basically. completed all the pokédexes and finished the story so getting shinies is like. well #what am i gonna use them for. why have them #guess i need to look for another game to play. what's next on the backlog… #i tried mirror's edge since that was on my backlog but i couldn't really get a grip on the controls and got frustrated after about 30 mins #so that didn't work. probably gonna have to play something else turn-based. i like turn-based and strategy games #where i don't have to have insane reaction time in order to play it #NOT you‚ yakuza like a dragon. YOU need perfect guards

[kinogane]

Essence of Yakuza Combat, Part 1: Counter

(incidental Yakuza spoilers below)

A lot has been said about the core of what brings people to the Yakuza games and plays a role in keeping them interested, which is the way the series juggles its earnest, straight-faced drama with its, let’s say,

eccentricities.

(I don’t bring these up casually, by the way. It would be almost certainly correct to attribute at least part of Yakuza’s growth outside of Japan to the karaoke minigame and someone at RGG Studio thinking that putting a chicken in charge of real estate would be very funny.)

I wrote a bit about that through one specific example here, and while that is core to the series’ identity, it’s just one aspect of the many, many hours you spend playing a Yakuza game. User aggregated times on HowLongToBeat peg the average length of a Yakuza playthrough somewhere in the area of 15 to 40 hours, and even if you’re not on the completionist beat and ballooning your hour count by spending a lot of time playing mahjong and other minigames, you’re going to spend a lot of time with the minute-to-minute gameplay of Yakuza, which is, by and large, getting into fights with chumps and smashing their heads into various surfaces.

Combat in Yakuza games isn’t exactly known for its mechanical depth. Certainly, if you’re willing to poke at its systems you can achieve mastery and do some wild stuff, but I’d wager most players aren’t particularly interested in getting better at the combat. More than likely, they’re content with getting just skilled and/or strong to get past major boss fights (which are genuine highlights of Yakuza combat) with possibly some help in healing and weapons. Yakuza 0 probably exemplifies this most, as the game gives you the option to upgrade both characters’ Legend styles into utter nonsense.

So in some ways, it’s not all that surprising that RGG Studio would make the most of an opportunity to switch combat systems with Yakuza: Like a Dragon. According to series creator Toshihiro Nagoshi, after they floated the idea of a turn-based RPG in a 2019 April Fools’ video, the positive public reception convinced them that changing mechanics could actually work. Which at the time was, and moreso in hindsight is, kinda obvious. Their action combat wasn’t exactly lighting the world on fire, especially with the recent switch to the much more slippery and less weighty Dragon Engine combat in 6 and Kiwami 2, and series staples like random encounters and equippable gear are already part and parcel with more traditional JRPGs like Dragon Quest. Hell, the near universal Yakuza experience of pausing to call a time out and chug Staminans because you’re getting your ass handed to you is more reminiscent of modern Fallout titles (which have turn-based roots) than it is of character action games like Devil May Cry. And to reiterate, it is literally possible to overlevel yourself in Yakuza 0.

There were skeptics, of course. For how relatively unremarkable the combat system is, there were (and still are) players who quite liked the action combat of Kiryu Saga Yakuza games and were a bit sad at the idea of seeing the system go, including myself. Perhaps part of it was just getting used to and developing an appreciation for a system that didn’t wholly merit it. (Though I still maintain that the multiple styles in 0 and Kiwami absolutely rule and also Finishing Hold/Bounding Throw is rad as hell.) But there are two aspects of the action combat in specific that are rather obviously head and shoulders above the rest.

One is the Tiger Drop.

Especially if your first exposure to the Tiger Drop was Kiwami, where it was overtuned as hell, the satisfaction of landing a Tiger Drop, completely stuffing an enemy’s attack, and taking out a decent chunk of their health bar has few equals in most Yakuza games. It’s such a tremendous reward for having quick reactions and mastering knowledge of enemy movesets that it’s warped how I approach combat with characters who don’t have access to the Tiger Drop itself. I absolutely beelined to get Akiyama’s kick counter in 4 and 5 and used it extensively in both, when it probably isn’t even close to being optimal, and when I learned/remembered that Kiryu has access to similar Heavy Attack counters through his Brawler and Legend styles in 0, I absolutely took them for a whirl right away.

The Brawler counter, as it turns out, works well against Sera.

(I probably would have felt similarly about Majima’s Legend style Demonfire counter in 0, for the record, and I did get a lot out of it, but that preceded my first Tiger Drop. So the timeline doesn’t quite fit.)

I did not expect the Tiger Drop, or counters in general, to make the full transition into the new Yakuza combat. While they’re not mechanically impossible, thanks to the Mario RPG-esque Action Commands, Like a Dragon instead opts to reward players for good timing with Perfect Guards that take less damage and don’t knock the character down, which I would argue is for the better.

It’s not difficult to imagine implementing a counter to supplement Perfect Guards as a defensive option, but doing so would fundamentally change the (counterintuitively?) offensive role counters play in Yakuza combat. Additionally, part of the difficulty of landing Tiger Drops comes from not knowing for sure what attack an enemy’s going to throw your way and having to react or make a good prediction. Most turn-based RPGs, including Like a Dragon, let you know a fair bit before an enemy attack properly starts what’s coming your way. Like a Dragon even gives you a bit of extra time, since the Dragon Engine implementation often requires enemies to hobble over to their target before they take a swing. There are plenty of well-telegraphed attacks in Yakuza games of the past, of course, but they’re the exception rather than the rule.

Put another way, it’s not reasonable to expect a player to Tiger Drop every single attack a boss throws at them in Kiryu Saga games. It’s far more reasonable (and for the entirety of the True Final Millennium Tower, basically expected) for the player to Perfect Guard (and hypothetically, counter) every single attack in Like a Dragon. This isn’t a mismatch so fundamental that it can’t be implemented in future games, but at the very least, its absence is unsurprising and not strongly felt.

Furthermore, counters thematically make more sense for Kiryu Saga protagonists than Ichiban. Superficially, counters don’t exactly vibe with Ichiban’s turn-based sense of fair fighting. Not much point in giving someone a chance to take a shot at you if you just punch them out of their turn. (And funnily enough, while my Dragon Quest knowledge is just about nonexistent, the small bit of research I’ve done indicates that counter skills weren’t accessible to Dragon Quest heroes until about 2006, a few years after Ichiban goes to jail.)

On a deeper level, though, counters are inherently more reactive than they are active. Even if you make a prediction that an enemy will attack a certain way, counters don’t work unless they actually do take that action of attacking. Prepping a Tiger Drop means not doing much else but taking up a fighting stance and waiting in bated breath until someone else does something first. This patience intrinsic to counters is temperamentally more suited for the calmer, more stoic Kiryu Saga protagonists (I recognize I’m talking in very broad strokes) than they are for the more hot-blooded, openly emotional Ichiban. Hell, if you really wanna stretch this idea, it’s worth noting that the younger, more impulsive Kiryu doesn’t have access to a powerful counter in 0 while the younger, more restrained Majima does (see the Demonfire counter mentioned above); contrast their playable appearances in Kiwami 2, where the older, more measured Kiryu can relearn his trusty Tiger Drop while the older, openly wilder Majima has no comparable counter.

So the Yakuza combat staple of Tiger Drop and counters didn’t make the transition into Like a Dragon. I don’t think anyone expected them to, and they certainly didn’t need to. All in all, not a big deal.

What about Heat Actions?

(continued)

#yakuza #ryu ga gotoku #rgg #yakuza like a dragon #yakuza 7 #shin ryu ga gotoku #ylad #y7

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Dragon Dancer IV: Show Down

Aoi Gen turned Spider Fang in her hand, the fire light glinting off the long silver blade. Her blue eyes didn’t leave her opponents face. 

Her opponent, Chisei Gen, seemed to be unarmed and unprepared for a sudden fight, but he stood to face her, the firelight reflecting in his eyes. 

They stood between two lines of open flame. The hems of their yukatas turned black and curled away from the heat of the ground, but their bare feet were unaffected.

Taiga’s powerful arm had wrapped around my neck, his pistol pointed at my head, forcing me to watch while I clutched Ru’Yi to myself. This was supposed to be a peaceful meeting, but I had warned Crow that this could go bad if they continued to ignore her.

I had already noticed the snipers on the roofs of the temple complex, but now as the tension rose, I saw more weapons being revealed as they reached for their waists. Daggers slid from their sleeves, blades from their backs.

Like a sea of hovering fire flies, dozens of eyes glowed yellow in the dark. I glanced up at Taiga whose menacing golden pupils shifted at those around him.

“Everyone here is a hybrid.” I said.

“Of course,” Taiga murmured.

Aoi Gen lifted her chin. “Now that I have your attention... Chisei...”

They stood in the middle of the large arena. The air, heated up by the bonfire made them sweat, but the cool mountain breeze cut through their clothes and chilled them so quickly that on the one hand they were hot and on the other hand they shivered.

The looming buildings of the temple rose into the dark sky with gargoyles and gods snarling down from the eves on the scene below.

“My mother was Hana Minamoto. She left the Hydras at 23 to move closer to her husband, a business man in America. She was already pregnant with me at the time and she wanted a dual citizenship for me.”

Chisei did not respond, nor did he signal to the snipers on the roof to end the discussion. With a glance or a tilt of his head, he could order her to be turned into a bullet riddled corpse. But he didn’t.

"I returned to Japan when I was sixteen. Not to Tokyo but to a small town in the middle of nowhere. Why would a woman of such a prestigious background move her daughter from a wealthy place in the States to a backwater mountain village without so much as a cellphone signal?”

Chisei kept his silence but I had drawn my own conclusion: Aoi’s mother was hiding. I gathered my child to myself against the chilling breeze.

“You were told we were massacred in a gang war. In truth, we were killed off by the Hydras themselves! To make room for Tachibana... and for you.”

Neither of them moved an inch. The scene seemed to be frozen in time, save for the licking of the flames on either side of them. “My grandfather did not agree with the plan to ascend to be pureblood dragons. So we were labeled as Devils.”

At that, Chisei’s eyes narrowed slightly. She knew the family secret!

“Tell me Chisei... what was your mother’s name? What did she look like?” Her eyes flashed yellow. “Do you have any recollection at all?”

The temperature of the air had dropped so much I could suddenly see my breath. This wasn’t the mountain climate. This was Dragon Speech!

I only knew one Soul Skill that could drop temperature called ‘Winter’ but it was relatively weak, concentrated to a small spot around the caster. Now, frost was appearing on the ground at my feet, growing on the eaves of the buildings, on the pointed corners of the roofs. 

I had seen a cold Soul Speech like this once before, when I was fighting Herzog, soaring above the sea of Tokyo Bay. Mingfei had uttered a single word and frozen the waves into jagged pieces of ice.

For her to be able to wield such a powerful word meant that her dragon blood purity must be very high! A-rank level!

Shaking, I struggled. “Let me go!”

Taiga tightened his arm around me.

Chisei answered her question. “No. I was told she died giving birth to me...” 

“You were told a lot of things but you went along with them, without much investigation. You never mourned her or searched for her grave to clean it and pay your respects. Chisei, you really despise your mother that much?”

“What do you want?”

With the golden eyes around, the sea of weapons surrounding them and the menacing soul speech turning the ground hard like concrete, I had expected this to break into a scene of extremely dangerous violence. 

Aoi had made her ruthlessness and violent nature clear from the very beginning. She had expected the same from the former leader of the Hydras, the organization that killed her family.

She knew he had a powerful army and brought her own, dispersing her men throughout the crowd quickly so that they wouldn’t be wiped out in an instant. They were armed to the teeth, fierce fighters. And Taiga held their final card. 

Ru’Yi and I were their hostages.

But Chisei had stood and listened, and then conceded, in an instant throwing all these preparations into disarray. Did she believe Yakuza gangster always stuck to their guns, fought to the end, defended their family’s honor? They didn’t just concede, tossing the fight to the side like a lazy cat that didn’t want to move from its sunbeam!

When she didn’t answer, he continued. “Do you want to join the Hydras? Do you want to be Patriarch? I have no control over either of these things.”

She didn’t know Chisei like I did. He had prided himself on being a friend of justice. He was unbending to the point of cruelty to those who did not fit his vision of righteousness. He’d even pursued me, a young girl of sixteen because he believed I was a dangerous Devil. He’d attempted to kill my first child, the one named Huoli, now memorialized behind Norton Hall, for his Devil blood and Soul Skill.

She remembered that Chisei. 

She didn’t see the one who had been forced to face the fact that the people who cared for him also lied to him easily. Tachibana tricked him into believing I was a Devil, tricked him into believing that the Devil Clan were only animals fit for slaughter, and tricked him into cooperating in his scheme to use them as human sacrifices for the development of Erii’s therapy.

She didn’t see the Chisei that had finally given into the Devil’s need for power and drunk the dragonblood, becoming a Devil himself. 

This was a Chisei who no longer saw the world as so black and white.

“I want them to admit the truth!” Aoi snarled. “If they will not, then... “ She leveled Spider Fang at him. Her stance was perfect, reflecting years of training. “Then I will end the farce myself!”

A thick layer of ice crawled from the ground where she stood, extinguishing the flames, allowing the darkness to descend on them. The cold wind lifted and pulled at her hair. 

Chisei backed away and was flanked by five guards. He held out his arm to stop them.

“All the old clan chiefs are already dead!” He growled. “Hydra has paid for what they did to you and what they did to the Devils.” 

“You still live!” She turned to a blur in front of Chisei, Spider Fang flashing like a mirror from top to bottom. The work of sword masters, it was a blade so sharp it was said to cut through a body as if it had no bones.

Chisei grabbed it in the air as if it were made of wood. A thin river of blood made its way down his wrist and he looked at her with golden eyes.

As the emperor hybrid, he had a special property called Dragonbone that toughened his body like steel. He’d used it to shield me from the falling helicopter at the Red Well. Not even Spider Fang could penetrate him in this state. His hand closed around the blade and he pulled it from her grasp. 

She leaped away, drawing the next one. 

Tongzi.

Chisei lowered his hand. The drip of blood had already begun to slow as his body healed itself.

Though it was the shorter sword, when it came to Hybrids, it was death. Fashioned by Alchemy, it was strong enough to split Spider Fang like wire and more dangerous to him in his Dragonbone state, as it was especially made to kill Dragons and Hybrids.

At the sight of it, all the Hydra members revealed themselves by openly drawing their weapons. 

Chisei was no longer High Patriarch but he was deeply beloved and respected. The threat from this sword raised their desire to defend him no matter what his status. The game had turned even more dangerous.

By drawing Tongzi, Aoi Gen had signed her own death warrant.

She stood still, her long hair fluttering. She hadn’t stopped her Soul Skill. Ice six inches thick had spread throughout the entire square and was still inching outward in a spiral pattern. 

“Where is your mother now?” Chisei asked.

“Dead. Tachibana found us. Came for us. Three years ago.”

“How did you survive?”

“She kept a body double at the house. An actress paid to pretend to be me while I attended university under an assumed name.” She answered coldly, factually.

“Why come back to Japan at all?” Chisei raised an eyebrow.

“You’re here aren’t you? There are certain things only your hometown can offer.”

For a moment, they were chatting like they were getting acquainted over tea. I looked between them, a little dazed at the change of atmosphere.

“Once you kill me, what then? You’ll just be hunted again.” He said.

She leveled the blade at him. “Are you planning on dying?”

He corrected her. “I’m through killing. I’m no longer Patriarch. I just sell sunscreen on the beach.” 

He turned as though to walk away, but I suddenly shuddered violently against Taiga. Something was happening. Chisei’s tone had fluctuated.

Majesty!

The ice block on the ground suddenly cracked and split open as though struck with a hammer. He kept walking but everyone, Hydra and Aoi Gen’s followers alike were brought low.

I was not effected but Taiga’s weight brought me down as he fell.  I pulled his arm off me and staggered away, tripping and slipping over the ice towards Aoi. I reached down and took Tongzi from her while she lay gasping and struggling to breathe.

As soon as the sword was in my grasp, Chisei released his Soul Skill but few people moved.

The increase in gravity caused the blood to pool at the feet. Like a pilot experiencing G-force on a plane, only the strong exertion of muscle could keep someone conscious. 

The fact that Aoi Gen hadn’t passed out was a testament to both her physical strength and her dragonblood, but that didn’t mean she could stand.

Others were not so lucky. Most of the people around were still unconscious or too dazed to to do anything but moan on the ground.

Chisei turned the hilt of Spider Fang out to me. “I understand what you mean now.”

I accepted it back.

“For a long time, I believed a lot of things that were told me that weren’t true. Much of my life was a lie. A fantasy. Once I learned the truth, I had to accept it. And move on.”

“I don’t know Chu Zihang.” He continued. “But I’ve known you as a clear eyed person. Word did get back to me about your sudden mental illness. And it struck me as strange. Now you’re labeled a traitor?” He shook his head slightly. “I cannot believe it. Something is going on here. I will pray you live long enough to find out the truth.”

I lowered my head, overwhelmed by even this small simple acknowledgement. “Thank you, Chisei.”

“Get out of here.” His whisper was barely audible. “Before they recover.”

I closed my eyes tightly and vanished.

#Dragon Raja #Fanfiction #Writing #Chisei Gen #ITT: Chisei is so awesome #Squealing

[majirocksoff]

Majima breaks Kiryu out of prison; now with alt backstories. Majima x Kiryu / Kiryu x Nishiki (implied) Takes place during Y1. (Longfic, 70k words+)

His name is One-Thousand-And-Five.

Yesterday he was someone else, had been given, with the manners of a machine and the politeness of policy, the name, Mr. One-Thousand-And-Six.

Tomorrow he will be someone else again, at the ringing of the perfunctory bell that divorces one day from another: Mr. One-Thousand-And-Four.

In between the going-aways and the coming-tos, he collects names like dust. He goes to the chow hall, and he becomes Wait Your Turn; in going to the yard he becomes Thirty Minutes More. At the shower he gains a uniquely ephemeral identity: Batch-Two-Quickly-Now. He goes in, let the water scald off his skin, be reborn in water burning so hot it strips him red. Coming out shiny like a cooked lobster, he can wear a new identity for the rest of the night: The Dogshit of Dojima.

— —

In his prison cell he is nothing, his action is waiting.

Waiting is not inaction, this is the second thing you learn in prison.

Before prison you have assumptions, and the assumption is that waiting is just something that happens while the rest of your life is unraveling, becoming, acquainting itself to happenstance; fusing itself, in chemical reaction to coincidence, so that events may soon happen. You are always about to do something while you are waiting: buy groceries, run errands, break someone’s neck. Waiting is anticipation, a pre-meditated murder of time.

You were wrong, you know that now. Waiting is action, this is what you learn in prison.

It is an action that must be actively done. You fold yourself as small as possible into diamond-shaped patterns in the privacy of your cell (waiting is not done in public, it is sacred). You may sit cross-legged or seiza, stand on ceremony or leaning coolly, curled up in your bed with an arm tucked behind your head. Sucking your thumb, if you must.

Your exterior does not matter when you’re waiting, what matters is your interior, which must be shrunk. You shrink yourself inside, small-small as possible, until you can be turned around and poured out, and out-plop comes your soul and it won’t fill even a leaky thimble. You do this by stripping identities out of yourself.

Once upon a time you might have wanted to be great, for example, to follow in the footsteps of Kazama-san, to trace yourself in his shadow.

You take this desire and you erase it, line by line from the top, beginning first from the greatest concept then extending to everything else. You first forget the sentence whole; then you dismiss in inches and angry nights everything else: Kazama-san, the concept of greatness, the idea of footsteps, the desire of wanting, an entity of ‘you’, the stretching of time, once of the past, until at last you can be left alone with nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

Then you wait.

— —

The first thing you learn in prison, is that you have no identity.

You’re given an ID the moment you step in, and you think philosophical thoughts: ah, is this what I shall be? You were wrong, of course, because a series of number is an identity, and that identity is more solid than what you’ll eventually end up with.

Your identity becomes the days you have left, because 8-1-5-7-6 rankles your ears and bedevils your patience. At roll call, they put existential fear into you: will you be here for eighty thousand days, each by minutes longer than the last? You cannot. You fear. Your soul trembles and weep. You cast it off and take a new name: Mr. Three-thousand-six-hundred, all ten years to be waited tattooed on you; it is a long time but it can be waited. In contrast eighty thousand is forever.

When you take on the others it becomes easier; take them on in the secret corners of the prison where lips can split, skulls can break, nails torn one by one out of grasping flesh. There are many corners where the guards don’t see, willfully blind, and here you can be beaten by anyone: your seniors, your juniors, your hitmen, your old friends, your new enemies. Gradually in blood you extract from them new names:

The Dogshit of Dojima, that fucking backstabbing cunt, the lil Tojo shit, why ya staring, asswankcuntsucker, goddamned cocksucker, oi fuck off, are-ya-happy-now-ya-murdering-cunt, and so on.

They’re fine names; at least they don’t have numbers.

— —

The man with the one eye comes and instantly breaks every rule. He is an earthquake: in his presence you must obey new rules, run for high ground, cower in clear spaces.

He comes, swinging his hips like a new officer, twirling his hands holding an invisible bat, eating with his lips a pop song five years too new for you. He peels back the skin of the cell the moment he arrives. He overturns containers. He looks into the toilet, opens up the flusher, cracks open the sink to examine the deep sadness of the hole in the middle. He takes out his sheets, folds it messily so that he can lay in it like a well fucked boy.

All this you see, his cell is right opposite yours.

“Yo,” He says. He puts his legs up in a cross, carefully, making space for the steel tips he must have worn once. He straightens the eyepatch he was allowed (they had tried taking it from him, but realized too late it was too much a part of him, it would have killed him).

“What’s yer name?”

You are surprised. It is a terrible question, a faux pas, an abhorrent question never asked in prison. How could he, how dare he?

A name? He wants a name? But you don’t have a name, you’re a condemned spirit. You’ve worked hard to get this far. The Japanese dream: work so hard you don’t know who you are. Once you had a name, and it’d laid discarded in a laundry pile. You wait for him to understand how rude he’s been and go away.

“Oi ya deaf? Ya want me to go over there and beat it out of ya?”

There’s three feet of corridor and two sets of bars separating you, and you see that he means it.

You lick your cracked, chapped lips, tried hard to recall…

“My… Name?”

“Just my luck,” He swore. “I’m roomed with a fuckin’ idiot. Your name! Your name! Are ya daft?”

He needs to be patient. Names are the first thing to go, and the last thing to be replaced. He doesn’t know what he’s asking, demanding a name. Oh, the weeks to come, wracked in the throes of identity. Does he not know? Does he not care, how much this hurt, to recall a name?

Reluctantly, slowly (time itself is slow here) it is said.

“My name is… Kazuma. Kiryu. Kazuma, Kiryu, Kazuma. Yes, that’s my name.”

Oh, he says, mouth perfect on an O. The Dragon of Dojima? That Kazuma-fucking-Kiryu? That you? The Dragon of Dojima? The fucking Dragon of Dojima?

“Hell yeah! Always wanted to fight me a dragon! Sit tight in that cell, dragonshit, because I’m comin’ for ya Kiryu-chan!”

— —

Majima Goro was introduced to him in bits of nerve, bones, and tissues.

Kiryu goes as far away from him as he can. Now that he has identity it is not so easy to walk the hallways of the prison; it clings to him like bits of plastic wrap, tight and suffocating, each piece determined to make themselves be remembered. Every nook and cranny and day and night that once he’d lived as a young man of Kamurocho, clamored to be the one to dice his anonymity to pieces. He will not be forgotten, he cannot forget, not if they have any say about it.

In the manner of Majima’s walking and the dance of his fingers on the cutlery he sees the glittering manner of a younger Kamurocho, a visitor, a stranger, here to tell him: time has passed, but not enough time yet so that you can see it firsthand. Time is here to visit. The outside world has been let in, poured angry but fearsome into his cells.

The rattling of Majima’s bars replaces his roll call, his silent private mornings.

“Hey,” He screams (he is always screaming, he has no other verb). “Hey Kiryu-chan! Wake up, I’m bored!”

At night he rattles them like chains, screaming again: “Tell me a bedtime story, Kiryu-chan! Hey? Ya ignorin’ me? I can’t sleep, why don’t ya stay awake too? We could play imaginary shogi, how 'bout that?”

He is gyoku; the king that has come to sweep all of Kiryu’s neat, patiently-allocated time away and replaced it with himself, loud and trying, rolling over all the hallways into the secret corners where he is allowed to beat up Kiryu.

The first time he does this he shatters bone, broke clean through in one piercing fist Kiryu’s entire cheekbone, part of his jaw. Lovingly Majima brought him to the sink and tended his wounds; he tended him five times, smashing Kiryu up-down-up-down onto the metal until it shatters Kiryu’s nerves, it was so loud, and the metal had caught him in the ear. Majima left him tended, tender, tenderized, lying in a pool of blood leaving him rapidly for the freedom of the drains. The water, slow and warm now, cascading over him, lights bright and disorienting, the smell of soap mixed with the secrets of prison bathrooms.

He is made to realize he is fuhyo; a low mere degraded pawn. Like a pawn he could only move forwards, could not retreat, could then only be pushed into Majima’s arms, holding him in a chokehold over metal plates of curry and rice.

“Ya not such hot shit, Dragon of Dojima,” Majima tells him, whispering in his ear. “Ya just plain shit. I’m so disappointed. Ya disappointin’ me here, with your lousy ass performance. Kiryu-chan, ya need to shape up. Ya the best entertainment I’ve got around here and you’re so. goddamned. boring.”

He cracked his neck and laughed the whole time Kiryu goes down.

Once Kiryu remembers, he would have soared with Majima in his clutches and brought him down like thunder, would have stepped on him and never realized it - ah, might have thought, it’s dirtying the soles of my shoe, the little soul of Mad Dog Majima stuck in the rubbery meat he walks on.

“Kiryu-chan!” The hound howls. “Kiryu-Kazuma-chan! Come on, let’s play imaginary shogi! Are ya mad I beat ya? Or are ya mad that I beat ya up? Don’t be such a princess, Kiryu-chan! Let’s play, let’s play, let’s play!”

The hellhound becomes a puppy at night, frolicking in the lonesome cells; his cell bounded by Kiryu’s bounded by others. Only other people don’t matter to him; only strangely, Kiryu mattered to him. Kiryu was fun, Kiryu was gokudo, Kiryu had a past. The others Majima couldn’t wake up, couldn’t ask: who are you? What did you do to end up here? They can’t answer him, all of them mute and anonymous, because most of them have worked hard to forget, and unlike Kiryu could not be brought back.

With their sad sunken eyes and closed eyelids they watch Kiryu and Majima play imaginary shogi; kei-ma leapt over kin over gin, pushing aside hisha, storming onto kaku. Who are you, Kiryu whispers one night in bravado. He pressed his head back against the cell bars, sitting with his eyes closed to better remember the shogi board. Hands folded loosely across his lap, moving invisible pieces around.

I am Kei-ma, Majima whispered. Kiryu collects this identity, examine it in the moonlight, thinks fragmented thoughts –

“Are ya an idiot, Kiryu-chan? It just looks like my name - it’s a joke! Ya stupid ass thinking it means anything?”

He grinned, laughing so hard he overturns their imaginary board; neither can remember now which pieces were where. “This prison getting to ya, you’re a goddamned old fuck now.”

— —

Trapped now in the machine of his identity, Kiryu loses his numbers. He realized this one day when he had to go down to the office, to ask with form in hand exactly how many days he had to wait; the answer came back and surprised him, he is holding less numbers than he thought he had. They had slipped through his fingers and rolled into forgotten corners when he wasn’t watching.

He is now Mr. Nine-Hundred-and-Fifty, a whole month having passed him in scorn. Those numbered days he could no longer wear; Majima had forced his identity back onto him and they won’t go on now, came on like a loose coat, baggy in the elbows. He can no longer wait, at least wait the way he used to. There is no patience to be had, with Majima strolling bored and callous into his privacy, intruding with answers, leaving with questions.

Why are you here, Majima-san, he asked - desperate to give Majima more form, more identity, to know more so that he can become less to Kiryu.

What crime did you commit? Who did you kill? How did you live?

“Wouldn’t ya like to know, Kiryu-chan? I’m bored, bored, so maybe I’ll tell ya - but ya have to beat me first.”

They dance in the yard. They have exactly six minutes before the officers come with batons and extra days, so they must be quick, trading fists until their faces are bloated with blood and torn epidermis; Kiryu dancing better now but still far from a match to Majima, so that Majima danced with him only because he had no better partners. A fallen dragon made of shit was still better than just plain shit. Majima pivots on the officer, says: it’s me, I started this.

An act of generosity. It surprises Kiryu, he doesn’t know what to say, Majima taking this sin into the confession of his records.

“I ain’t plannin’ ta stay here twenty-five years, so what’s a few months that I won’t be around for?” He bared nasty teeth at Kiryu. “I ain’t like ya. I ain’t the wallowing sort. I’ll be out before six months is up.”

Oh, Kiryu said. Glad but sad, sad and glad. He is relieved that Majima in leaving will restore him to his formless mass again; bittersweet that he loses such a strict mold. Kiryu Kazuma Kazama Nishikiyama Dojima. Things he can’t forget as long as Majima is around, rooting him, anchoring him without his permission and against his wants.

“Whoooo—”

— —

The days are slipping away so fast now that he has to seize it with both hands clenched so tight his knuckles go white. Stay, he commanded. Stay. Seizing his miserable days in his hands, he watched Majima prepare for flight. By inches and minutes and lost seconds he withdraws from Kiryu, become more and more likely to disappear during yard time and bath time and free time, to meet with associates strange and shapeless huddling in the other yard.

Lined up against theirs but separated by a fence is the small-timers, the low-hitters, the off-ballers, little people who won’t be doing more than six months in the most deprived luxuries, off-site beside them, counting less than one-hundred-eighty-days.

It is these people that Majima meets, forehead-to-forehead like lovers, whispering convoluted plans calculated like algebra. When they hide, when they bother to hide, Majima scratches at the fence with loose-tipped fingers, plucking the fence like a guitar, plucking tunes at his associates until they come: unwilling but bowed by Majima’s boys who’d sequestered themselves in the smaller prison.

Where is — He demanded.

What is —

How shall —

How does the flight mechanism work? How does Kiryu find out? He finds out in nerves; Majima sometimes, sidling up to him, having the nerve to ask: I have a question. Where is the control room for —

Kiryu frowning, turning away, saying go, go I don’t know, don’t trouble me, I’ve never seen, I couldn’t possibly know, I never meant to go, never meant to leave, this prison is for me, nine-hundred-days only left to be. Majima beating him with his fists until he lay shivering and nurturing wounds on the ground, beating his identity into him.

Tell me what you see, Majima demanded.

“Kiryu-chan, don’t ya lie to me. I’ve been watchin’ ya watchin’ and ya know it. Ya just don’t know that you know it. Well, that’s what I’m for. I’m going to beat your piece of shit memory into your head.” He seized Kiryu by the collar, lift him up so that he could be closer to the sun, shaking him over and over again.

“Tell me! Where is it? You know where it is!”

Come, Kiryu told him, spitting out blood. Led him to the dark places in the prison where things can be seen, push him into corners angled right, take him away from plans angled wrong. You’re not doing this right, he told Majima. This control room is patrolled all the time, six-at-a-go, it’s a no-go, a no-show, what you want, really want, is this other place. You won’t know it unless you’ve been like me; a man without identity, they don’t let anyone see if they’ve got eyes. The crow-pig comes and pluck out your eye, one on each side, if they see you waiting to watch.

“I get it,” Majima said. “Thanks.”

More, “Hey, ya wanna come with—”

No, he said, he only had nine hundred more to go, it didn’t mean anything to him. All he wants is for Majima to leave, and quickly - so that he can once more be subsumed by anonymity.

— —

In bits and pieces he watch Majima assembled his plan; in his patience Kiryu had learned to see everything, and in so seeing saw that his plan would work before Majima himself knows it. Majima shrunk and wrapped himself in ignorance until the plan itself is executed. He goes with the flow, himself. Doesn’t need to have foresight. He’ll work it until it works, even if he fails this time. They waited calm and nerveless in their cells for the escape that will come soon.

“It’ll work,” Kiryu told him sleepily. Tomorrow, he’s thinking. This will be their last game of imaginary shogi, so he slipped: slipped the golden knife in and ate Majima’s king whole.

“Damn, ya good, Kiryu-chan. Ya totally wreck me this time.”

“Thank you for teaching me how to play.”

“Teach ya? Kiryu-chan, ya always knew how to play. Don’t ya know? Don’t ya remember? You could do anything you wanted - that’s why you were the dragon. All I did was make ya remember.”

Oh, he doesn’t remember anymore; all he’d wanted to was forget. Tomorrow when Majima is gone, he’ll go back to forgetting again. Reverse-engineering an onion, putting back layer by layer his thin skin to cover the sound of the silence inside. Eight-hundred-something more days to be lived. The days had leapt from his hands but he’ll have them back under rein again. When Majima is unleashed.

“Good luck, Majima-san,” He said.

“Thanks, Kiryu-chan. Couldn’t have done this without ya,” Majima said.

— —

He comes awake, frightened by the silence.

Kiryu sat in the dark and listened: there were no sounds. Not just the greater sounds of the outside world: cameras that had stopped working, alarms silenced and napping, doors grinding to a halt in mid-air. There is silence in him everywhere that frightens him - he can no longer hear the sound of forgetfulness, he’s forgotten how to forget…

A knife pressed itself tightly to his jugular, nicked him not because it’d miscalculated. Its owner was just sadistic, wanted him to bleed, wanted to see the sheen of a dragon’s blood.

“Kiryu-chan.” whispered Majima. “Ya coming with me.”

“No,” He gasped. “No.” He wanted to stay, was terrified by the outer world.

“I ain’t givin’ ya a choice. Ya coming with me, whether ya like it or no. Ya my present to that fucking Nishikiyama cunt.”

He pushed his knife in. Hissed orders at Kiryu until reluctantly, Kiryu unfolded himself and groped with seeking hands in the darkness. At length he found the thread of the plan, and began to follow it as it unraveled in the darkness of the prison, its silvery length glowing with hope. They walked down the halls quiet and empty illuminated by the shining spool. Somewhere somehow Majima had secreted all the officers away.

The inmates lined row by row in their rat-holes to watch them, trapped in their cell that wouldn’t open. When they realized what had happened, they howled like hell itself - unfair! unfair! unfair! - and hands scratched, brushed, rend at them from all sides. The inmates will drag them down to the pits if they could only reach…

Outside.

Air the same but different; they’re on the other side of the fence now. There is a motorcycle waiting, a snakeskin jacket, a small tanto and a helmet. A set of clothes prepared by someone who thought Kiryu was as big as he’d seen Kiryu last. Untrue, he has shrunk now, made skinny by the weak broth of prison.

“Put on the helmet,” Majima said. There was only one.

“Don’t you—”

“I can’t fuckin’ see with a black glass on, asshole. Vision strictly 10/20. 'sides,” He smiles. “That skull of yours worth ten of mine, isn’t it?”

Kiryu knew nothing; there was too much not being said. He climbed onto the motorcycle, clamped loose hands around Majima’s middle, and then they flew, across snowy landscapes into the cold and a freedom he never wanted but had received.

#kazumaji #majima #majima goro #yakuza #fanfic #ryu ga gotoku #kiryu kaz

[clickbliss]

Yakuza Kiwami is one of the best in the series

by Amr (@siegarettes)

Yakuza Kiwami 2

Developer- SEGA

Publisher- SEGA 

PS4

With the sheer volume of entries in the Yakuza series, sometimes it becomes hard to talk about just what it is that separates an exceptional entry from a great one. Thankfully the rapid releases of Zero, Kiwami and Yakuza 6 have all put on display different facets of Yakuza’s appeal. Zero remains the peak, with well integrated side stories and strong characterization, Kiwami’s core drama and combat held the game together despite a choppier narrative arc, and Yakuza 6 showed off the series’ incredible ability to capture local flavor. Yakuza Kiwami 2 then, is a synthesis of the work done in these previous entries, collecting the best elements and using them in its return to one of the series’ strongest stories.

Like Kiwami 1, Yakuza Kiwami 2 returns to an older entry with a new engine, staying faithful to the original down to the very composition of every cutscene. Kiwami 2 ends up the better of the two, thanks to engine improvements and an overall more confident story. The Dragon Engine from Yakuza 6 returns, bringing more seamless movement and combat. Overall combat is smoother, and the introduction of chargeable attacks adds a new tool to break guards and continue pressure. The fiddly environment specific heat moves have been de-emphasized, and Extreme Heat mode feels less necessary. Kiryu is more capable, if only in small ways. It never feels as good as Zero did when it got going, but it’s fluid and the return of the ability to chase enemies around the map and smash them through storefronts is good fun.

The story has plenty of the convoluted intrigue the series is known for, its core players and their motivations are much easier to follow. A lot of this is thanks to Ryuji Goda, the main villain, who has an incredible presence and charisma that looms over the rest of the cast. Known as the Dragon of Kansai, he sets up a challenge with Kiryu, the Dragon of Dojima, to find out who the one true Dragon of Japan will be.

Ryuji represents an archetype in the perpetual Yakuza conflict of between the honorable traditions and the new blood seeking to overthrow them. Ryuji seeks control through incontestable power, discarding the protocols established by the yakuza. Of course, there’s another faction working schemes in the shadows, using his presence as a distraction to their own grab for power. Because Ryuji’s motivations are so straightforward, they work in contrast to the other villains, making him almost seem honorable. It works well with Yakuza’s core themes, and its dedication to its old school notions of masculinity. And while there’s plenty to critique there, it works thanks to idealism Kiryu represents.

This pull between two charismatic leading men, and the improvements to the overall systems, puts Yakuza Kiwami 2 high in the rankings of the series. Despite being a remake of the second game, Kiwami 2 takes lessons from the development of the entire series and creates one of its most refined entries. The side stories here are more organic as well, providing levity to the heavy melodrama without feeling like tasks you need to go out of your way for. I genuinely enjoyed chasing down its characters and seeing how situations resolved, and thankfully, I almost always happened upon the next chapter in their stories without having to look for them.

Simply put, Yakuza Kiwami 2 provides the perfect balance of melodrama, side stories, and brawler antics.There’s just something about its particular synthesis that makes it one of the most complete entries in the series. It doesn’t represent quite as good a starting point as Zero, thanks to its continuation from the events of the first game, but it definitely feels like a worthy final game in Kiryu’s story.

#Yakuza 2 #yakuza kiwami 2 #review #sega #ps4

[thefreecheese]

The Free Cheese Game of the Year 2020

This year, we’re changing a bit of how our awards are chosen and announced. We’re limiting the entire process to a single, shorter episode. We’ve worked behind the scenes using a spreadsheet and some math, with a bit of wiggling one way or another to determine the winners of each category.

As we read through each category, we’ll name the winner and two runners up. Then, we’ll share some of our experiences with each game and why it deserved the award.

We’re going to spend a few minutes throughout the episode to celebrate some of the games that stuck with us the most in 2020. These might not have been released in 2020, but they meant something to us when we played them. In between rounds of award winners, we’ll each share a game that meant something to us and why.

When we reach Game of the Year, we will read our current list of nominees and deliberate the winner as we would in previous years, eventually crowning a winner.

Out of Time

While we found ourselves with more time to play games this year, we still have games that we missed out on playing. For one reason or another the games we nominate slipped through the cracks. The award goes to the game that we wish we would have played and will hopefully be talking about throughout the next year.

Winner: Spelunky 2

Runners Up: Nioh 2, Paper Mario: The Origami King

Favorite Industry Moment

One thing that has continually brought us together are those times in the video game industry where developers and publishers get to show off what they have been creating.

While 2020 was a change in the way we typically received video game news, we saw companies find new ways to reach us and we were able to share excitement and hope for something new.

Winner: Tony Hawk’s Pro Skater 1 + 2 Reveal

Runners Up: Open World Navigation Map Reveal for Halo Infinite, Demon’s Souls Remake Announcement

2020’s 2019 Game of the Year

As we are highlighting even more this year than previous years, we play a lot more than just what was released in a single year and often find ourselves catching up with something from the year before.

While last year, we never landed on a winner, we found ourselves with quite a bit of 2019’s games to choose from this year.

Winner: Ring Fit Adventure

Runners Up: Tetris 99, Untitled Goose Game

Retrospective #1

2020 was the perfect year to get lost in something. We each felt the pull of exploration and a want for discovery, and we each found our own answers to satisfy the need.

Metroid: Other M

Dark Souls

Half-Life/Black Mesa

Best Xbox Game

Microsoft managed to transition into a new generation of consoles with ease and Xbox Game Pass let us stay up with everything published by the first-party. This year continued to exemplify why Xbox Game Pass is essential for Xbox owners.

Winner: Ori and the Will of the Wisps

Runners Up: Phantasy Star Online 2, Tetris Effect Connected

Best Multiplayer

Since we played our first game we have found a way to share it with others, even when it wasn’t designed to do so. This award is for the game that did something special to unite us, for the game that found a way to get us playing together.

Winner: Trackmania

Runners Up: Phasmophobia, Deep Rock Galactic

Best DLC/Expansion

Downloadable content, expansions, and updates are a regular part of video games today. Thanks to post-game support, the games we love the most can get even better. Some games turn around entirely and become something we never thought they would. This award is for the piece of content that made the biggest impact on us in 2020.

Winner: Super Smash Bros. Ultimate x Sephiroth

Runners Up: Super Smash Bros. Ultimate x Minecraft, Pokémon Sword and Shield: The Isle of Armor

Retrospective #2

In a console release year, it’s strange that we didn’t have a racing game to test drive new consoles with. Two were announced, but without release dates. Instead, we explored some of racing’s past to see how the genre can change, and we looked at racing with a new perspective.

Daytona USA

Motorsport Manager

F-Zero X

Best PlayStation Game

With the end of one of its most successful generations, PlayStation was home to so many exclusives that took advantage of the years spent on with the hardware. Games on PlayStation 4 in 2020 were often long in development and finally came to us just as we looked beyond to the next generation.

Winner: Final Fantasy VII Remake

Runners Up: 13 Sentinels: Aegis Rim, Persona 5 Royal

Best Ongoing Game

More than a single update or piece of content, video games have the chance to live. We all have the one game that we keep coming back to, and this award celebrates the games that remain fresh and continue to offer reasons for us to return.

Winner: Call of Duty

Runners Up: Animal Crossing: New Horizons, Rocket League

Most Surprising

This award is for the game that we had no idea we wanted. In some cases, our nominees were first announced and released in the same year where others simply caught us off guard with what they ended up doing upon release.

Winner: Tony Hawk’s Pro Skater 1 + 2

Runners Up: Hyrule Warriors: Age of Calamity, 13 Sentinels: Aegis Rim

Retrospective #3

2020 was a year where we were able to say “What was that game?” We spent time with relics of the past otherwise forgotten to history, got lost in a world through another lens, and finally stepped into the games that got away.

The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt

AeroPorter

Umurangi Generations

Best Nintendo Game

Nintendo was different this year than I think any of us had anticipated. Listening back through our predictions, you can hear what we expected from Nintendo in 2020 and seeing a smaller year for Nintendo was a bit of a surprise. Even with some absences from the release calendar, Nintendo celebrated the 35th anniversary of Super Mario Bros., released a thirty year old Fire Emblem in the West for the first time, and even snuck out a new Game & Watch model.

Winner: Animal Crossing: New Horizons

Runners Up: Hyrule Warriors: Age of Calamity, Xenoblade Chronicles: Definitive Edition

Most Anticipated

Suffice it to say, 2020’s release calendar is a lot different than we or the developers making the games anticipated it would be. A lot of what we were excited to play slipped into 2021, to the point where new consoles launched without the one. Rather than grant an award to a single game, we’re instead going to share three games each that we’re most looking forward to in 2021.

Game of the Year

Final Fantasy VII Remake

Persona 5 Royal

Tony Hawk's Pro Skater 1+2

13 Sentinels: Aegis Rim

Yakuza: Like a Dragon

Animal Crossing: New Horizons

Superliminal

Ori and the Will of the Wisps

Demon's Souls

The Last of Us Part 2

Click to listen...

#podcast #video games #gaming #playstation #nintendo #xbox

[reapers-carino]

Family Torn Asunder

He had tried to send you away before it had come to this. Ever since Sojiro’s untimely death, there had been a palatable tension throughout the Shimada estate; anger, bitterness, envy, and greed twisting what once had been a happy home into a familial battleground. Hanzo had been thrusted into the position of oyabun of the Shimada clan, a role that he had been groomed  for but still one that they assumed he would not have taken for at least another decade. At the age of 24, he was one of the youngest Yakuza head’s in their territory’s history but he was determined to prove himself. And prove himself he did. Hanzo was a force unlike any they had ever seen before, even his own father; he was smart, calculating, charismatic although prone to be abrasive once agitated and he held not one, but two of the family’s ancestral dragons. He was the perfect heir to keep the Shimada name strong but to you he was so much more than that.

You and Hanzo had been betrothed since you were born; a promised alliance between the Shimada clan and the Takahashi faction sealed by a marriage of convenience. You grew up with both Shimada brothers; attending the same private schools, going to the same after school tutoring and etiquette sessions and participating in combat training at their sides. The three of you had been a force to be reckoned with when you were young; Genji too quick-footed, Hanzo too crafty and you too silver tongued to ever really face punishment. They had shown you their dragons, the beasts captivating and affectionate, a watchful eye over the three young rambunctious heirs as they grew.  But as the three of you had grown, while your bond grew with both of the boys, you could see a divide begin to make its strain on the two brothers.

While Genji was allowed to skip lessons or pull harmless pranks, Hanzo was harshly criticized for any role he had in it. The younger was usually never the wiser, Hanzo too prideful to let him know but the seeds of resentment were sown bit by bit until they sprouted. You had married young, at the age of 16, with consent from both of your parents so you had the distinct privilege of watching things come to what they were now after moving to the estate. When Sojiro passed and Hanzo had been elevated to his position, the gap turned into chasm; Hanzo imploring his brother to stay at his side and to turn away from his frivolous playboy ways, while Genji rebuked him and the lifestyle that he had decided was not for him. You tried to quell the rage that built in your husband’s heart, soothe and shield him from the venom the elders threw at Genji and at him for his failure to leash his brother. The two of you had fallen for one another young and you were his most trusted, his dearest companion but even you couldn’t conquer the passion of a pridefully wounded dragon.

Finally he broke.

Hanzo had tried to send you to Obanazawa, imploring you to take a weekend break there and he would join you when time allowed. You refused, uneasy for reasons unbeknownst to you, saying you’d wait so that you could travel together and enjoy the scenic routes just as you both had in your younger days. It seemed that that day would never come.

The screaming had woken you up. That was Genji’s scream, loud and wet and pained, your little brother screaming as if someone was actually murdering him. You groped frighteningly for your husband, Hanzo’s side of the bed was cool, the man often slipping into the sheets of the California king bed in the early hours of the morning. Heart thundering in your chest you forced yourself up, hand grabbing your phone and your tantō as years of training came rushing back to you. You moved fast and low, going towards the sliding door and pressing your back against it as you mind ran through scenarios. If someone was attacking the estate, especially one of the masters’, the guards should be rushing in soon enough. But you refused to wait. The sound of Genji’s pain sent you into a panic, your feet carrying you outside as the sound of his fading screams made your body run cold. You could see Hanzo’s back as you rounded into the gardens, his name dying on your lips as your eyes registered the scene in front of you.

Hanzo was shirtless, the remains of the button up you had picked out for him the morning before tattered and shredded on the ground, blood soaking into the white silk and turning it pink then crimson. His body was lax, shoulders slack and head bowed, but it looked like he could collapse at any moment, his legs quivering as they tried to hold him up. A part of you wanted to rush to him but you couldn’t, not with who laid at his feet. The younger man’s katana had fallen just above his head, his hand still holding it, his arm no longer attached to his body. You didn’t know if you were more or less terrified that you couldn’t make out too much else of his wounds, his clothes stained too darkly and too wetly for individual injury analysis. But the one thing that stood out to you was the shock of green hair against the ghost white of his near bloodless skin.

“G-Gen”, you croaked as you staggered forward, breaking into a run until you dropped down at his side, hands shaking as they reached out and touched his face. There was still warmth there, a twitch of his closed eyes and lips showing that there was still life within him.

A half sob bubbled from your lips as you scooted closer, carefully pushing his arm away and pulling his head into your lap as you looked down at his destroyed body.

“Y-Y/N…”

Your eyes snapped up to Hanzo, fear and fury burning in your gaze in equal measure, the oyabun taking a half step back before moving forward. Your hands dove into the sleeve of your nightgown effortlessly, pulling your tantō from its sheath and pointing it at the man. It felt like your heart was shattering as Hanzo fixed you with a stare of disbelief, gulping painfully as you threatened the love of your life.

“S-stay away from us”, you snapped, your voice ferocious and heavy, thick with tears yet quivering as Hanzo took another half step. Your eyes narrowed at him dangerously before dropping to Genji as he sucked in another wet breath. Tears rolled down your cheeks freely as your eyes darted from Hanzo to Genji and back, uncertainty and anguish dancing inside of you. Hanzo moved even closer for a moment before you snapped. “What did you do?! Wh-what the fuck did you do Hanzo?!”

Hanzo staggered this time, moving away from you as you continued to yell at the man, only stopping when the back of his knees hit the rock that sat in middle of the garden. None of you were a stranger to murder, being the children of organized crime lords giving you front row seats to carnage more than once. But fratricide...that was unheard of. Genji groaned again, your hands hovering as you tried to figure where to place them, what flow of blood to stem to only delay the inevitable. Your chest grew tighter as you fought against your mind to keep your composure, the scent of iron coating your senses, mind frantically searching for some sort of solution only for you to stop dead on one. Blood slick fingers groped clumsily at your phone, the device’s small holoscreen popping up as your hands shakily pulled up your father’s number. The call was answered almost immediately, your father’s perturbed expression at being contacted so late morphing into concern at your distressed expression.

“Help”, you mumbled, feeling as if you were a child again, unable to voice what really plagued you. You breathed heavily, the bubble in your chest expanding as you tried to keep the sob from overtaking your voice. “H-help, G-Gen-Genji is hurt...Pl-please papa…”

He opened his mouth to ask about the Shimada’s, you could see the words forming on his lips but they fell silent as your expression twisted into abject horror at the thought, your head shaking aggressively side to side. Your father expression went steely before he stated he’d have a hovercar accompanied by armed guards and a doctor before ending the call saying he would see you soon. Too much anxiety rumbled inside of you to feel relief, your hands gently cradling Genji’s face as he continued to let out low, pained moans.

“It’s okay Ji-kun”, you murmured softly, using a nickname you hadn’t used in years as you comforted him. You hiccuped painfully, thumbs moving in small circles against his cheek bones, trying to force some of the warmth in your skin back into his. “You’ll be okay, okay? We just need to get you to a doctor...it’s okay, you’re okay.”

You repeated that mantra over and over as you stroked his face, eyes on his chest to make sure it continued to rise and fall, sobs picking up each time his breath seemed to slow or stop. The sound of the hovercar made your gaze slip upwards, the SUV sized car not landing as two of your father’s omnic followers jumped out of the vehicle, a third human follower lowering a hovering gurney to the three of you below. They moved quickly, helping you to stand and, as carefully as they, could loading Genji onto the gurney, severed arm gingerly placed next to him. The gurney began to display vitals at a rapid pace, the stretcher beginning to glow as it began its attempts to stabilize him, ascending steadily towards the car. Your mind didn’t register what your father’s foot soldiers were saying to you as they flanked either side of you, wrapping an arm around your waist. Lifting their arms, a tether burst forth from either one before connecting with the vehicle, lifting the three of you from the ground smoothly. Casting a glance over your shoulder, you saw the garden was empty, only a thick pool of blood and destroyed fauna remaining in the area. This was the last time you would see the place you had once called home.

“Hello Hanzo…”

Hanzo froze as he stepped through the door of the cleared out restaurant, Genji’s quickly shoving him into the room before quickly shutting the door behind his brother. Twisting, the elder brother bit back his urge to snarl at the younger, gulping slowly as he realized he had been led into a trap. Turning slowly, he gulped hard as your eyes locked, a slow, timid smile growing on your lips as you both looked each other over. You both had changed so much in the five years that you had been apart.

Hanzo had cut his hair, the sides shaved and the rest of his hair pulled into a loose topknot, his beard stylishly trimmed. The piercings he had fawned over as a teenager; a barbell in the bridge of his nose, both ears pierced and a cartilage piercing in the right side. The black v-neck shirt and tight black cargos pants he wore were modern, neither traditional kyudo-gi and hakama nor tailored business suits that had become his staples before you had left his side. His face, while older appeared much lighter than it had in years since you had seen him, Genji’s presence and forgiveness really having done the man good. He was not the only one that had changed, however.

Your hair had grown even longer, loosely plaited and tossed over one of your shoulders, the copper highlights you always said you get finally present. The lines of stress that had begun to crinkle your brow had lessened, your eyes bright albeit a bit shy and guilty as you look at one another. Standing from the table slowly, you smoothed your hands down the long, soft cream colored maxi skirt you wore, the crimson off the shoulder top drawing his eyes to your shoulder, wondering if the Shimada tattoo still existed on your back.

Tearing his eyes away from you, Hanzo’s gaze dropped to the table, looking at the expanse you had set ut. It seemed that you were in cahoots with Genji, the two of you planning a lunch date of sorts. Mori soba, with generous sides of green onion and wasabi, ichigo daifuku wrapped delicately up and placed under a cooled holo-dish and a large bottle of his favorite brand of store-bought green tea sitting next to two small cups. This was the first meal that you two had eaten together as an actual couple; bought from a corner store on the way home from school when you both choose to sneak away from responsibilities for the afternoon. The two of you had eaten under a cherry blossom tree near the temple before walking pink faced, hand in hand all over Hanamura when you were thirteen. You both were scolded severely but ultimately blessed with leniency, both set of parents just happy to see the two of you would be the perfect match. And after all these years...you both still remembered that day.

Your face was burning as Hanzo looked back at you, acute nervousness overtaking you as he studied the food that covered the table. You wrung your hands together as you tried to will your eyes upwards, lips twitching and fidgeting as you tried to keep a straight face. Taking a deep breath, you slowly rolled your shoulders back trying to stand a bit straighter to force confidence into your system. Eyes drifting upwards, both you and Hanzo seized up for a moment, a pregnant moment of silence falling between you two before a timid smile began to tug at your lips.

“Please take a seat”, you asked, voice soft as you put emphasis on the first word. You waited until he had taken the seat across from you, sitting down in turn and smiling nervously, hand lifting to gently play with the end of your plait.“I...I’m sorry that we tricked you into coming here...We meant no harm it was just...I wanted to talk.”

Hanzo look guarded, his expression trained to remain considerate but eyes betraying the anxiety he felt just being near you. You nibbled on your bottom lip as you considered him, eyes dropping down to the table once more before lifting again. You had been justified in leaving that night, that much was true and you wouldn’t apologize for it. You were angry and scared and more concerned with saving Genji’s life than hearing what excuses he might throw your way. But…that didn’t excuse you not reaching out to him when he was on the run, when you knew his life was in danger...when you had finally learned the truth.

“Genji told me what happened that night”, you answered, voice soft and heavy with doubt, understanding if he didn’t want to listen to you. But you didn’t want to give up this chance; you still cared for the man, held love in your heart for the man...it wouldn’t be ridiculous, however, if he didn’t reciprocate. Chancing a glance up, you saw the surprise in his gaze, a shameful blush spreading further across your cheeks. “How...how the two of you argued...and he had pulled his sword on you first. How you had parried his first attack before it became an all out battle between the both of you.”

Shame danced across his features, his adam’s apple bobbing as he gulped hard, his fist tightening on the table. You hesitated for a moment before reaching out, resting your hand lightly over his, offering a soft, comforting smile. He had believed his brother had died by his hand for years and while he almost had, you wouldn’t add onto that burden, especially when it was one they both had long apologized and forgiven one another for. As the warmth in his hand seeped into your skin, your heart fluttered, the heat in your face creeping down your neck and into your chest. Hanzo’s own cheeks gained some color, pink creeping into his face as his eyes locked with yours before darting away for a brief second. The dragons beneath his skin purred happily, rejoicing the touch of their long lost mate. You kept talking, both of you acutely aware that you hadn’t let go of his hand.

“I won’t waste my breath yelling at you”, you said softly, a quiet breathy laugh tumbling from your lips. “I did enough of that when Genji first told me. What I will say...is I am sorry that it came to that and that...you were alone. That you had to deal with so much on your own...that you did not know your brother was alive.”

Your hand tightened on his hand incrementally as your eyes dropped again, remorse pinching your brow and your lips twitching downward. What befell the Shimada clan in the months after Genji’s supposed death and your ‘disappearance’ rippled across the Japanese underworld. Hanzo Shimada either fled from his own family or was forcibly deposed; the elders of the clan trying to twist the story into one of a ‘crazed familial killer’ finally losing his grip on the reality of the situation and being removed or leaving before he could cause his family further shame.

However, being a Takahashi and an ally of the Shimada’s made you privy to certain knowledge. After Genji had been cut down, it was presumed that the head of the clan had finally taken care of the troublesome Sparrow and the Shimada’s would finally be able to focus on their ascent to the top without shame. However, grief made Hanzo erratic, unpredictable. In one fell swoop he had lost his best friends, his brother and his lover. He had no confidants, anyone he could trust; left only with the persistent thoughts that he was a monster driven to murder by people who hadn’t even shed a tear at the wake. After what her father had only described as a tumultuous exchanging of power, Hanzo had disappeared from Hanamura and the Shimada faction was disassembled precisely and viciously by ‘unknown assailants’.

Your thumb massaged the back of his hand with small circles as the past played through your head lifting your eyes to his once more.

“My father pulled some string to get him out of the country”, you answered softly, knowing there were questions Genji couldn’t answer himself. “Doctor Hye Jin Park helped up stabilize him and move him into Korea, then she reached out to a certain blonde Swiss woman who she felt could better assist him with long-term recovery and prosthetics…From there...it gets a little murky on our sides. We don’t know if Doctor Ziegler revealed who he was or if Overwatch somehow found out his identity but Genji , as I’m sure you’ve been told, ended up as a Blackwatch agent….during that time I barely heard from your brother... right before Overwatch collapsed through, it seemed it finally got away. He reached out to us but he was...different. Honestly without Master Zenyatta, I have no idea where he would be...but I’m sure you know all about that.”

A small coy smile tugged at your lips, the tidbits of information Genji had been feeding you making you smile. After their reunion in Hanamura, Genji and Zenyatta had taken it upon themselves to both give the man his space and follow him wherever he went. If Hanzo was taking a contract to disassemble a trafficking ring in Beijing, Zenyatta and Genji were there to attend a peace summit between Omnics and humans of the region. If something went amiss with a mission in Lagos, he suddenly found himself assisted by a ‘cyborg ninja’. Wherever he went, they went until Hanzo finally broke and confronted the pair. From there the archer joined them on their travels; reconciling, relearning and forgiving one another for their torrid past. It was a long time coming finally the brothers had found the peace they truly deserved. Still, Hanzo did not think it fair nor right of him to have you pulled back into the chaos that was his life.

Genji spoke of you candidly, sharing how your father had retired and funded the wanderlust you had never truly satiated, still visiting home frequently, however. He’d show Hanzo pictures of you as you traveled the world, occasionally the selfies including Zenyatta or Genji or both, Hanzo recognizing them as times the two had tried to convince him to meet with you and failed. Still, Genji did as any younger brother did pest, he persisted and nagged and nagged until he resorted to cheap tricks to get the two of you in the same room at the same time. And while it was not fully ethical, you were more than happy that it had worked. You had missed Hanzo something fiercely. Your heart had belonged to one another since you were children, tied together not only by intense emotional bonds but spiritual ones. His dragons had cried for you and you had felt their longing, the celestial beasts howls for reconciliation growing louder once he had found peace with his brother.

“Hanzo”, you started, your gentle massaging of his hand pausing as emotion returned to your voice, making your tone heavy and thick. Your eyes shone with tears as you stared at the man, sincerity obvious in your gaze.  “I forgive you...and I apologize.”

“There is nothing you need to apologize for”, Hanzo quickly countered, his hand turning and carefully cupping yours. “You have done nothing wrong, my flower...it is I who is truly sorry. I know nothing I do can atone for how I have hurt you--”

“Hanzo no”, you interrupted, shaking your head and smiling, tears rolling down your cheeks as his chosen nickname for you poured over your ears. “No, none of that. I forgive you okay?....I have missed you.”

“And I you”, he responded, voice genuine as he squeezed your hand tighter. He blinked a bit in surprise as you pulled your hand from his before lasing your fingers together, a shy, happy blush creeping onto your cheeks. Your hearts thrummed together, his free hand reaching out and cupping your cheek, pushing the tears on your face away before awarding you with a small smile of his own. You nuzzled into his touch, a few more tears escaping, Hanzo brushing them away and staring at you with unadulterated adoration. “You are even more beautiful than I remember.”

“And you are even more silver-tongued than I remember”, you teased softly before covering the hand on your cheek with your own. “Thank you for coming back to me, my dragon.”

“Thank you for allowing me back.”

#Overwatch #Overwatch story #Overwatch fanfic #Hanzo #Hanzo Shimada #HanzoxReader #Hanzo x Reader #angst #fluff #reconciliation

[prinzenhasserin]

Fandom5K 2018

Dear Writer!

I had so much fun doing this exchange last year, and please don’t feel obligated to use my prompts. This letter is just in case you might want to poke at some more of my likes. Generally, I’m open to a lot, and will be happy with any rating from gen to explicit.

My AO3 account is here. My prompts are pretty ridiculous in places. That’s just how my mind works! Feel free to play them entirely straight, or subvert them to your hearts desire. I’m not so much a fan of darkfic, exceptions apply for hopeful/happy resolutions.

Feel also free to include other characters or OCs as side-characters, if they are necessary because of plot reasons. ❤️

(If this letter cribs a lot from my other letters, it’s because I’m lazy, and my likes don’t change around that much :D You can find some of my other letters under the exchange letter tag. I hope you have fun creating!)

Likes:

loyalty

odd couples!

found family, dysfunctional families that nevertheless love each other

historical stories for same-sex pairings that aren't unhappy but that fit with the society of the time (so like, spinster ladies living together; bachelors-for-life); I also like homophobia-free societies!

cultural differences! age differences! height differences!

heists, rescue missions

character driven narratives

dragons, fairy tales, magical realism, urban fantasy

Space AUs

competent characters

people not realising they’re the most competent at their job/hobby

people failing their way to success

happy endings, earning your happy ending, open yet hopeful endings

cynical humour

mutual pining

everything is better in suits, corsetry, fancy dresses

crossdressing

Identity shenanigans (secret identities, mistaken identities)

Blatant Lies

Enemies becoming friends and/or lovers

outsider POV

epistolary, poetry, unusual narrative formats

orange/blue morality (that is, not entirely human morality); grey/grey morality

non-verbal expressions of affection

Kinks I’m always down for:

wall sex

shifting power dynamics

semi-public sex

lots of foreplay, drawn out orgasms, edging

desperate sex, drunk sex, we-just-can’t-help-it!sex, sex for life-affirming

sex toys

sex toys in public (though I get embarrassed if someone else notices)

DNWs:

infidelity in mentioned pairings

suicide

permanent character death

Yuri!!!on Ice

Pairing: Lilia Baranovskaya/Okukawa Minako

Freeform Tags: Getting Together, Established Relationship, Interpersonal Drama, Smut, Character Development

How do these two know each other? Did they meet when Minako was a shining new ingenue? Did Lilia feel like her position was threatened, or did she teach her replacement? Was Minako perhaps the reason for Lilia/Yakov's divorce, or was she perhaps Lilia's rebound? (I would love if there was a presence of time and place in this, if the characters background would be a strong drive for whatever they are doing, but PWP would be great too)

…they are my favourite pairing coming from Yuri!!! on Ice, because they seem so utterly competent, and have amazing life journeys, and yet they are only hinted at in the series.

I know I don’t want infidelity, except here I wouldn’t mind if Lilia and Yakov are married still (they could be separated, or just in an open relationship, or on their way to get a divorce, too)

Minako seducing an older, more experienced Lilia? Lilia seducing her bright-eyed ingenue

Minako and Lilia competing for the same roles, and admiring each other’s techniques without being able to admit it.

Or, during canon, applying their rivalry indirectly by competing with their skaters?

Les Trois Mousquetaires | The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas

Pairing: d’Artagnan/Athos; d’Artagnan/Jussac

Freeforms: Action/Adventure, Getting Together, Canon-Style Plot, AU - Canon Divergence, Fix-it fic

d’Artagnan/Athos

d'Artagnan pays so much attention to Athos, and his many swings of temperament, and he has such a crush on him! It's hard to tell if he wants to be him, or bang him, and I really really want the latter. When Athos says, he's sworn off of women, what he means, he's only interested in men, right? right? that is to say, I'd love canon divergence, where they end up together (and please, with the possibility of longterm happiness) If you want to set this before Milady's appearance, sure! If you want to set this after Milady's appearance, I would love to see the dramatic fallout of Milady flirting with d'Artagnan, or hurt/comfort after Athos kills his wife the second time.

Treville makes them root out the Cardinal’s spies out of his ranks! They have to spend a lot of time close together; or Treville makes them go on duty together, because Athos is very experienced, and that’s not the only thing he’s experienced with ;)

d’Artagnan needs help managing the estate the King grants him, and Athos lends a helping hand 

I like a good helping about catholic guilt, but not just specifically about homosexuality. 

d’Artagnan/Jussac

Then, there's also Jussac--and their rivalry is set up so well! The longstanding Cardinal's Guard against the new impulsive Musketeer? Perfection. And then Jussac disappears, and it made me so sad. So, rival hate!sex? Are they assigned to protect someone and have to arrange themselves with each other? Are they banding together for a greater enemy? Is one of them blackmailed for their sexuality, and they can only go to the other for help, because nobody is going to believe the gossip they have about the other? I'd prefer if the blackmail doesn't put emphasis on homophobia, just that the sexual behaviour was not socially acceptable.

They are wooing the same mistress. Because of reasons, they have to hide in her closet together, and the only reasonable recourse of action is banging each other. 

Foiling an assassination attempt? getting imprisoned together, because they duelled in public?

I'd also be game for a total AU! But please preserve the general fucked up character dynamics, because they are what I like about this canon.

Gokusen (Manga)

Pairing: Sawada Shin/Yamaguchi Kumiko

Freeforms: Canon-Style Plot, Humor, Mystery/Procedural, Smut, Slice of Life

I want to see Yankumi/Shin as a couple so badly--and I would like to see how they interact with the world. Will Shin become a Yakuza member to oppose his father? Will Yankumi be accused of using the highschool as a Yakuza front? Will she still call Shin to come and help her beat up people when he's a fancy lawyer? How will the other groups react to Yamaguchi's boy toy?

How does Shin convince Yankumi to have sex with him? (A wonderful fic I got was with plenty of bad yakuza movies, which :D :D :D but I am always open for more! Maybe Shin speaks to Kumiko’s competitive spirit? Maybe he asks her to spite the police commissioner, by doing it in his house? Maybe there is some heavy kissing because they are trying to escape thugs/police/Kumiko’s students?)  Is he getting kidnapped left and right before they actually get together because all and sundry already think they’ve been doing each other for years?

If they are already in an established relationship, how does Shin deal with Yankumi’s students (especially when one of them develops a crush)?

I’d be also super interested to see how other people view their relationship, like Shin’s father, Kumiko’s grandfather, the other yakuza groups, her students– or simply Kumiko and Shin setting out to fight an up-and-coming group of delinquents, rescuing kittens, or Shirokin, from an overzealous school commissioner?

I have no problems about depicting violence, or graphic criminal activities, but please no major crimes involving children.

Crossover Fandom

Pairings:  Elle Woods (Legally Blonde)/Cher Horowitz (Clueless); Jane Marple (Miss Marple)/Phryne Fischer (Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries); John Constantine (Hellblazer)/Severus Snape (Harry Potter)

Freeforms: Canon-Style Plot, Mystery/Procedural, Smut

Elle Woods/Cher Horowitz

I imagine them meeting at a charity dinner, wearing the same dress and insisting that the other wears it better. Or through a sorority donation drive, where Elle lets her car get washed by girls in Bikini, and then they start flirting. Or, if you want to use the other Legally Blonde movie--how about Elle Woods running for Senate, and meeting Cher during a workshop for foreign policy? I'd love to see either one of them running for office, too.

I am here for all the tropes: does one of them have an ex who invited them to their wedding, and they really need a date? high school reunion? stranger at a bar? 

Also excellent would be: Elle does criminal law, Cher is in charity work, and they need to solve this embezzlement case.

But I’m also here for the porn, because that would also be amazing. Or like, buying a house together. Getting married. Deciding to adopt a puppy together.

Jane Marple/Phryne Fisher

Do they meet during the war? We know Phryne was an ambulance driver, but maybe Jane's code division was a euphemism for spy work, and Phryne has to get her across enemy terrain? Would also love a story later in their lives, where they visit each other to solve murders and gossip about life.

teaming up to solve a murder!

teaming up to drive a poor inspector up the wall

teaming up during the war, codebreaking! and seeking comfort with each other

they went to girl’s school together, and now have to relive old glory days!

definitely here for Phryne and Jane being each other’s lesbian experience

John Constantine/Severus Snape

It's a pairing with everything I ever wanted: So much inferiority complex wrapped in a shabby facade with too much bravado and not enough sense of when to back down, and they're both such delightful fuck-ups and it's glorious. I mean, this is definitely not the first evil person who John Constantine wanted to fuck, and it's nice that he sometimes helps out with the more structured magic. AU's are great, as long as they both keep their magic, and their general personality. Would also read a Severus-Snape-Lives!AU in which he's resurrected because the devil didn't want him, or whatever, or he goes to the US to hide with a more Legends of Tomorrow!Constantine. Basically, anything is good.

they’d be so glorious together! I’m here for all the fucked-up-ness this pairing can generate

hatesex? sex pollen? :D i hate repeating myself, but really, anything would be great; I’d love a AU in which John convinces Severus to not join the death eaters because they are all wankers anyway

or a AU in which Severus survives and joins John on madcap adventures trying to survive eldritchs horrors

or like, a one-night-stand that ends in Severus hearing the prophecy and defecting from Lord Voldemort

also, I’d love if they’d bonded up over their chavness, or something. really, anything would be great

Original Work

Freeforms: Smut, Getting Together, Mystery/Procedural, Action/Adventure, Humor

17th Century French King's Male Musketeer/17th Century French Cardinal's Male Guard

The Musketeer/Cardinal’s Guard request comes from my love of 'enemies to lovers' and 'love across enemy lines'. The real life feud between the two corps is a great premise for this! I'm more interested in the adventures they have. How do they resolve it? Do they end up getting new jobs, or succeed in ending the feud, or forever pretend to hate each other? 

(See also my prompts for d’Artagnan/Jussac for a more specific pairing of this dynamic!)

Some interesting prompts:

The King requests that they work together to... guard a diplomat? foil an assassination? root out some bandits?

They start wooing the same woman, but then it turns into some strange kind of one-up-manship, and then it turns into gay chicken, and then it turns into a proper relationship and when they retire they get a cottage in the woods somewhere

they hunt down the thief who stole the King’s jewels and happen to get into a storm. Luckily, there’s an inn not far from where they are, but when they get there, there’s only one bed...

Art Thief/Museum Curator

This is also an excellent request for enemies to lovers! Do they meet during a casing of the joint, all the while the museum curator thinks the art thief is just a normal art appreciator? Or the Thief becomes an art thief because the museum curator is bemoaning that more and more of the art disappears into private collections far away from the public eye?

I’m here for all the identity shenanigans! maybe the curator realises their new lover is a thief, and they deliberately talk about paintings that they’d like to see, and fake incredulity when they’re suddenly rediscovered?

fake dating that turns into real feelings?

I have no preference for gender combination! I’d love this dynamic absolutely anywhere, anytime. Singapore 2018? Paris 1940? New York 1920? Set in space? 

Or like, the museum curator finds them in the act of stealing, and is more upset about how they keep handling the priceless art than the actual stealing (it belongs to the jerkass major who cut funding for the arts, you see)

Master Thief/Put Upon Art Restorer Just Trying To Do Their Job FFS Steal This One Next Week

Basically, the same prompts as above apply! I’m very interested in this rivalry! How does it play out? Does the Thief only steal sanctioned paintings? Does the art restorer understand what kind of power they have?

Is the Thief trying to slowly seduce the art restorer by getting them “new” paintings to restore, and the art restorer is just... very done with this.

perhaps the thief keeps faking these very elaborate paintings, and aging them with all sorts of techniques, and the art restorer is just, like “why would you do this to art?”

Female Mobster/Woman Who Is Running Their Front As A Legitimate Business

I love the dynamic of scary person/person who is not afraid to talk shit about them -- and I can see the endless conflict there could be between the two of them. What is this Front? A restaurant? An orphanage? A charity organisation? Either one would be great, and need a lot of know-how, and the female Mobster can just suck it up and keep hauling in the crates, because they need this, dammit.

One gets kidnapped by rivals, and the other has to go in to save her

the mobster was just looking for someone to run the front-- they don’t need it to make any profit, since it’s just a front, but now it’s evolving into an actual business conglomerate, and all thanks to one woman--success is very attractive

Selkie Pirate Captain

Look, okay, I love Age of Sail, and I love fairytales. I just think the adventures of a pirate captain selkie could be super interesting!

Do they fret about the crew finding out about their secret? I’m very into found family tropes, and it would be very interesting to see how the crew reacts to the reveal. Perhaps they’ve known all along? And tried to protect their captain to the best of their abilities?

The best thing about selkie captains is that they are resistant to sirens, and they can always find the way home, in every storm

I’d read about them going treasure hunting! Or perhaps captain is after a Great White Whale and their life’s mission is to see it dead

would also read a shipfic! (heh)

#exchange letter #fandom5k letter

[claroquequiza]

Ok commentary! How about the part where Hanzo has his mini meltdown while McCree is trying to talk to him on the ship. Where he has a sort of panic attack and drops his coffee.

People really like Hanzo’s breakdowns, LOL!

The cowboy rubbed his chin for a moment with his metal hand. This close, Hanzo could hear the wiry bristles of his beard catching in the joints of the prosthesis. “I’d guess the old guard knows. Lena does, obviously. I can’ imagine Winston not knowin’. Helps explain why he’s allowin’ him t’command missions.” No small amount of bitterness was in the cowboy’s voice. Hanzo’s eyebrow twitched, but before he could decide whether to comment on or question the old soldier’s place in the new Overwatch’s hierarchy, the cowboy continued. “I dunno about Genji. I don’ think he ever went on a mission with him, and back then he didn’ really care t’get t’know anyone anyhow. Always hung back, faded into the background. Dunno if he would know Morrison like I did.”

I am of the firm opinion that Genji might as well have been a different person in the years after the duel. It’s one reason that people are willing to indulge him when it comes to Hanzo–they don’t want to be the ones to endanger this new happy Genji and send him back to the dark days–even though you’d think having Hanzo around would be the one surefire way of doing that.

The caffeine did not arrive quickly enough.

“Hung back? What do you mean?”

The cowboy turned his head to find Hanzo’s eyes boring into him, his brow furrowed with confusion. He seemed almost taken aback, enough to hesitate briefly before replying. “Well, uh–he didn’ interact with anyone if he could help it, y’know? Didn’ speak unless spoken to, and sometimes not even then. Like–” he waved his hand towards the cockpit. “–that story Lena was tellin’? Genji was on that mission. She doesn’ remember if she ever even saw him, which doesn’ surprise me. He would just sit in the darkest corner and just, uh. Y’know. Sit. Get lost in his own head.”

McCree knows better than anyone how different Genji is nowadays, but it’s only now struck him how much Hanzo doesn’t know, can’t know. And since he and Genji aren’t exactly on good terms right now, how much opportunity would he have to realize that this “new” Genji is in fact the old Genji? NOT MUCH.

Shimada Genji hanging back, fading into the background, sitting in a dark corner?

That–that was an alien idea.

Genji had had the lion’s share of natural charm and charisma in their family, but more than that, he had been social. He was the type of person who walked into a roomful of strangers and walked out with twenty new contacts in his phone, the kind who could not walk down the street without getting stopped for a chat every five meters. Both his mother and the elders had bemoaned his lack of engagement in clan business for that very reason–Genji would have been a marvellous recruiter, a skilled negotiator, and a near-perfect public face for the clan if he had been at all dutiful, more than making up for Hanzo’s deficiencies in those fields. Ironically enough, his mother had even warned Hanzo to watch for signs of a betrayal. For a short time she insinuated that Genji might become a serious threat if he used his popularity to sway the clan’s loyalties to himself, before he gave up all pretense of ambition under the influence and protection of his father.

Shimada Genji would have been an awesome yakuza, and that was the third most annoying thing about him, according to the elders. If he could have been harnessed as a tool for them, it would have done the clan a world of good–but that no-good Sojiro… 

It was why it had been something of a relief to hear Agent Tracer’s account of the general character of Blackwatch personnel–it seemed like the perfect environment for Genji. How could it not be? He was an approachable, witty, handsome–

–disfigured–

–masked–

–cyborg.

Literally torn to pieces. Encased in a metal carapace. Insulated and isolated from the outside world.

Come to think of it–how much of him–how little of him was there to isolate? What, exactly, had the doctor saved from the battle ten years ago? Hanzo remembered–Hanzo knew how little it could have been, must have been. How much of Genji had been left to face the world alone, murdered and abandoned by his family?

This was at least partially to rectify a mistake of mine. I was focusing far too much on Hanzo’s pain, his mistakes, his angst, so I decided to make my own mistake Hanzo’s as well, because it makes sense to me that Hanzo would have a little bit of guilt inertia. He’s spent ten years thinking that Genji was dead, so of course Genji wouldn’t have been suffering all that time. Hanzo had been suffering all that time, but not Genji. So when Genji shows up alive, Hanzo seems the kind of person to be stuck in place in any number of ways, and completely overlooking what Genji must have gone through because he was dead, duh, might be one of them.

The silvery silhouette his brother had become flashed through his mind, his mind’s eye searching the memory for clues in the armored joints, the lights in the exoskeleton, the exposed tendons of artificial muscle, the expressionless mask that hid two distinct eyes surrounded by necrotic flesh.

Hanzo had only seen Genji’s face once. He might be filling in some blanks here.

Hanzo’s artificial feet twitched, suddenly feeling as foreign as they had those painful months as his body and mind had first adjusted to them. He shuddered to think of that feeling spreading up the stumps of his legs, through his torso and arms, filling him up.

And this, this, is why I absolutely insist that Hanzo’s legs are prosthetics. I want Hanzo to personally know amputation and phantom pain because that would hammer home better than just about anything else just what he did to Genji, purposefully or no. It is a tie between the brothers that I will never give up for anything.

What kind of life had Genji lived, torn out of his body and sealed into a machine?

One where he had withdrawn from crowds of those he formerly would have fashioned into droves of admirers, his greatest pleasure. If he could believe the cowboy.

And he could.

Suffice to say, he saved my life just as Dr. Ziegler did. He saved my soul.

Why had Hanzo only now realized?

It had been months.

Months.

After ten years of isolation, I don’t Hanzo is capable of doing anything in less than four weeks.

It was the pain in his hand that first brought him back through the fuzz and static that engulfed his mind, that alerted him to the fuzz and static in the first place. The cowboy had been speaking with a guarded expression, then there were distinct moments that seemed like mere moments and drawn out hours at once–images of the cowboy, then the room sliding out of focus, everything doubling as his eyes crossed–and that was far too much like his moment of weakness during the raid, with the dragons, and that was far too much like the battle ten years ago.

Hanzo had not even considered–

But the pain in his hand brought him back. He blinked the room back into focus, instinctively raising his hand to examine it. Irregular red stripes across his fingers greeted him, shiny through the sheen of coffee that still clung and dripped from his skin.

Foolish.

I can’t seem to let Hanzo realize anything of utmost importance without burning him.

“Hanzo?”

He opened his mouth, but his tongue refused to form words at first, and when he finally mastered it he could only produce a few syllables of Japanese. He snapped his mouth shut and scowled.

“Hanzo? Shit, hey! Ang–”

“Do not,” Hanzo rasped, in English this time. “She would not want to, and I am fine.” He tried to rise to his feet, his movements shaky and uncoordinated, but a hand touched his shoulder and he jerked back, losing his balance and falling back with a gasp when he landed awkwardly on the plastic separator of the jumpseat.

“Whoa! Hey–” the cowboy stepped in front of him, holding his hands out in full view. “Look, just–just stay still for a second, you gotta get your bearings–”

“Yes, thank you,” snapped Hanzo, feeling a disconcerting amount of sweat on his forehead. “I am fine. You may go.”

The cowboy hesitated, looking torn. “It ain’ right t’just–”

McCree is Trying Now, it’s true, but he’s a good guy at heart. He’s had to ignore that for a while, though, and it’s something of a relief to be able to offer help that doesn’t require Peacekeeper.

He also knows what these attacks look like from the inside.

“You can resume this game later,” Hanzo bit out, shifting until he dropped fully into the jumpseat once more and leaned back and closed his eyes tightly. “For now, just cease and go!”

“This ain’ no game!” snapped the cowboy sharply. Hanzo’s eyes burst open, and at last he saw what he expected to see on the cowboy’s face: a deep scowl, eyes narrowed in anger. “Look, if it can’ be me, fine, but it’s gotta be someone when you’re–like this. So who do you want? Angie or Morr–76?”

He’s angry at himself. He fucked up, and now he has a man in front of him who needs help but his actions are endangering Hanzo, even now. He just wants to help, goddamnit, it’s all he’s wanted since he was 19. But he’s a smart man, and he’s gonna figure out something even if the jackass in front of him doesn’t want any of it.

“No one,” Hanzo hissed.

The cowboy rolled his eyes. “Angie it is then.” But he had only half-turned when Hanzo surged to his feet.

“Do not. I am fine. ” It took all he had to keep the tremors in his limbs from collapsing his legs out from under him or being too obvious in his hands.

The cowboy did not look convinced. He had reached out as Hanzo moved, to catch Hanzo if he fell or to shield himself or both. “Alright. Alright,” he muttered, flattening his lips into a straight line. “Let’s compromise, okay? I won’ wake up Angie, but if you don’ want me t’stay with you, then you gotta stick close by her in case you need her, okay? Just–just sit by her so if you keel over or whatever, she’ll be the first t’know. Okay? Hanzo?”

McCree: First names!  First names in an emergency engender a rapport that can lead to trust–

“ Shimada, ” growled Hanzo, clenching his fists. “Do not use my given name, cowboy.”

The cowboy opened his mouth to snap back, hesitated, then finally said, “ Agent Shimada.” He shifted his feet uncomfortably at the open, baffled expression that Hanzo could not keep from flitting across his face. “Agent Shimada. Now, come on. Do we got a deal or not?”

McCree: Respect! Respect in an emergency can engender a rapport that lead to trust!

McCree has been fully conscious that using Hanzo’s family name with no honorific has been disrespectful. It was deliberate at first, and then it was awkward to change it, but now he feels like he had no choice, awkwardness be damned.

Hanzo ground his teeth for a moment before giving a curt nod. He walked as steadily as he could, which was not terribly steady at all, over to the rec table, sitting on the edge of the loveseat, just below the coffee machine and around the corner from the still-slumbering doctor, as far from her as possible.

“Yeah, naw, that won’ do,” chided the cowboy, following just behind. “Scoot in a little, just so if you–just so if we hit some turbulence, you don’ get thrown out on your ass on the floor.” Hanzo huffed, but complied, hoping it would encourage the cowboy to be gone. The cowboy nodded his satisfaction when Hanzo moved far enough. “Alright. Now, as you reminded Lena just now, Athena’s keepin’ watch, so if you need anything, just holler, at her or at Angie, okay?” Another curt nod from Hanzo and the cowboy took in and let out a deep breath, turned on his heel, and almost stalked away, up the stairs to the next level.

McCree: Scoot in a little so if you break down again, you don’t split your goddamn head open on the Orca floor! Angie’s a mess when she first wakes up, and I’ll be damned if she wakes up to a pool of blood on the floor! Again!

Oh, McCree. It really wasn’t fair of me to dump one of Hanzo’s dissociations on him less than 24 hours after he’s decided to play nice, LOL!

Thanks for the message!! I hope you enjoyed the commentary!!

#Anonymous #my fics #behind the scenes #asks

[megsblackfirewrites]

The Beginning of a Legacy: Chapter 13

Chapter 13

“And this road can be used to get in and out of the castle without being noticed?” John asked.

“Yes,” Daiki nodded. “Miyu and I used to slip out in our younger years using that door. It was…useful.”

“I’m sure,” John smiled. “We can use that road to circle around the encroaching yakuza. If we’re fast enough, we can cut off their supply line and leave the locals unscathed.”

“Do you really think such a thing is possible?” Daiki asked. “I have been fighting them for weeks and they showed no signs of stopping.”

“Up against trained soldiers, most criminals run in fear,” John replied. “We just have to make it clear that we are not going to stand for their bullshit.”

Daiki watched him for a moment before he smiled and nodded. “If you are so confident, John, then so am I.”

John smiled at Daiki and started plotting out another line on the map. He wanted as many escape routes possible for his soldiers to use. Miyu was already showing them all of the ways in and out of the castle and the quickest ways around to confuse any potential invader. They would be ready to open the gates and lure the attacking yakuza into the grounds.

“You should get some rest, Daiki,” he said as he plotted another line. “It’s been a long week.”

“I will rest when this is over,” Daiki shook his head.

“You’re no use to me dead on your feet,” John chuckled.

Daiki tilted his head to the side before he reached out to run his fingers through John’s hair. “Will you join me?” he asked softly. “I sleep better with another in bed with me.”

John ran his hand through his hair. “Daiki….”

“I am not asking for anything, John,” Daiki chuckled. “I simply want you there. I trust you to watch my back. I will put a sword between us if you are so unsure.”

John blinked at him before shaking his head. “Fine. I need some shut eye anyways.”

John saved his work and followed Daiki out of the room. They walked silently through the castle, stopping in to check on Genji and Hanzo to make sure the toddlers were sleeping. Satisfied that the two of them weren’t causing trouble, they continued on to Daiki’s room.

Daiki changed out of his clothing without worrying about modesty. John did his best not to stare at the beautiful inkwork across Daiki’s body, the golden dragon the focal point of the entire piece. He pulled his shirt off over his head and shook his head.

“How long’d it take you to get all that ink done?” he asked.

“Years,” Daiki replied. “Before I had a chance to disband my family’s yakuza dealings, of course. And a few afterwards.”

“It’s beautiful,” John smiled. “The dragon in particular.”

“My guardian,” Daiki chuckled as he turned around, touching the dragon head curled up on his chest. “The twin to Miyu’s. They grow restless when we are apart for too long.”

“Glad I decided to bring her back,” John teased. “Wouldn’t want your sweet guardian to be restless.”

“Don’t flatter her,” Daiki wrinkled his nose before walking over to his bed and peeling the covers back. “Keep your socks on.”

John did as instructed and crawled onto the left side of the bed. He lay on his back, keeping his gaze on the ceiling as Daiki set his sword between them. Unlike him, Daiki curled up on his side facing John.

“I hope your wife told you that you are beautiful,” Daiki murmured.

“She did, at first,” John admitted. “She stopped shortly after Jack was born. Guess she just got sick of looking at me.”

“I don’t see how,” Daiki shook his head. “Perhaps it is the oddity of blue eyes and blond hair in my daily life. I could watch you all day.”

“That’s creepy,” he teased.

“I do not intend it to be,” Daiki chuckled. “I simply wish to let you know how I feel.”

He reached over the sword and gently took John’s wrist in his hand, covering his pulse with warm fingers. John turned to look at him and Daiki smiled, pressing his cheek into the pillow.

“John, I know that this may be strange for you,” he murmured. “I am only recently widowed, but…there was no romantic love in mine and Sayaka’s marriage. I…I do not feel bad for falling in love.”

“It’s only been a week since we’ve met, Daiki,” John replied. “It’s not love.”

“Am I crazy for wanting it to be that eventually?” Daiki asked softly. “I only ask for your time, John. I wish to know you and your son.”

John closed his eyes and sighed. “I have a war to fight, Daiki,” he said. “I might not come back from it. I might die.”

“I could die tomorrow when we let our enemy through the gate,” Daiki nodded his head. “I do not care. I will laugh in the face of death when she comes for me since she has been avoiding me like a spiteful lover. Until that time, I will let my heart do as it pleases. I have earned that right after the hell I have lived through.”

John rolled over slowly and reached out to cup Daiki’s cheek. He leaned forward and kissed him, soft and chaste. Daiki accepted the kiss with a soft sigh, his dark eyes closing in bliss. John pulled away and gently rubbed his nose against Daiki’s, smiling gently.

“Daiki, if we survive tomorrow, I will see where this goes,” he said. “For now, I just want you as a friend.”

“A friend,” Daiki chuckled and pressed his cheek into the pillow. “Oh, how long has it been since I had one of those?”

“Too long if you have to ask,” John laughed.

Daiki hummed in agreement before he curled into himself. John watched him until he fell asleep, smiling as he leaned his head back onto the pillow.

Joel sharpened the blade of his machete and glanced at Miyu. She was dressed for battle, her thin, flexible armor decorated with kanji that were likely requests for protection. It would have been rude to ask. At least, he thought it was rude to ask.

“You nervous?” he asked as he checked the sharpness of his blade against his thumb. Perfect.

“A little,” she replied. “It is wise to be nervous before battle. You are not?”

“I’ll live or I’ll die; always one or the other,” he replied. “No use overthinkin’ it.”

Miyu let out a soft chuckle as she set her hands on her hips. “I wish I had that sort of outlook on life,” she teased. “I was always blessed with an overactive mind.”

“It’s kept you alive and kept yer comrades alive in the field,” he shrugged. “Useful, in my opinion. I’m too busy going Rambo on everyone and pissin’ the brass off.”

Miyu tilted her head to the side and chuckled again. “You are our SIC, Joel. Everyone trusts your judgement,” she said.

Joel snorted and nodded. A mixed blessing, in his opinion, but one that he knew John needed. No one else could handle John’s shit the same way that Joel could. He might not be a tactical marvel like the other military boys, but Joel was fast, strong, and as clever as a coyote. He could do what others couldn’t and John knew it. There was a reason he’d picked Joel over all the other boys.

“First group of Hayashi are movin’ in,” he said over the commlink as he spotted the targets moving towards them. “Movin’ down Sakura Way.”

Miyu grumbled the proper name for the street and Joel stuck his tongue out at her. It translated to Sakura Way and he was saying it that way. He couldn’t string the words together in traditional Japanese, so she was going to have to deal with it. Better he use the translation than butcher her native tongue.

“Beta team, loop around them,” John ordered. “Watch for the Ueda. They shouldn’t be far.”

Joel waited until he saw Beta team moving with Laura at the head before he lifted his rifle. He looked through the scope and took careful aim. He got the leader of the Hayashi group in the center of his scope and followed him

“Target one in sight,” he said. “On my mark. Three. Two. One.”

Joel squeezed the trigger and the goon dropped dead to the ground. The group panicked, bolting for cover. Right into the waiting arms of one group of Shimada guards. The group was cut down with swords and knives, silenced before they could raise the alarm. As quickly and quietly as they had hoped. The Shimada were good at that.

“Ueda spotted,” Laura reported in. “Moving down…uh…Pigeon Walk.”

“You English-speakers,” Miyu rolled her eyes playfully. “Keep your distance, Laura, but try to herd them towards the gates. Hiro, open the gates and tell your men to back off. Joel and I are on stand-by.”

The confirmation came down the commline and Joel shifted his stance. Miyu rested a hand on her blade, narrowing her eyes behind her visor. The gates swung open just enough to allow a group to file in one at a time. It would be an obvious trap, but there was no other way into the grounds. Their attackers would have to risk it.

Another group of Hayashi goons slipped through the door, guns out and ready to fire. Miyu took a deep breath and stepped forward. She dropped into the middle of the group, pulling her sword out as she landed. Joel fired twice, dropping two goons as Miyu sliced her way through the other three. Her dark armor was splattered with gore, but she did not look disquieted. She’d probably done worse growing up.

“You good?” he called down to her.

“Might have pulled something in my shoulder,” she called back. “Can’t climb back up. I’ll be alright.”

“You sure?” he asked, shifting forward.

“Positive, my friend,” she laughed. “Watch my back.”

“You got it, lil lady,” he grinned and pulled his kerchief over his nose to keep the gunpowder from burning his face.

“Ueda coming your way!” Laura shouted. “They got dogs too. Fuck.”

“Fuck,” Joel groaned and reloaded his rifle.

He really, really didn’t want to kill someone’s dog. Why did these assholes always bring dogs?

“I do not like being here while my men are fighting,” John said quietly.

“I know, John,” Daiki sighed. “But I appreciate you staying with me. The boys….”

“I know,” John smiled at him.

Daiki thought John’s smile was the most beautiful thing he had seen in ages. He looked so sad and tired, but he still clung to hope and happiness like a lifeline against the darkness. He wished he could help John find his happiness again, but he knew that he was pushing too hard too fast. John wasn’t ready, not for what Daiki wanted.

“Oto!” Hanzo laughed and tapped at his knee. “Please! Tell the pretty man I think he’s pretty!”

Daiki chuckled as he looked at John. “Hanzo thinks that you are pretty, John,” he said.

John smiled as he typed something onto his datapad. “Let Hanzo know that I’m grateful for his compliment and that I think he’s adorable.”

Daiki relayed the message and Hanzo covered his face and giggled happily. Genji was sleeping on the floor beside them, drooling over himself and his pachimari plushie. Daiki glanced up as John shifted and righted his rifle in his hands. Daiki nodded and gently picked his boys up.

“You must be silent,” Daiki instructed as he set his boys in the protective structure in the floor. “No matter what, you must be silent.”

Hanzo nodded and laid down beside Genji, just like they had practiced. Daiki secured the flooring in place and rose, checking the clip in his handgun. He snapped it back into place and turned to stand with John. This was where the two of them would decide the outcome of the battle.

Six men burst into the room and trained their weapons on them. Laura and her group had led them up into the castle, just as John had instructed. These six would be the ones to send the ultimate message to the yakuza clans; what better way to prove that the Shimadas were still to be respected and feared than to send the bodies of the clan heirs back to their parents?

“Shimada Sojiro,” one of the Uedas grinned as he turned his gun on Daiki. “It is time for you to die.”

“You are in the wrong place,” Daiki warned. “Leave. Or you will leave as ghosts.”

The six men laughed and one took a shot at John. John took the bullet against the hard armor plating of his shoulder and returned fire. The man dropped dead to the ground, bleeding out of five different bullet wounds. John settled his rifle against his hip and lifted an eyebrow at the men.

“You done?” he growled.

“Kill the white one!” the Hayashi heir ordered. “I want his head brought back to my father for this insult.”

Daiki stepped forward and pressed a hand to his chest. “Doubloon, protect us!” he shouted.

His guardian ripped herself free of his flesh and he collapsed to the ground coughing up blood. John shouted in alarm and dropped down beside him, wrapping an arm around his chest as he tried to haul Daiki to his feet. He waved his friend aside and pointed to the golden dragon shaking the Ueda heir in her jaws like a dog with a rat.

John’s jaw opened in shock as Doubloon tossed the heir aside, letting the corpse splat against the ground. She roared her fury and lunged for the remaining men, tearing through them for daring to attack the home of her ancestors and her charge. Daiki’s eyes rolled back into his head and he knew nothing as his guardian tore his enemies apart.

#John Morrison #Joel McCree #Miyu Shimada #Daiki Shimada #Shimada Dragons #violence #blooming love

[zombieheroine]

My blood, my soul, my brother [Overwatch, shimadacest, M][5/5]

part 1  part 2  part 3  part 4

This work on Ao3

Warnings: underage sex, sibling incest, suicide mention Total word-count: 20 640

A/N: It’s finally finished! I feel so pure now that I got this off my chest. Thank you for all my readers, likers, rebloggers, kudos-givers and those who left comments. Feedback and discussion is still very much welcome!

*

If Genji had been a menace when he was little, he grew up to be an absolute nightmare. Fifteen-year-old Genji was tall and lanky and always in a bad mood, always starting trouble and apparently just dying to get on everyone's nerves, and as an anarchistic piece of trash 'everyone' truly meant everyone: Civilians, yakuza, clans under Shimada-gumi's command, everyone in Shimada-gumi, friends and foes alike, and especially his own flesh and blood. 

Genji had gone and dyed his hair, and that had only been the beginning. Green hair was followed with multiple piercings in both of his ears, gold-chain on his neck, drinking and clubbing sometimes several nights in a row and flaunting his katana everywhere he went. Father was going grey early and vented almost daily to Hanzo about his sad excuse of a second son who acted like a common chimpira, only worse. The arcade was bright like the light of day even in the middle of the night, the games blinking and flashing and making noise, the vending machines faintly glowing and the neon commercials adding to the migraine-inducing visual attack. Hanzo knew he wasn't supposed to be there before he even stepped inside, that this world resisted his kind so strongly he wouldn't have been surprised even if an invisible force field had appeared to stop him from stepping into the sea of rainbow colours and 8bit-tunes. He stood out of the crowd despite his average hight. His traditional clothing, expensive-looking warrior's hakama, haori on his shoulders, a bow on his back and the tail of a dragon peeking from under the folds of his shirt and kimono left no room for doubt what kind of a man he was. He spotted the biggest, noisiest group of the arcade and headed there. Smiles vanished and people gave him way when they spotted him, and without any difficulties Hanzo got in the middle of the group where stood Genji, a bright pink plastic gun in hand and breaking high-scores on a game. He was wearing a white suit with an obnoxiously bright red and green Hawaii-shirt, pointed Italian leather shoes, and his gold-chain and earrings sparkling and jingling as he moved while playing, surrounded by flashy, cheap and curious girls who were attracted to danger. Girls with bottle-blonde hair, undercuts, leather jackets, tight dresses, sharp eye-liner, neon colours and glittering bows in their hair, one of which – perhaps Genji's favourite or just a lucky one – was holding Genji's suit jacket. It took a glare from Hanzo to get the girls to take a step back. Hanzo stopped right next to his brother, who pointedly ignored him even though his grin was long gone just like everyone else's. “We are going home, right now,” Hanzo declared. Genji's character in the game ran out of healthbars and dropped dead. Genji made a frustrated sound and glanced at Hanzo. “Well hello there, Party Police. Did you bring your 'no fun allowed' sign with you or did you leave it by the door?” he asked, voice dripping mockery. “Right. Now,” Hanzo repeated coldly. Genji whined and moaned dramatically, but turned to grab his jacket and flash a smile to the girls, who all watched the scene with curious expression, half scared and half fascinated. He picked up his katana that was leaning against the game console, lifted it on his shoulder and gestured at Hanzo to lead the way. Hanzo spun around and marched out of the arcade with Genji on his tail. Genji had wandered so far that they took the train back. Hanzo paid the ticket for the both of them and lead them to the platform, Genji following him as if pulled by an invisible rope. It was so late there were few people still out, and once they boarded the train they got a whole bench for themselves. The train yanked into movement and so they were headed back home. “Your behavior brings shame to our family,” Hanzo quietly said after a moment of silence. Genji clicked his tongue. “No shit. Also, get this: I don't give a fuck.” “You lower yourself,” Hanzo said like he hadn't heard anything. “With yourself, you lower our family name and everything it stands for.” Genji huffed. “Because our name stands for such great things,” he muttered. “You are a professional ninja with the best training there is, a Shimada warrior. You should act like one,” Hanzo said, a bit more stern. From the clenching of his jaw Genji could tell Hanzo was angry and barely controlling it. “You accepted the knowledge and the katana, yet show no respect to them or the path you walk. Shame on you, brother.” “As if anyone ever asked me what I want,” Genji hissed under his breath and glancing around. There were civilians on the same car, but no one was looking at them and all kept a safe distance, as if they didn't exist or belong to their world – and right they were. Genji felt bitterness rise in his throat. “Quit acting like a selfish brat! you are a Shimada, you belong to this family. Your self-centred rebellion will accomplish nothing but shame for us all,” Hanzo said through gritting teeth. Genji rolled his eyes and squeezed his katana with both hands. “Well excuse me for wanting to go out sometimes! Unlike you, I still have a soul and a sense of humor.” “Those people are not your friends, Genji!” Hanzo snapped. “Those are outsiders, civilians who want to get a good look at a real yakuza, or foolish girls after your money. Their respect isn't real!” “Oh I don't have to pay for my company,” Genji spat with a snarl, “and so what if they are? What the fuck do I care? Like you have any friends, even pretended ones, brother!” Hanzo glared at him and raised his chin up. “Unlike you, I don't waste my time with games and booze and drugs.” “You know why we don't have any friends?!” Genji snarled quietly, leaning closer to Hanzo. “Because we are god-damned Shimadas! Our name is like a fucking curse!” Hanzo looked like he was barely holding himself back from slapping Genji. It wouldn't be the first time. Genji turned his cheek, welcoming the blow. “I would have company more often if you didn't run off to heavens know where,” Hanzo said, the icy tone back in his voice. “We have each other. We are a family.” “I hate this family,” Genji hissed and watched with glee how pain of rejection flashed in Hanzo's eyes. Genji knew that Hanzo didn't have anyone but the family; Who would be mad enough to get near the Shimada-gumi's heir, the frightening young man with emotionless eyes, frozen demeanor and a startlingly long list of successful jobs for his age. Shimada-gumi's new generation of perfect warriors, a merciless hit-man at eighteen. Genji was ranked with his brother no matter what he did, and year by year it had started to dawn to him what it truly meant. If in his childhood the adults living and working in Shimada Castle had felt distant like a different world behind a thin curtain while the brothers played in the world of their own, the Shimada family had now come into perfect focus and the rest of the world had faded behind the curtain. Not only civilians, but other yakuza-clans as well; no one wanted to get too close to Shimada-gumi. They climbed over the castle's gate and sneaked through the gardens. Their argument was on a break while they passed the guards and thus avoided Father's and uncles' watchful eyes, but as soon as they got safely inside and were on the way to their own rooms, they picked up right where they left off. One might think a little break would clear the air, but Genji was fuming even more than before. “You act so cool and proper all the time, brother, like you didn't feel anything,” Genji murmured almost like to himself but fully aware that Hanzo heard him. “I have accepted the burden of dragons,” Hanzo said, icy and trembling with rage. “The same duty awaits you, and you would do well to grow up and bear it like a man.” “Again with the dragon-story!” Genji said and laughed with mockery. “You cherry-pick that one! Father's story is about balance, not you calling all the shots and me just falling in line!” “It's about duty and unity within a family!” Hanzo shouted. “Yet you choose to run around, looking like a common street thug instead of a warrior! I have no need for a brother like you!” Genji's heart thundered and tears stung in his eyes. The insult cut deep, and he tried to hastily cover it even though Hanzo's sharp eye caught his pain. Genji bit his lip and squeezed his hands into fists. “Fine!” he yelled back and stomped his foot. “Fine, toss me aside! Like you needed anyone! If you don't want me around then I'll do you a favor and keep my distance! You go ahead and play a noble dragon all by yourself, Onii-sama!” Genji saw Hanzo flinch and, for a second, look uncertain. Genji felt a spark of cruel joy and stormed off to his own room with that little victory. Genji didn't calm down even after slamming the door behind him and throwing himself on his futon. He kicked the floor for a few times, running the events of the evening and the argument over in his head, congratulating himself on his own wit and little comebacks he had thrown at his brother. Stupid Hanzo and his stupid honor and stupid family code and convictions. Genji told himself he didn't care about honor, at least not about Hanzo's brand of it. Genji cared about being nice and charming to girls, leading a pack of his own from clubs to arcades and bars and karaoke, and getting as many girls and why not boys too fall in love with him while he was at it. He had all the money he needed from the family business after all – business he ran with Hanzo, for the large part, and Hanzo's share of the spoils too. Hanzo never wanted much of the money, it was unfit for a warrior, he said. Genji felt the first sting of remorse when he thought about their work. Father and his lieutenants ran the boring finances and trade side, but as the younger ones in the line Hanzo and Genji got the exciting hits and capturing gigs, extracting intel and collecting payments and high-end protection money. Hanzo was always by Genji's side there, always watching his back and trusting his own life with Genji. Anger bled out of Genji and he started to feel a bit silly about his earlier outburst. Hanzo was right: none of his party gang would even look him in the eye during the day. They were all at least a bit afraid of Genji anyway. None of them knew about his life. Only Hanzo did. He was there in the morning and gave him a glass of water when he was hung-over. The futon was cold and lonely, and his own room was strange to him after all the nights spent elsewhere. He thought of the pain on Hanzo's face earlier, and now that the anger was gone a strong need to go over and comfort his brother hit him so hard his chest hurt. He got up and sneaked outside. When Genji slipped in Hanzo's room through the door on the garden's side, he was surprised: He had expected Hanzo to be in the middle of his evening routine and tending to his weapons or combing his stupidly long hair, but instead he was still fully dressed and anxious-looking, just about to step outside into the corridor when Genji entered. “Genji,” he whispered, his voice overwhelming with pure relief. His eyes were wide when they locked gazes, and with the pained relief and remorse on his face Hanzo looked as young as he truly was. “I was just... About to...” He gestured vaguely towards the corridor and Genji's room.

Genji closed the door after himself. He glanced at Hanzo's katana and the precious Stormbow both carelessly discarded on the floor by the door, then back at his brother. He gave a weak smile and half a shrug. “Don't leave me, okay?” Hanzo opened and closed his mouth and slowly shook his head. “Don't you leave me either then,” he muttered. He turned to quickly flick the light off, then focused on Genji in the dark, stepping closer. They met in the middle, and despite having grown taller Genji let Hanzo cradle his head in his hands like when he had been ten and bring it against his shoulder. Genji reached to pull Hanzo's ribbon loose and let it fall on the floor. He turned his head, pushed his face against Hanzo's neck and inhaled the scent of his hair, closing his eyes and letting his thoughts drift. He focused on the feeling of his brother's fingers combing through his hair despite all the hairspray he had put in it, and even gently fondling the offensive piercings in his ears. Hanzo petted his neck and back, caressing him soft and kind before pulling him tighter against him, and Genji gladly surrendered, humming contently in the crook of his brother's neck, thinking nothing. Hanzo guided them towards his futon and lay them down on it, side by side. Genji might have been taller but here he felt suddenly childish, starving for attention. He didn't care about his tough image put openly pouted when Hanzo pushed him away from his arms so he could start peeling off his clothes. “Don't make that face at me,” Hanzo said at Genji's pout, but smiled while he scolded. Genji hurried to fight with the knots of Hanzo's belt and the strings holding his archer's attire together, cursing traditional clothes and their complexity while Hanzo unbuttoned his shirt with ease. Everything came off, hurried and practiced, and they escaped the cold air under the covers. Genji crawled in Hanzo's lap and wrapped his arms around his neck. He pushed his fingers in his long hair and felt around the muscles in his back, where his fingertips found the tail of the dragon and followed the line of the scar down the arm. Hanzo's fingers had already found the dancing green dragon on Genji's back, and was tracing its scales and mane as well. Inspecting the beasts branded into their skin was like a ritual for them, like they somehow expected the other to vanish over-night, breaking their cycle. Getting a tattoo had been a long, painful process. Genji had panted and cursed his way through it, and Hanzo had been there with him every time, calming him with words and reminding him of the virtue of patience, that the pain had a reward. In private Hanzo had tended to the sore dragon and falling cherry blossom petals around it, washing and greasing the places Genji couldn't reach. In private, they both tended to the wounds of the other, some skin-deep, some running deeper. Genji found it easier to think about every ache and bruise as a tattoo, that eventually they would all have a reward in store, something greater than just blood stains in his sheets and shame, something like a fitting end for a good story. When Hanzo took a hold of his hips and guided him on his back, Genji followed the lead. He kept his eyes closed even though the dark hid everything already, trusting only his touch to guide him. He felt a gentle, atoning kiss on his cheek, then another in the corner of his mouth. Genji turned his head and kissed back, small and chaste little pecks to say he was sorry, he was here, he felt the distance as ache in his spirit too. It was a short, wordless conversation, and then it ended. Hanzo knew that Genji wanted to hold on to him and hide in the crook of his neck, and he let him do just that. The kissing part ended, Genji took a steady hold with his arms around the other's neck, and they moved on. Hanzo fumbled around under the covers, spread Genji's legs and settled between them, and there they could start winding around each other again. Genji didn't like kissing Hanzo much. He kissed pretty girls, he kissed his lovers, but somehow those kinds of gestures didn't belong here with them. Hanzo seemed to prefer petting and holding and being held as well, and so that was the way of things. They pressed together and just felt each other up for a long while, like they usually did. They clutched at each other and rocked back and forth gently, like rocking each other to sleep, aimless and tender, the darkness hiding them and providing an illusion of timelessness. Arousal was achieved with some concentrated effort, and soon gentle and aimless turned into strong rhythm with intention. Hands rubbed and pressed, guided with hands where just hips failed. Genji whined with frustration, and Hanzo shushed him. They stopped, Genji was pulled in a better position, and their graceless fumbling movements resumed. Genji wanted to hold Hanzo closer and smell his hair. He wanted to be as small as he felt so he could fit completely in his lap and stay there, fall asleep there and be safe, safe and loved. He didn't care about the need burning in the bottom of his stomach, winding him tight and begging for release, but he did care that it was Hanzo who was there with him, tending to that flame and caring for him. The only downside to the whole affair was the mess afterwards. Hanzo had tissues stored under his futon, and he pulled a few out to clean them both off so they could continue comfortably. Genji would have preferred to take a shower or at least change the sheet because no matter how mindful they tried to be, there was always at least the tiniest semen stain somewhere, just waiting to turn cold and nasty. But sometimes the secrecy meant uncomfortable things, and besides Genji didn't believe Hanzo would let go of him if he tried to leave, nor that he himself actually had the strength of spirit needed to pull himself out of his brother's arms. * They were silent again, and once again unable to look each other in the eye. Hanzo felt his face burning and knew he was bright red all over, and yet his hands felt cold. This had to be the peak of embarrassment. Genji cleared his throat. “So, anyway, that's... That's how it was for me. It was actually kind of a breakthrough for me to realize how different our thing was from my flings. It helped me with the shame,” he said, rubbing the side of his nose as if that could hide how red his cheeks and ears were. “How... How was it for you?” Hanzo closed his eyes and prayed for a miracle to save him from here. For the first time since they had started the conversation he really longed to throw himself out of the window and fall six stories to the rocks just so he wouldn't have to talk about sex with his brother. For some bizarre reason talking about sex was more embarrassing than having it. “I... I don't really... Know. Um,” he said with a slight stammer. “I suppose the same in a way that it wasn't about the... the release.” Genji laughed out-loud at his choice of words, but his voice trembled too. Hanzo internally struggled with his embarrassment to find the right words and force them out. “Nor was it about the pleasure. I just... I don't know. I wasn't thinking. It just was how we were and I didn't question it!” “Why?” Genji asked. “You could have just... Stopped.” “So could have you,” Hanzo said, a bit defensive. “I didn't want to,” Genji countered. “Why didn't you?” Hanzo thought for a minute, forcing himself to visit the memory and focus on it, forcing himself to really see what it was. “Comfort, I think,” he finally said, pressing his cold fingers against his burning cheek hoping it would ease the blush. Thinking about his younger self was painful, realizing all the feelings he had convinced himself didn't exist and how futile lying to himself had been. “I was so... Professional and dutiful, all the time. Nothing cracked, ever, I was strong and proud and did everything right. But no one complimented me or expressed any kind of – ” he paused and searched for the right word. “ – admiration, or anything akin to it. No one cared about me. I wanted someone to take care of me too.” Hanzo swallowed and moved on to scratch and pick on his cuticles. He felt like a turtle on its back, vulnerable belly-side exposed. Genji combed both of his hands through his hair. “Fuck,” he said, “this is so fucked up. If someone had picked us up more as babies, do you think we would have been alright?” Hanzo pulled a string of skin off his finger and watched it start to bleed. “I don't think it's that simple. There were other factors.” “It was just us then, wasn't it?” Genji asked, and Hanzo flinched at the bitterness in his voice. Hanzo sighed and gave a shrug. “It happened. It happened and that's it.” Genji nodded reflexively. “Fuck,” he muttered again under his breath.   Hanzo focused on his fingernails and how much skin he could scratch off from there, and felt a small twinkle of satisfaction every time he saw blood. “Can I ask you a question?” he asked before he could bite his tongue. “It's something that's been bothering me, but it's rather personal.” Even with his eyes on his hands Hanzo almost felt Genji's unimpressed look. “Ani-san, we are beyond personal at this point. Go ahead,” Genji huffed. Hanzo nodded. Cleared his throat. Picked on the cuticle of his index finger with compulsive need to make it bleed. “Did our inappropriate affair leave permanent marks on you?” Genji tilted his head. “Like, scars?” Hanzo shook his head. “No, not physical ones. Did it affect your... tastes?” Genji turned the question around, probably tried to understand it, and then a light went off. “Are you asking me about my kinks?” “What? No!” Hanzo hastily snapped. “I'm asking about your preferences! I know you had girlfriends then but – “ “You're asking if you made me gay,” Genji asked with his head tilted and eyes narrowed. Hanzo felt stupid and his face burned even more, but he nodded anyway. “Oh, Hanzo...” Genji sighed, suddenly sweet if a tad pitying “You didn't make me into anything, okay? Although... Well, I did have a lot of partners between the ages of fourteen and twenty-three. I think I was trying to work out the stuff we did, just very badly. I was in my mid-twenties when I figured that I'm straight. That was kind of a relief for me, actually. I don't like men like that, and figuring that out tipped me off that our thing wasn't just on me or some... weird perversion or anything like that.” Judging by the relaxed line of his shoulders and the neutral expression on his face Genji seemed to be at peace about that part about his life and definitely happy about his identity, and the smile he gave Hanzo was trying to offer reassurance. Despite that Hanzo was still anxious, his heart thudding in his chest and words forming in his throat yet not wanting to come out of his mouth. He was relieved, but there was another layer to his worry at play. The silence made Genji's smile falter a bit, and suddenly understanding lit up in his eyes. “And what about you?” he asked even though he obviously had an idea what the answer was going to be. Hanzo struggled to find the words and reach a consensus between truthful, appropriate and something he could actually force himself to say. “I like men, actually,” he managed to finally force out while staring over Genji's head. “I... prefer them, I think. Not exclusively, but... Strongly.” “That's fine,” Genji hurried to say. “It's totally fine with me. And everyone else, I assure you.” He paused, but then wasn't apparently able to help himself because he blurted out: “Have you been with a guy?” Hanzo felt a strong need to groan and cover his eyes, but was simultaneously oddly relieved by seeing this mischievous, rude side of his brother – the side he was most familiar with. “No, I have not,” he replied awkwardly. “I've had encounters with a few women, but never a... I've never had a real relationship.” There were remains of glee in Genji's eyes though his comment was bleak: “Yeah, me neither.” The sun was starting to set outside. The clouds were orange and pink before they sank in the darkening horizon. The warmth had suddenly disappeared and a cool evening was settling over Gibraltar. Seagulls had turned quiet. “Can I ask one more thing, Genji?” Hanzo asked, his eyes staring outside into the approaching night. “Yes.” “You attacked the family after you were saved and turned into a cyborg, correct?” Genji huffed. “I thought you'd figured that out. I wondered why you haven't scolded me about it already.” Hanzo turned back to look at his brother. “I want to know why you did it.” Genji turned serious, and something cold gleamed in the bottom of his dark eyes. His jaw clenched briefly. “Back then, I felt nothing but hate and resentment. I blamed everyone about everything. You shattered my world when you turned against me, and I hated our family and the clan for stealing my life from me before I was even born.” He paused as if to dare Hanzo to interrupt him, deny it or defend the family name. When he said nothing of sorts, Genji continued: “My original plan was to turn that hate against Shimada-gumi, become a rogue dragon and destroy it all, and after the empire was dealt with, I'd kill myself.” Genji met Hanzo's gaze, steely and determined. Hanzo didn't look surprised, just simply nodded as a sign of understanding. Genji shrugged at the things of past, then curiously commented: “I always wondered why you didn't put up a better fight, though. We were constantly over-prepared and practically trampled over some of your operations.” Hanzo took a deep breath, held it and let it out. “Turning against you was the honorable thing to do, but no matter how many rituals it was dressed up in, it was the worst thing I have ever done in my life. It broke something deep in me. I haven't been able to touch a katana since that day. I was not the man I was before.” “Neither one of us were,” Genji said quietly. After a moment of hesitation he added: “I thought you'd kill yourself when the clan fell.” “I thought about it,” Hanzo said. “It would have been fitting. But I... Decided I needed to carry the burden of killing you, and on top of that letting our bloodline and its legacy turn to ash. Death would have been too easy.” The air was heavy with something, perhaps the presence of death that they had both called upon, and they both shivered. Genji stood up to close the windows. When he sat back down, Hanzo was staring at the table with a frown. “We really ended it,” Hanzo said. “Ended it all.” “What?” Genji asked. “The Shimada clan. There are no more heirs. We are the last ones, and we've abandoned the family, and they have disowned us. We have no cousins. We have ended the Shimada bloodline,” Hanzo whispered, almost terrified to utter a truth so heavy. “More than seven hundred years of tradition, finished.” Genji nodded but didn't say anything. No matter how angry and bitter he had been, no matter how much he had wanted the clan to fall, it had been the only family he had known, and now it was gone forever. “It's not worth mourning over,” Genji stubbornly claimed. “Consider what we were: A bunch of assassins. Murderers and criminals. What's that worth?” Hanzo chuckled with a bitter smile. “Nothing, brother, but it was our family regardless. Our parents, our uncles and aunties, our home.” He leaned his chin on his palm and closed his eyes for a moment. “I miss it, from time to time. Mother's cooking and setting the table, spring days in the gardens, running on top of the walls early in the morning while uncles yelled at us.” “Yeah,” Genji agreed with a heavy sigh. “When I spent time in Nepal with the monks, I woke up early in the morning just like we did at home, and sometimes for a second I didn't know where I was. For a moment there I thought I'd soon be eating rice and fried fish for breakfast with you and start the morning training. When I realized where and when I was, I felt so lonely I could cry.” Hanzo's gaze flickered across Genji's face, studying him carefully. “I'm sorry you went through that. It would have been kinder if you hadn't looked back.” Genji pressed his palms against his eyes and rubbed harshly. “Yeah, I know,” he admitted. He changed his sitting position, pulled his knees against his chest and rested his cheek on top of them. “For the longest time I wasn't sure if I even wanted you back in my life, you know.” “It took you ten years to decide, so I assumed that was the case. Why you decided what you did, I don't know,” Hanzo replied. He looked exhausted, like he didn't have the energy to be hurt by Genji's harsh truths. Genji tried to offer something akin to a smile, but the expression felt forced and so he let it fall. “The truth is, I missed you. Knowing you're alive somewhere bothered me more and more every day. If you were dead I could have moved on, but just being apart felt awfully lot like hiding.” “Ties of blood can't be severed,” Hanzo supplied the younger, who nodded in return. “And so I sought you out. And I... wanted answers. My fear kept we away too, and I decided to defeat it. And today I finally spoke up about this, so here we are,” Genji said, left hand rubbing at his eyes and the wrinkles between them. Sky was dark outside. The brothers sat in silence, heads drooping and shoulders tense, staring at the table top and occasionally glancing at each other. There was a sense of finality lingering between them, but no closure. Hanzo sighed and cracked his neck. “How are you feeling?” he asked with a meek voice. Genji gave a weak shrug with his face leaning on his knees. “Exhausted. You?” “Hollow,” Hanzo replied. Genji huffed and flashed a tense little smile. “What now?” Hanzo asked. “I doubt this is the only conversation like this, if we intend to fix anything.” “Not fix,” Genji corrected, “heal. And you're right, this isn't nearly enough. We'll have to do this again, reflect, process, and stuff like that. Personally I hope that in the future...” he hesitated, like he was afraid of jinxing his own wish, “I wish I could spend time alone with you without it feeling so tense.” Hanzo looked bothered by the wish, like it was a particularly uncomfortable challenge set up to torment him, but he nodded anyway. He considered his own situation and said: “For the time being I'd like my quarters remain a good distance away from yours, and we'll sleep apart. The farther our situation is from the one we had at home, the better. I don't wish to repeat the same mistakes.” “Yeah, sure, if that's comfortable for you,” Genji agreed right away. “You could give the people here a chance, though. You might make some friends. It doesn't have to be just me and you anymore.” Hanzo huffed at the suggestion and crossed his arms. “Only if you'll do the same. Try and make new friends, real ones.” “It's a deal, then.” They were running out of things to say, and to ease the awkwardness and the heavy, drained atmosphere in the room, Genji started to clean up the table. Not that there was much to clean up, but he took Hanzo's mug from his side of the table, his own from his side and put them next to the cold tea pot. The minimal tableware didn't look any more orderly when put together, and Genji found himself to be too weary to get up from the floor and get a tray, so they remained there. Hanzo didn't move a muscle to help him, just followed the younger with his gaze without a comment, even when Genji obviously gave up midway through the clean up and slumped back down. At some point Hanzo's posture had started to fall apart too, and now he had his elbow propped on the table and his cheek resting against his knuckles. “We really have to do this again, don't we?” Hanzo asked, sounding old. Genji sighed and nodded. “Healing takes time. And besides, what other choice do we have?” Hanzo clicked his tongue. “We could always just die,” he suggested, not completely as a jest. “But since we are alive, we should keep moving forward. Even if it turns out to be for nothing.” Genji stared back at Hanzo with an unreadable look in his eyes. “Always forward. Maybe we haven't ruined everything yet,” he said. They shared a silent understanding. The moment passed. Outside the night had fallen. Hanzo was very much aware that he couldn't stay there in his brother's room, not with their emotions rubbed raw like skin against asphalt, and not with the decision they had just agreed upon about maintaining distance for the sake healing for now. No matter how drained and hollow he felt, he had to leave. So Hanzo straightened his back, pulled his legs under himself properly once more and bowed his thanks. “I'm sorry to have bothered you. Thank you for the tea, brother.” Genji didn't bother with his posture, but bowed his head too. “No need to be sorry. You are welcome, Ani-san.” Hanzo pushed himself up to his aching feet, turned around and walked to the door that had shut them in the room even though it was unlocked. He pushed it open, stepped over the doorstep and walked away, looking forward to getting some sleep.

#shimadacest #Overwatch #kapteenin raapustus

[reapers-carino]

Can you do a Yakuza AU (if you're not comfortable with that than just normal) with hand x reader where their home is raided and reader is held hostage and hanzo has to watch a little as she is beat up or groped or something before he can save her and kill them? And then a lil fluffy smut along the lines of like "I could've lost you" or "I'll never let them hurt you"

((Yakuza Hanzo…is like my greatest weakness…holyshit thaaaank you for this request you lovely person you))

Japanese summers were absolutely stifling; the suffocating humidity combined with the sweltering heat left people in a constant state of lethargy and irritability. But in the same hand, they were incredibly beautiful in their uniqueness to only Japan; the festivals, fireworks, seasonal delicacies, variety of vibrant and unique yukatas all accompanied by the singing of cicadas. It made suffering through the intense weather worth it. But something was wrong…the cicadas around the Shimada-gumi’s summer estate had gone silent.

“Hanzo?”

Your voice was soft, still thick with sleep as you felt your husband’s arms untangle from around your waist, your body instantly rousing when the comforting heaviness of his touch was gone. Confused wakefulness began to course through you as your bleary eyes cleared, watching as your shirtless husband pulled one of his gun’s from his nightstand, hands quickly loading the weapon and pointing it at the door. You felt your heart begin to thunder in your chest as you pushed yourself up, Hanzo flashing one finger back at you as he took a half step towards the bedroom door. He was still shirtless, his raven hair hastily pushed back from his face but not tied up, the muscles of his back and shoulders tense. Your own body went tense as you heard a crash from downstairs, a muffled curse followed by the sound of more crashing.

Someone had gotten into the estate.

This was not the first time this had happened and you were sure that it wouldn’t be the last; the Shimada-gumi may not have been the biggest Yakuza faction in Japan but they were one of the strongest. That painted a very pretty target on any and all Shimada or Shimada associates’ back. Assassins, kidnappers, blackmailers, hell, even the occasional paparazzi had managed to sneak onto the estate, all looking for something that could bring the Yakuza faction to their knees. Still, none had made it into the main house. Most ended up snuffed out by their small army of Shimada hired bodyguards or security bots near the front gates, the more insistent trespasser making it to the gardens before being shut down. They weren’t in the main Shimada estate, however.

Hanzo had surprised you with a month-long trip to Hokkaido; the two of you visiting the various estates, onsens and even small castles that the Shimadas’ owned in the northern region, handling business on the side but mostly enjoying one another’s company. While your travel security detail had been with the both of you, it was light compared to the amount that stayed around on the main estate. Still, the travel schedule had been strictly need to know, meaning that someone had either hacked their itinerary or one of your trusted employees had divulged that information. Regardless, it appeared that you and Hanzo were on your own for the time being.

As quietly and quickly as you could, you groped at the nightstand until your fingers wrapped around your phone. You forced yourself to look away from your husband’s back, fingers dancing across the touchscreen in a practiced manner, activating the panic feature that had been built into the device. It sent a notification out to the elders, Genji, the entirety of the Shimada security detail and several police stations that were in the pocket of the family. Because of your location, you knew it would be at least two hours before someone arrived, the both of you just had to manage until then. You moved as silently as you could, Hanzo not turning to look at you as you lightly placed your hand on his back.

“I called”, you murmured, voice barely rising above a whisper, taking a half step closer and pressing your body against his back. Touching him calmed you, the heat from his body easily bleeding through the lace and chiffon of the cream negligee you wore, ebbing the racing of your heart. “Two hours…should we–?”

Your body jumped as you felt Hanzo go stock still against you, the sound of someone right outside the door making your blood run cold. The small estate you were in tonight had been upgraded back in 2050 to be more automated; biometric-based security systems, HD security cameras, holo-pad controlled HVAC and appliances and hidden lights that responded to physiological changes in the rooms they were installed in. The security system in the home was, or was supposed to be, heavily encrypted. But you watched as Hanzo adjusted his hold on the gun, the soft, electronic sounds of beeping sounding off through the door before several tiny clicks sounded. The biometric pad next to the door turned from red to green, Hanzo taking several steps back, arm reaching and pushing you further behind him.

“Ah ah, I would put the weapon down! Unless you want your pretty little wife to watch us blow a hole in you.”

Your hand curled into a fist against Hanzo’s back, feeling the angered growl that rumbled through his frame as he sized up the threat in front of the both of you. You could feel the vicious, snarling energy of his twin dragons rippling from beneath his tattoo, sending waves of warning heat through your left arm and your own white ink tattoo. All Shimadas’ were marked with a sign of the dragons, whether by becoming of age if you were blood related or marriage once you had been proven worthy. While unable to actually summon a dragon, the tattoo tied you to your husband and symbolized you were to be protected by his dragons. You didn’t need to see his face to know that his mind was running through every possible scenario that could play out, silently assessing their chances of getting out of here through brute force alone. Gulping thickly, you could see the slight twitch in his shoulders as his hand tightened around his gun before lowering it, the weapon clattering to the floor loudly as he raised his hand.

“Name your demands”, Hanzo said smoothly, his deep voice even despite the danger. His words were sharp, commanding, taking charge despite the fact that he was at a disadvantage; just as the head of the Shimada-gumi should. His right arm remained raised but his left was behind him, keeping you safely tucked behind his body, shielding your both from seeing and being seen by them.

“Oh we will”, the obvious leader remarked snidely, his voice nasally and grating. There was a chorus of laughter that sounded from behind him before he snapped. “Grab ‘em!”

Your husband snarled at the men, stepping back and trying to guard you before the butt of a pistol swung out and connected with his left temple, stunning the man.

“Hanzo!”

Your arms wrapped around Hanzo’s middle as his body wavered, squeaking softly as you and Hanzo fell. Pulling him tight against your body, you were finally able to see the men that dared to attack the Shimada-gumi. There were five of them clustered around the door, the red oni tattooed on the side of their neck clearly indicating what faction they were from. Dogs from the Horikoshi-gumi. The Shimada and Horikoshi factions had been locked in a bloody battle, the latest fight taking out the second lieutenant from the Horikoshi gang. Last you heard though, was Hanzo and Ryota, their leader, had come to an agreement, a truce to end the bloodshed. Apparently his men hadn’t heeded the memo. The scrawny man in front leered at you, a wide grin breaking across his face, revealing a mouth full of golden teeth.

“You heard me boys, grab ‘em! Let’s take them downstair so we can put on a real show.”

It felt as if a nail had been driven through the left side of his head, Hanzo biting back the groan of pain that threatened to fall from his lips. The throbbing in his skull was only matched by thrum of heat beating in his arms, the dragons twisting and snarling, waiting to lash out for their master.

“Real shame you had to go and marry a Shimada. You’re real pretty. Sweet little thing like you would look real nice on my arm.”

“The only shameful thing right now is being touched by the likes of you”, you stated coldly, venom in your calmly spoken words.

Hanzo forced his eyes open, his lip curling up in a silent snarl of pain as light flooded his senses, lids fluttering until he could see clearly. His wrists had been bound together and he had been left in a kneeling position while unconscious. Hanzo barely tilted his face, assessing the room quickly before he lost the advantage of no one knowing he was awake. It appeared that they had dragged the both of you into the tea room, the size of the room comfortably seating the dozen or so men that appeared to have been stationed in there. Hanzo felt his stomach twist tight in both anger and worry as his eyes connected with you, his fists clenching tight as he resisted the urge to lash out.

Your face had settled into a stony mask, full lips drawn in a tight line of anger, eyes staring directly ahead at the wall. You sat in seiza, shoulders rolled back and head held high, back ramrod straight with your hands curled tightly in your lap. The right sleeve of your gown had been torn, your hair was disheveled and several strands hung in your face, your braid almost completely loosed. Despite the leering men around you and the precarious situation the two of you were in, you still gave off the aura of a perfect lady. Two men stood on either side of you, the man that had struck Hanzo before was walking back and forth in front of you.

“Think you’re so high and mighty don’t you bitch? You think we don’t know you were one of them little hostess sluts?”

“I may have been a hostess but I had class unlike you”, you scoffed, gaze still refusing to meet his. The man growled hand flying out and grabbing you by the hair, fingers tangling deep into your locks and yanking your head up.

“Get your hands off of her!”

The man’s hold on your hair slackened for a brief second before tightening, a manic titter lifting from his throat. Your eyes flew to Hanzo’s, the mask of fearless indifference cracking into unadulterated relief and abject distress as the man holding your hair shook you with a leering grin. Your lips pursed tight, refusing to reward the man with a cry of pain, a shameful blush burning across your cheeks as the cretin moved behind you and grabbed your throat with his free hand.

“Well good morning sunshine”, the man exclaimed, a sneer settling on his lips as he glared down at Hanzo. Chuckles followed from around the room, the low-ranking lackeys smirking wickedly at their eyes darted from their boss and you to the bound Hanzo. “Woke up just in time to see me play with your pretty little whore! If anything happens to her, it’s all on you buddy! Shouldn’t have fucked with us!”

Hanzo made a move to stand only to have two hands clap down on his shoulders and yank him back to the floor. Your eyes went round, struggling against the hold, a raucous laugh rising as the both of you protested the treatment of the other. A cry was finally wrested from your lips as you felt the hand of the man drag down from your throat, playing with the edge of your gown brusquely. Your eyes frantically locked with your husband, seeing the discernable rage in his gaze, his body struggling against the men before going completely still. His brow was furrowed, more in concentration now rather than anger as he stared at you, silently exuding calm your way. He was telling you to ‘focus on him’. You blinked several times, the tears that rested in your eyes rolling down your cheeks, as you gave a fraction of a nod to your head.

“Is this all of them”, Hanzo asked simply, ignoring the incredulous bark of laughter that bounced through the room.

“Y-yes”, you answered, your eyes darting around before looking back to your husband’s as realization began to dawn on you. A soft astonished laughed fell from your lips as the gangster yanked at your hair once more, earning yet another laugh from you.

“What the fuck is so funny?!”

“You and your men”, you started, voice slightly strained in pain as he tugged harder at your hair, confidence returning to your face. “You are foolish men who have made a grave error. You never corner a dragon.”

“Just what the fu–”

“Ryū ga waga teki wo kurau!”

You winced, not allowing your eyes to fully shut, as the room filled with bright, brilliant bursts of cyan light. Hanzo’s twin dragons burst forth from his arm, a deafening roar filling the small space as Yuuki and Ame tore their way through the men, circling around the room and hitting every target. The dragons, like their master, were thorough in their ferocity; ripping through the bodies of the men and completely disintegrating them with their magic energy. A reassured smiled tugged at your lips as the dragons reached you, the hand holding your hair finally releasing you and allowing you to drop back to the ground fully. It felt like a summer breeze was blowing around you, warm and soothing and peaceful, your own tattoo thrumming as the dragons danced around you briefly before surging back to their master. Your eyes fluttered open, briefly looking around the emptied before connecting with Hanzo.

“Hanzo!”

You cried out for your husband, scrambling forward and hastily untying the ropes that bound his wrists. As soon as his arms were freed, you threw your arms around his neck, the man’s strong arms wrapping around you as he fell back onto his rear. Your hands shook as you pulled back slightly, finger touching the bruise to the side of his face gingerly a sympathetic whimper rumbling in your throat. Your fingers continued to dance over his skin, he doing the same to you in return, both of you worriedly examining one another. You flinched as you felt Hanzo’s hand graze the top of your negligee, gulping hard as your eyes locked back onto his anger darkened amber eyes.

“I was so scared”, you forced out, leaning forward to press your forehead against his, tears springing to your eyes. He pressed back, his hands lifting to hold either side of your face gently, thumbs rubbing in slow circles. “They hit you and you were out…and they dragged us down here and you weren’t moving Han. You weren’t moving…and they…they said…I could’ve lost you…”

“I am so sorry beloved”, he breathed out, tilting his head up and pressing a hard kiss to your lips to silence your anxious rambling, a soft sob falling against his lips. “I will never let them hurt you. I will never let anyone hurt you again. I will protect you til my dying breath.”

“No dying”, you corrected, your sob and laugh morphing together as you kissed him back hard.

Kissing him made everything feel better, your arms wrapping hard around his neck as you tried to press yourself closer to him. You needed to touch him, feel him and it seemed that the feeling was mutual, the both of you drawing consolation from one another. Hanzo’s hands pulled away from your face, trailing downwards in a soothing manner, thumbs lightly massaging at your throat then at your collarbone and shoulders before dropping to the neckline of your negligee. His touch was gentle, tender, pushing away the mental remnants of that cretin’s hands on you. You whined as he broke away from your lips, softly shushing you as he kissed the corner of your lips then your jaw and your jaw. He gently nudged your face with his nose, a silent query for permission that you quickly granted by tilting your head up for him. He kissed where the man’s hand had been so tightly wrapped around, drawing soft sighs from your lips before dipping lower.

“Han…”

Your hands tightened on his shoulder, in no way stopping the man but steadying yourself in his lap as his beard grazed the swell of your breast. He softly shooshed you again, hand coming up to run over your cheek before it moved to undo the button at the nap of your neck. The gown slackened slightly around your shoulders, Hanzo pausing to run his fingers over and through your hair, completely undoing your braid before his hands dragged back up to your shoulders. He pushed your nightgown down, your arms dropping, the soft, translucent fabric to pool at your waist. Soft sighs and whimpers of appreciation tumbled from your lips as his lips drew downwards, back arching as he captured one of your nipples in his mouth. Your hands dragged to the back of his head, pushing him closer, fingers tangling into his hair.

His touch, his lips, the soft words of endearment spoken against your skin drove away the fear of losing him, the thoughts of being touched by another. Your fingers scratched lightly at his scalp, his calloused hands running up and down your sides and over whichever breast wasn’t currently in his mouth. He lowered you gently to the floor, his mouth leaving your sensitive nub, eyes boring into yours lovingly. Gently cupping his cheek you smiled, other hand gently coaxing him back to your lips and kissing him earnestly. Heat was rolling lazily in your core, the emotional need to be coupled with your husband winning out over the physical demand for it.

“Please”, you breathed out as the both of you broke away, stars in your eyes as you looked at him. You peppered soft, adoring kisses to his lips through your words, unrushed, tender shows of affection and want. “Hanzo, please?”

He smiled at you, a rare expression that you hoarded greedily and proudly, his gaze soft yet hungry for you. He assented, nodding and gently nudging his forehead against yours, placing one more kiss against your lips. You loosed your hold around his neck as he pulled back, his hands pushing his silk night trousers and underwear down. Eyes dipping downward, you shivered as your eyes took in the sight of his thick cock, already dripping with precum. Hanzo’s hand lightly tilted your chin up, your eyes locking as he slowly crawled over your body. You laid back with him over you, shivering hard as his lips pressed into yours, whimpering softly as his hands pushed your gown up. The warmth of his hands made your skin tingle wherever they roamed, sighing needily as he gently massaged at your bare hips, spreading your legs for him as his hands dragged to your thighs.

“Hm!”

You whined against his lips, back arching as his hand grinded insistently at your mound, fingers slowly rolling around your sensitive nub. He smiled against your lips, catching your moans as her rubbed your wet slit, fingers barely dipping into your core. Your arms wrapped tight around his neck, pulling him closer to you and whining piteously at his teasing motions.

“Han please”, you breathed against his lips as he dragged his hand over your clit once more, gently clawing at his shoulders.

“Of course beloved”, Hanzo murmured, pulling his hand away from your cunt before moving further your legs.

The both of you groaned as Hanzo lightly brushed his cock against your entrance, your hands tightening against his shoulders once more. Your breath hitched as he began to push into you, toes curling and hips rolling as the head slipped inside. Hanzo’s head fell to your shoulder as he set a steady, lazy pace, his lips and tongue pressing gently into the skin of your neck. There was no rush in either of your movements, hands falling to either side of your head, Hanzo’s hands intertwining with yours.

“You are mine”, he moaned against your skin as he nibbled at your pulse points. You gave a loan moan of agreement, nodding your head dazedly as he gave a slight snap of his hip. “Made just for me beloved. Only mine to touch, dearest. Mine to protect.”

His words were possessive but not aggressive, waves of pleasure lapping hungrily at your senses each time he spoke. The words were intimate, loving, his grinding hips and thrusts filled with a need to show you how much he needed you, cared for you. One of his hands released yours, his thrusts getting faster, sloppier as you tightened around him. Butterflies flew in your stomach their numbers expanding as his hands caressed your face tenderly, combing through your hair and moaning your name in such a sweet, loving voice.

“H-Hanzo”, you whimpered, body being carted towards.a.point of no return. Your mind was filled with thoughts of him, your darling husband, of his words and his caresses, of the sweet nothings the slurred together as he hungrily kissed and nipped at your skin. Nothing from earlier remained, only him and his affections and his cock coaxing you towards your edge. Your eyes slipped closed, fireworks dancing behind your lids as you came, Hanzo’s strokes picking up as he fell right along with you. You could feel the warmth of his seed fill you, your walls milking him hungrily, taking all of him in. All you could do was squeeze his hands tight, free hand wrapping around his neck to press him close and sobbing words of agreement to him. “Yours, all yours dear husband. Just for you. You just for me. Oh Hanzo I love you, I love you I love you.”

“I love you too my beloved wife”, he said through gentle kisses, body still shivering as he fell atop you, his weight a welcomed warmth.

It took several moment for the both of you to regain your bearings; Hanzo redressing you and himself, picking you up bridal style (despite your insistence you could walk) and laying you in the bed while telling you to sleep, that he would take care of the rest. You assented to him this time, only requiring one stipulation: that he stay until you fell asleep. And so he did, brushing your hair and face until you were lulled into dreamland comfortably.

#Overwatch #Hanzo #Hanzo Shimada #Overwatch headcanons #overwatch headcanon #overwatch request #overwatch requests #overwatch drabble #overwatch story #hanzo x reader #Yakuza Hanzo #fluffy smut

[prinzenhasserin]

Yuletide!

Dear Yule Goat/Creator/Person I Will Love Forever,

I am very excited for anything you write for these fandoms. Please feel free to take my prompts and likes any way you wish, as long as you stick to my dislikes. Don’t feel like you have to stick to the prompts! I’m always open for other characters. Generally, I will be delighted with any rating from gen to explicit. I hope you have fun creating!

My AO3 name is Prinzenhasserin, here. If you want to browse more of my letters, here are some at my exchange letter tag. 

Likes:

fake/pretend relationships, arranged marriages

loyalty

odd couples

found family, dysfunctional families that nevertheless love each other

historical stories for same-sex pairings that aren’t unhappy but that fit with the society of the time (so like, spinster ladies living together; bachelors-for-life)

cultural differences, age differences, height differences

heists, rescue missions, case fic

dragons, fairy tales, magical realism, urban fantasy

competent characters

people not realising they’re the most competent at their job/hobby

people failing their way to success

happy endings, earning your happy ending, open yet hopeful endings

cynical humour

mutual pining

suits, corsetry, fancy dresses

Identity shenanigans (secret identities, mistaken identities)

Blatant Lies

Enemies finding common ground and becoming friends/lovers; rivalry

outsider POV, 1st person narrator

epistolary, fictional non-fiction, worldbuilding, interactive fiction, poetry

orange/blue morality (that is, not entirely human morality); grey/grey morality

people not usually found in law enforcement solving crimes

non-verbal expressions of affection

contradictions: that is, I like my fantasy with the mundane (doing taxes in a mythical land of dragons, or space pirates!) and I like my mundane fiction with outrageous happenings.

Kinks:

wall sex! overcome with sudden desire! sex with clothes on! 

shifting power dynamics (outside the bedroom, and inside the bedroom), actions on both sides, basically

stiff characters letting go of their iron control inside the bedroom; characters feeling guilty of their desire but not guilty enough to stop; coming to terms with the guilt

lots of foreplay, drawn out orgasms, edging

desperate sex, drunk sex, we-just-can’t-help-it!sex, sex for life-affirming; sex pollen

sex toys

Dislikes (Do-Not-Want):

rape played for laughs, or as backstory

sexuality, or gender as the focus of plot or used for drama

suicide

tragic endings (ambiguous endings are fine, though!)

RED (Movies)

(Characters: Victoria, Sarah Ross)

This movie, goddamn it. It’s so silly, and so! much! shit! explodes, but I can’t help but find it charming and adorable.

If you want to write me Victoria teaching Sarah how to handle her weapons and shoot shit up, I am absolutely here for that. I would also love secret spy shenanigans, or a situation where only the secret skills of the customer service person Sarah or the filling skills of a bored bureaucrat (also: Sarah) save the day in a spectacular manner.

Or Victoria taking Sarah under her wing and teaching her everything she knows about life, men, and how to end both. Or trying to protect her from the fucked-up shit in her life, and then maybe realising that maybe Sarah doesn’t need to be protected.

I am a fan of the age difference, too, and I do ship them together, if you rather want to write that. Give me all the fucked up femslash! Going on murderous rampages together, and having sex amid the slain corpses of their enemies, yes, that. Bedsharing because circumstances have them hiding out in the Siberian Tundra. Victoria dressing up Sarah and taking her as a trophy wife to diplomatic functions? Seducing Sarah so Victoria can rub their togetherness into Frank’s face. Taking people of guard, because the expected a toy boy, and not -- whatever Sarah is.

DNW: mommy kink

Gokusen (Manga)

(Characters: any -- Fujiyama Shizuka, Kuroda Ryuuichirou, Sawada Shin, Yamaguchi Kumiko)

How do I love this manga so much? I have no idea. I’m not even near high school age anymore, and yet the plot (and tbh, sometimes its ridiculous nature) always gets to me. I’d read more about any aspect of this canon, and if you want to bring in any other characters, and leave others out, feel entirely free to.

Post-canon would be great, but anything goes really. Focusing on just one character would be terrific. Having all of them would be great!

Kumiko has adventures with another class, or her minions! Does she continue with being a school teacher? Maybe she starts leading the Yakuza group, and still goes to school to teach her kids manners, and morals, and how to fight the system?

Shin goes to law school/Africa/some place, but gets lost on the way there! Will he come back to Yankumi? Will he eventually lead the Yakuza group?

Fujiyama Shizuka doesn’t get why she’s the one without the beautiful student toy-boy, and tries to find one herself, and instead falls in love with, idk, the new female teacher? one of Yankumi’s brothers? the new janitor? Or she watches and cackles a lot as Yankumi and Shin date, and then maybe found a Yakuza orphanage, and/or marry.

Kuroda Ryuuchiro and his quest for the rightful heir to his Yakuza group! How does he feel about his granddaughter running around with the police chief’s son — does that bother him more than the whole student thing? Does Shin really inherit the Kuroda family group? Does he become a Yakuza lawyer? Or does Yankumi make him stay away, or maybe Kuroda makes them stay away?

I ship Shin/Yankumi but gen is delightful also.

How does Shin convince Yankumi to have sex with him? Is he getting kidnapped left and right before they actually get together because all and sundry already think they’ve been doing each other for years?

If they are already in an established relationship, how does Shin deal with Yankumi’s students (especially when one of them develops a crush)?

I have no problems about depicting violence, or graphic criminal activities, but please keep the violence perpetrated by the nominated characters within the spirit of the manga? I like to root for morally ambiguous characters, but not if they are truly evil.

Roundtable Rival - Lindsey Stirling (Music Video)

(Characters: Durango Black, The Violinist (Roundtable Rival))

I love this music video! It’s so silly and fun! It is here, if you want to watch it yourself, but basically, people are fighting each other with music instruments to a jaunty tune, set in the Wild Wild West.

Basically, fighting with music! Foiling dastardly plans! I want to read more about this! And anything goes, really. If you want to focus more on one character, or want to show this from an outside perspective, either would be great.

Lowkey, I’m really a fan of rival-dynamics, and love to ship enemies, so bringing a lovestory between Durango Black and the Violinist would make my day. Or if there’s a dynamic like "You are the only one allowed to catch me"? —Perfection

Maybe they know each other from before? Maybe there’s epic discussion about different ways to fight each other with music (I’d be into reading about that!).

Would also be into PWP where the Violinist dominates Durango Black. Some Bootlicking, maybe? Or creative uses of the music instruments. Or clothing porn!

Or case fic where The Violinist tours around the country, catching criminals; or just a glimpse into how music developed its own fighting style — or performing tricks like shooting an apple out of the air, just with music instruments!

(Additional question for worldbuilding: What is that clear liquid they serve in beer humps?)

DNW: rape (dubcon is fine, though!)

British Romantic Writers RPF 

Characters: John Keats (British Romantic Writers RPF), Lord Byron (British Romantic Writers RPF), Percy Shelley (British Romantic Writers RPF)

Okay, I’m not even vaguely sorry. Here’s my confession: I ship all of these with each other, as pairs, or as threesome. I’d read them writing spite!fic, or rather spite!poetry, about each other, though! Or a zombie!AU, in which they are all stumbling incompetently around the dead suddenly among the living. Or maybe they turn out to be surprisingly competent at killing/evading zombies! (I’d expect nothing less from Percy Shelley who seduced people on graveyards, tbh)

Hey — at least they knew of each other! I am into the really very dysfunctional relationships with each other, here. Who is to say they wouldn’t have been very happy with each other in various constellations? Lord Byron seemed to have detested Keats — or at least thought his poetry as "mental masturbation" — I’d dig them in a rival relationship, that suddenly develops into a sexual relationship. Maybe even romantic? (Definitely romantic in the original sense)

And I can definitely see Lord Byron condescending down on Keats for his poor upbringing, without being aware that this is what he is doing, and Keats so not having that. And Percy Shelley with his continued efforts into giving all his money to charity while having the luxury to seduce women and traipse around the continent!

How about an AU in which Keats doesn’t die and joins Percy Shelley in Pisa (and for some reason Lord Byron is there, too — I will not read this for the historical accuracy, believe me)

Basically! Literature! Orgies! Seducing people in graveyards, and skinny-dipping in French rivers, that’s all I really want. I’m not saying no if you do decide to go down the historical accurate road, but I’ll also read all sorts of wild AUs.

Or adventures in Greece during the revolution in an Everybody-Lives!AU?

Percy Shelley wrote an elegy about Keats, and said this when he invited him to Pisa: "I am aware indeed that I am nourishing a rival who will far surpass me and this is an additional motive & will be an added pleasure." Added pleasure? (He means fucking! says me) I am just very into rival relationships that turn sexual or more.

Look, I’m just here for Lord Byron and Percy Shelley seducing a reluctant Keats — and Keats maybe anchoring them a bit down to earth. Or various combinations.

I am not into the long-term effects of drug use and the suffering thereof, but if you want to mention it, that is totally fine. I wouldn’t want it glorified.

DNW: contemplation of suicide, vore

Miss Marple - Agatha Christie

Characters: Jane Marple

I am a fan of Miss Marple. I, too, have lived in a quiet town where you can see into the abysses of the human condition :D

I’d love to read something that lead her to the person we know her as, maybe when she went to the girl school in Switzerland? Maybe during her time in the cypher division, during the war — maybe the cypher division was really a cover for Miss Marple’s spy activities for the war office?

I’d also love fic about her as we know her: spending time in St. Mary Mead’s and solving crimes, quietly knitting her nephew another sweater. Holiday themed fic! Somebody keeps stealing the geese for the holiday celebrations!

Honestly, I’d also really like to read about her in a relationship, especially one that people wouldn’t expect of an elderly woman. Did she have a youthful indiscretion with the prime minister, and now that he is widowed, he visits her again, and Jane’s nephew is entirely shocked by the whole thing?

Was she maybe in love with a woman the whole time? Did she quietly retire into a cottage with her best friend, and they have a romantic relationship with each other?

(Or crossovers! It would be super interesting if Miss Marple knew a wizard from the Harry Potter universe, or maybe she’s a squib or a with herself? Or maybe she knows Phryne Fisher, or Lord Peter Wimsey!)

Island of the Aunts | Monster Mission - Eva Ibbotson

Characters: Dorothy (Island of the Aunts)

Look. This is one of my favourite books. I would read absolutely anything about every single character— I choose Dorothy, simply because she’s my most favourite, but if you want to write a story where she’s not the focus, I’d still be ecstatic.

That said, omg, Dorothy. I love her (and her wok!) and I would read countless stories on adventures she had while going off of the island in a rage to be angry at polluters, or hunters of endangered species, or both. I like that she seems to be the most competent in dealing with outsiders, even though usually she rather likes to resort to violence.

So! Pre-Canon, or Post-Canon, whatever; either would be great!

How is the work on the island? How is Dorothy dealing with her piranha farm? Maybe she decided to pursue some other, even stranger, protection against various and sundry? Does the Kraken return to the island?

How does Dorothy deal with the mermaids? Is she tolerant of their foibles, or is it a similar relationship to the one she has with her sister Betty, that is: polite bewilderment?

How does Dorothy feel to be suddenly the responsible one, who didn’t kidnap children and make them work with her? How’s her relationship with Etta, and does Dorothy milk it for all that it is worth?

Did Dorothy ever fall in love? Was it someone off the island, campaigning for more environmental protection? A mythical creature of her very own?

Who did she meet in prison? (Was Archie someone Dorothy pulled in?) How did she deal with prison in Hong-kong? Is Dorothy the reason there are now forest cities in China (— this is maybe a bit of a reach, since Hong Kong isn’t really mainland China and all, but I’d love if the Aunts have a bit of an influence on the world, even though Fabio is probably never going to be Brasilians prime minister. Though I would read a story about that.)

(Burning questions I have that aren’t relevant to Dorothy as a character: Is Herbert ever going to return? Is the younger Kraken?)

DNW: unhappy endings

If there’s something confusing, please don’t hesitate to ask! (Anon happens to be open, too.) And I hope you have a fun Yuletide!

#exchange letter #yuletide 2017