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wkngsnds · 3 years

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So remember when I published “Whether You Fail or Fly”? I rewrote it! Well, some parts of it; I tried my best to reach the dark tone I was aiming for, fixed some things I thought were awkward, and so and so forth. I hope y’all enjoy it all the same.

I’ll post it on here too under a read more.

Title: Your Side

RATING: Teen and older audience

Two weeks ago, he never wanted a tool. Tonight, he’s grateful to his hitwoman.

Fuyuhiko had not been the type to black out during his fights; in fact, he savored every cut and bruise that he could take before Peko eventually intervened. He exists in a constant state of irritation with his anger never falling far behind. Despite being a yakuza, or perhaps that is exactly why, his anger was his weak point— almost as blinding and fervent as Kabukicho during the night. Just like his parents, he got hot under the collar relatively quickly and chose to focus all his energy on his victim, so he’s an extremist in his own right too. Fuyuhiko preferred to handle things “a man’s way”: being direct as possible instead of exhibiting a passive aggressive attitude. He believed he could smash his way through his opponents as he refused to lose sight of his goal.

Tonight was no different.

Peko never got hit during a fight— she was fast, strong, and cunning. However, it would be more accurate to say that she couldn’t afford to get hit; a thousandth second too slow, a single hair strand out of place, and it would all be over. She exists in a hypervigilant state even within the confines of the Kuzuryuu manor. It is not that she lacks trust in her “coworkers'', per say, but protecting Fuyuhiko is the only thing she finds herself capable of doing. Truth be told, even with a small army of guards roaming the grounds it does not guarantee his safety, but by acting as his shield he’s all the more safer. It’s why she keeps her mind blank, but never loses focus; that is not to say she does not think at all— if anything, she is the type to overthink matters more than someone in her position should. These constraints both forced upon her and self practiced are why her rage is restrained. She’s not the type to anger easily, but when the emotion visits her it must be leashed and kept within bounds.

Tonight was no different.

An ocean of alarm and disquietude drowned the underground of Tokyo, and nearly flooded the overground the day after Fuyuhiko confirmed Natsumi’s corpse. It had not been long until civilians heard of the misfortunate incident, and they took it upon themselves to go home earlier than usual as a precautionary measure. Even if they did not know Natsumi, her surname carried all the weight it needed to: it was not just a member of the clan who died, but someone with a direct relation to the leader. This action of avoidance, of course, did nothing to deter the Kuzuryu clan from their own private investigations; they were a 24/7 kind of business, after all. Each family belonging to the Kuzuryu-gumi had crawled out of their own holes-- those who supported Natsumi above Fuyuhiko worked especially hard to find their princess’s murderer. Then there were those, in their true yakuza nature, who wanted to take advantage of her death to strip the Ultimate of his inheritance. For them, it had not been a simple preference of the younger sibling, but instead a dissatisfaction and disfavor for their patriarch’s son. By extension, Peko received the same condemnation if not to a worse degree. Those in Natsumi’s faction who were slightly sympathetic to the heir blamed the bodyguard for his physical weakness and lack of will; her entire presence caused his spoiled and rotten nature. Put simply her existence, they thought, hindered his bloodlust. Others argued that the main family was not meant to kill as they were an ‘invisible hand’ which directed them all. A minority thought Peko to be a better yakuza than him, but they were smarter than to voice that opinion. There were also a few who thought him cursed— a way of karma for all the blood the clan spilled since its early days, and that blood most certainly flowed like a river. Nevertheless subsidiary matriarchs and patriarchs respected him as their heir at best, but they would not hold their breath for him either.

The funeral service would bring out the worst in the family.

Nastumi died in less than a week of attending the academy, so the two knew their investigation was limited to this timeframe. After confirming her corpse’s identity, the next step was to speak with the custodian who found her; if he had decided to keep information from the police Fuyuhiko had no qualms in using extensive methods of extraction. Meanwhile, Peko worked to address the rumors of a supposed pervert who was thought by the students to be the perpetrator. The mysterious figure had stolen one girl’s swimsuit, and then planned to violate the young mistress (the disgusted rage she felt momentarily dulled the pain in her wrist as her hand formed into a tight fist). Peko knew she needed to focus, so she took a deep breath and went to look for the first girl whose swimsuit had been taken; if the two were both victims to the degenerate, then it was important to establish a possible connection or a pattern. On the hand, if the attacks were random, it would have been hard to track down a possible suspect with the incredibly vague information. They also did not allow Fuyuhiko, understandably, to enter the crime scene, so her chances of success in that area were virtually zero. On the other hand, if this were a targeted attack, then there was a greater problem to be dealt with, and this girl might be connected.

She could not recall any subsidiaries with the name Sato, but it was also possible her mother married out of the respective family. Furthermore, Peko had not been ignorant to the clan’s...favoritism, but she would not be convinced by the apparent blind adoration; it could have been the start of a coup d’etat, and her young master would be the next target. Peko already failed both Fuyuhiko and Natsumi by not protecting the latter, failure to aid him in apprehending her killer or letting him die meant she truly was useless. Therefore, finding this girl and ‘speaking’ to her took over all her priorities. The kendo athlete scans the morning cafeteria until she spots her suspect (someone had kindly described her appearance) sitting at an empty table near the large windows. Like a tiger, she moves carefully to disappear from the girl’s direct line of sight and peripheral vision; she intended to take her by surprise— using that confusion to assert dominance in the conversation and as momentum for a potential confession. However, before Peko could get any closer Mikan had unfortunately bumped into her; like always, the nurse made a scene whenever she apologized to someone, and blew Peko’s cover. To make matters worse, she spotted the injured wrist she acquired from punching the wall yesterday, and became shockingly insistent on treating the wound. Mikan did not yield to any of her protest, and all but dragged her out of the cafeteria to the nurse’s office. For a weak willed clumsy girl, the kendo athlete did not expect her to be as firm in her handling.

True to her sensitive nature, Mikan noticed Peko’s state of irate despite the latter having a stoic face, and began to apologize once again. Stuttering throughout her explanation, it appeared as though she hardly slept the prior night. Mistaking the red eyed girl’s neutral, if not apathetic, question for sympathy the super high school level nurse rambled on about doing an emergency shift at a nearby clinic. Yet, even for Peko who was only half listening something felt off.

‘What you just said...was a lie, wasn’t it?’ A tit for tat question.

‘H-Huh?! You w-were able t-to tell?’ She focused on the splinting for a moment, ‘U-Um...Pekoyama would it be too presumptuous to ask...if I could c-confide in you with s-something? I-It feels like my chest is going to explode if I can’t g-g-get it out.’

She’s weary of agreeing, but slowly nods her head nevertheless.

‘I...I saw the body. Kuzuryu’s little sister...W-We found her in the music room l-last night.’

‘What did you say?!’

‘Eek! I..I’m sorry!’

‘Tsumiki, you need to explain to me exactly what happened. What do you mean ‘we’?’

At 7:30 pm, both yakuza convened at the heir’s off campus apartment to consolidate all the information they gathered. After deeming that he had nothing left to hide, Fuyuhiko “convinced” the custodian to allow him into the music room. There’s a tight feeling in his chest at the sight of the white tape— he had seen it plenty of time, but knowing it was his sister’s outline made him lightheaded. However, he knew there was no time to be distracted by his grief; he needed to devote all his energy on finding her murderer. Fuyuhiko mentioned to Peko that he saw the broken glass from where, according to the police report, the criminal had escaped.

‘It also said a nearby guard heard the sound of the glass breakin’ but never saw or heard anyone runnin’.’

‘That’s suspicious.’

‘Yeah, and there ain’t any security video footage of a shady person walkin’ ‘round campus. Not to mention, that hole in the window don’t look big enough for someone to jump through. None of this fucking shit adds up!’ He viciously kicks the low table before falling onto the couch behind it, rubbing his eyes and groaning loudly as he did, ‘Either this sick bastard is crafty as hell or...or someone who knows this fuckin’ school’s layout did it.’

She assumes a pensive position, ‘So, someone within the school is the culprit...? I believe that is an accurate deduction. There are even suspects to support your theory.’

‘W-What? Suspects?!’

‘Tsumiki, Koizumi, Hiyoko, Mioda, and a person by the name of Sato were at the crime scene. As it were, those five were the first to encounter the young mistress, and most likely—’

‘The ones who started the rumor of a pervert going around.’ His fists tightened to the point where his fingernails cut his skin and he began to bleed, ‘Those cunts...those goddamn fucking cunts...if it turns one of them killed Natsumi...I will never fucking forgive them. If all five of them were in on it...I don’t care how much blood is on my hands I’ll slaughter them all.’

Peko could not bring herself to calm him down; she shared his sentiments, after all.

The next day went by in a blur. For the first time in a long while, the two yakuza were on the same wavelength: Peko advised him to avoid confronting any of the suspected girls without enough proof less he scared them away losing their only lead. Conceding to her counseling, he keeps his distance from them and their own classmates in general. However, he did not stand by, and instead went to question a few of the students in 77A. In return, he asked her to monitor the behavior of those four— they were citizens who, more than likely, had never dealt with corpses or killings in their life which he thought gave Peko a great advantage. Bluntly put, it takes a killer to know a killer.

At the end of the day, when all was said and done their respective tasks were successful enough to narrow down their suspect list quite considerably. Fuyuhiko learned that not only was Sato with his sister on the day of the incident, but the two often bumped heads with one another. Concurrently, Peko overheard an anxious Mahiru mumble about needing to meet with the same Sato during their lunch break, so she messaged him those details when Koizumi had left the classroom. Although he didn’t find them in time to eavesdrop on their conversation, he had caught a glimpse of someone (he assumed to be Sato) throwing away what looked like paper into the garbage. At first he made sure to stay out of sight, but as soon as the coast was clear he made a beeline for the trash bin.

And just like that the number of suspects dropped from five to two to one.

In hindsight, investigating Sato and Koizumi should have been their first thought, but both were neglectful towards Natsumi’s own complaints and scheming. They had not noticed the particular animosity she held towards the photographer, and instead considered it yet another part of her antics. With Fuyuhiko constantly running away from all criticism and Peko mindlessly chasing after him, they never once considered looking behind them to see if she needed help. However, why would they need to? She was strong, probably stronger than the both of them combined and more than they’ll ever be. It is why she had been so reverend throughout the clan-- the reincarnation of a legend or perhaps something even greater than that. Where they both lacked brutality, bloodlust, and pride Natsumi made up for it a thousand times over. Fuyuhiko could still remember the day his father scolded him right after Peko rescued him from the man’s chokehold; it was a heated argument over something senseless the teenager had done earlier that week which left the patriarch a mess to clean up.

‘This is why you need a fucking tool and your sister doesn’t. Maybe if you had your act more together like her, you would be half the fucking yakuza she is!’

Whether or not they moved forward is debatable, but they left her behind to fend for herself. Natsumi was a tough girl in a league beyond their own, and they were too wrapped up in their selfish problems. Truthfully, Fuyuhiko and Peko knew they were as responsible for her murder as Sato was.

‘I will NEVER FORGIVE YOU!’

When the two finally returned to Fuyuhiko’s apartment they sloppily kicked off their shoes, and collapsed from exhaustion in the seats of the sleek black dining table. True to their upbringing, they had chosen a seclusive section of the nearby riverbank as the dumping ground. The route from the school to the river was relatively light, but the combined weight of the corpse, adrenaline, and guilt made it all the more treacherous to walk. Initially, Peko suggested contacting one of the nearby families who worked in construction to place the cadaver in concrete, and then toss it into the river. After a few moments, however, he refused. Fuyuhiko did not want to hide the body; he wanted her to rot for as long as possible before she was found— maggots crawling in and out of the holes they made of her. Normally, he wasn’t the morbidity type, but it would be a lie if he were satisfied with her death alone. Again, it was the first time in a very long while that they were on the same wavelength.

Fuyuhiko could only watch as Peko stood, unsurprisingly, before he did; she had greater stamina and...experience than he did in all of this. She left his direct line of sight, but kept herself in his peripherals. For him, once the adrenaline of killing passed, the soreness dropped upon him like a ton of bricks, his muscles were tense, and it felt as though the slightest movement made his joints crack. He could feel the phantom force from swinging the corpse back and forth before throwing it down the bank. He rested his forehead on crossed fingers as his eyes briefly crossed over; part of him felt ashamed for feeling so weak-- what did that say about his future as a patriarch? He only did the killing, but Peko, like always, ended up cleaning his dirty work. In this case, she was the one who quite literally carried dead weight on their walk to the river. He did not argue when she picked up the corpse like a sack of rice and arranged it to fit in her kendo. The angles were awkward, but after breaking some joints here and a few bones there the corpse fit perfectly. All he could do was watch her. What could he say that would not end with him being in her way? He knows he can trust her to handle this, but what gave him the right to sit back and do nothing? He can do with expressing gratitude towards her or, at the very least, express a greater sense of gratification at avenging his sister.

But all he felt was exhaustion.

“You need to bathe.” It is rare for her to speak with a semblance of authority in her tone towards him, so she captures his attention quickly. On any other day, he might have told her kick rocks for treating him like a child, but he can only put up half a fight tonight.

“It can wait until morning.”

“No, it cannot.” He heard her reach into a separate duffel bag she left in his apartment earlier this morning, “The stenches of blood and death are ones that linger if you do not remove them immediately. I am sure the doorman noticed, but kept his mouth shut.”

From the bag, she first pulled out a loofah and an antibacterial wash set. Next, there was a roll of black bags, a bottle filled with what he assumed were cleaning chemicals for the bat, and a cardboard box. He handed over the baseball cap at her request; she placed them in one of the aforementioned black bags along with her own and instructed him to throw his personal trash in there as well since she would burn everything later. He could also hear the crinkling of the paper that was used to wrap the corpse being stuffed into the bag. Watching her fix the box and line it with another black bag— the way her movements were quick and sharp nearly gave him vertigo, but it’s her calm demeanor (as if doing everything from muscle memory, which was most likely the case) that causes all his hairs to stand. This...this was her true speciality, wasn’t it?

Still not being able to raise his head, he asked if his own clothes needed to be burned as well, but the kendo athlete reminded him of the suit’s hefty price tag, thus intended to send it back home to be thoroughly cleaned. However, in all her fretting of his needs the realization hits him,

“What about your clothes?”

“Please do not worry about that.”

“You just said we have to get rid of the stench, so do you have clothes of your own--”

“Young master. Please go bathe.” Her voice initially sounded strained, then slowed down as if she were controlling her breathing. Not only was this a part of her speciality, but it was clear she had a method for her work that she hadn’t been too keen on straying from-- it was the same inflexibility (one not so different from the blond) that would get her killed on Jabberwock Island. For all the exhaustion Fuyuhiko felt, Peko silently masked her oncoming mental fatigue whilst also trying to ignore the ton of guilt weighing on her. From her perspective, she had just failed for the second time in a row: first, by allowing Natsumi to die and second, by allowing Fuyuhiko to kill by himself. It was not as though she could rid herself of any culpability, because she has disobeyed him in the past for the “sake” of his protection. So why didn’t she refuse him now? He had instructed her to act as if they were fellow high school students, so she would have been well within her orders to randomly check on her-- if not as the young master’s sister, then as a member of the Kuzuryu family she was owed the respect of being welcomed. What made his order so particular this time around that she found herself unable to deny? To make matters even worse, she allowed him to sully his hands with death while she stood and watched the bat crack Sato’s skull open. If she were forced to make an excuse, then it was as if some external power prevented her from interfering. Maybe it was a part of her, the human part, that understood it had not been her place to interject-- that she knew him well enough to know this revenge and avenge was to quench his heart from the sorrow plaguing him. No, perhaps this humanity of hers knew from the very beginning that he would not have been satisfied if Sato died by anyone's hands but his own, so she took the extra precautions to protect him throughout the conspiracy. Taking this into account, it was only natural that the tool she considered herself to be would come into conflict with the meddlesome human she actually was.

As per usual, his movements drew her out of her spiraling thoughts; his stumbling did not go unnoticed, but before she could reach him to help stand, he had already taken the wash set, grabbed his nightwear, and headed towards the bathroom.

“There’s a washer-dryer set in this closet. Wash your clothes.” The door shut promptly behind him

Normally, it took him 15 minutes to get himself clean, but the falling of hot water on his back kept him in for five minutes longer. For five minutes longer, he mulled over his ambivalent thoughts— remembering how Sato’s face contorted into shock, and then overcame by dread and terror at the sight of him...it elevated him. The way she tried to run from him, but Peko threw her to the ground; kept down by an elbow between the shoulders, yet her head kept up by her hair. He’s never felt that kind of power: having everything and everyone in his control. For once, they feared him and not her. For once, someone begged at the feet for his mercy and not his father.

Did Natsumi beg for her life?

Was she afraid?

Did she call out for him?

Then came the boiling rage once again; the jarring reality that it didn’t matter if he killed one person or left an entire town to die, he still had to bury his little sister. He knew her death wasn’t his fault, he’s not that delusional, but he thinks he could have stopped it. If he stopped running away from being compared to her, would she still be alive? He could have been a better brother if he had not been such a damn child. Would she have come to him for her personal problems if he was? If he had convinced their father that she needed a bodyguard if only to keep her out of trouble would that have kept her safe? If he let Peko go check on her, she would still be here, wouldn’t she? He watched as the blood from his hand (there’s only a crack on the tiled wall) washed down the drain, and then turned the faucet off altogether. As he dried himself, he noticed the basket he left in the washroom before the shower had almost been emptied save for his underwear and socks. He only rolled his eyes at this; she did this every once in a while when they were at home, and he grew tired of chastising her to let the maids do their jobs. Fuyuhiko could not begin to understand why Peko did these silent and small acts for him-- her only “job” was to follow his commands; going beyond that just seemed unecessary. It only dumbfounded him more when he realized, at some point, that she’d done more for him in a single week than he’d seen his parents do for each other since he was born. Of course, it was twice as aggravating when she opposed him returning those small acts every once in a blue moon.

He exited the bathroom with his pajamas on and towel over his head as he found her meditating in the same clothes she arrived in. Everything around her had been prepared: the box of his clothes was closed ready to be sent home, the ‘burn bag’ was placed into her kendo duffel, and her black yukata was folded neatly next to her.

Truly, that was what a professional looked like.

“There’s an extra clean towel in the washroom. ‘Left the soap and shampoo inside the shower for you.”

“Thank you.” Her weakened voice does not go unnoticed by him-- in fact, much of her behavior and mannerisms are more observed than she thinks. Though Peko believed herself to have spoken in perfect monotone, Fuyuhiko was able to hear the falter in the middle syllables*. It had been easier for him to count the days they were separate than together, so it would be highly alarming if he couldn’t pick out some difference in her attitude. Of course, recognizing the problem and doing something about it were two different objectives; furthermore, doing the obvious by asking her what was wrong didn’t seem like the right answer either. How many times has she asked him, and he’d brush her off at best and yell at her ‘to leave him alone’ at worst. What right did he have to interrogate her when he wasn’t the talkative type himself**?

Besides, the yakuza heir knew the kendo athlete well enough to sense that she would also brush him off in return just so that he would not worry about her. In this regard, he understood how she felt: just like him, she hated when people fussed about her or gave her any more attention than what she could tolerate. Peko was simply better at masking her disdain than he was; not that Fuyuhiko tried, of course, but still better nevertheless. In fact, this had been one of the many traits they had in common; regardless of surface level differences, Peko and Fuyuhiko were more similar at heart and at will than other people, or themselves for that matter, tended to realize. It’s why they were able to coordinate manslaughter so well.

She cleared her throat which snapped him back to reality; it’s clear he had been staring at her for far too long causing her to become both concerned and uncomfortable. She tried not to express the latter, but, again, he’s well versed in her micro expressions.

“Is there something you need, sir?” Now it’s her turn to watch his movements as he made his way to his bedroom, hands fumbling with the towel still on his head as he slid it down to his neck.

“It’s nothing. Go bathe while the bathroom is still warm.” And with that she disappeared, the door shutting quietly behind her.

Fuyuhiko released a tense sigh as he sat heavily on his bed. He could feel the conflicting twitch of his nerves; his muscles ached now that the adrenaline passed, but the near state of silence save for the hum of the shower relaxed him. If he has access to a mass fortune (legality of said money’s source notwithstanding), he might as well spend it on a condo away from the loudmouths that inhabited the Hope’s Peak Academy student dorms. Slowly, he picked his feet up onto his bed and laid down on his pillow; it felt like his head would explode with all the pulsing in his veins.

2:20 AM.

In three and half more hours, he will be awake for twenty four hours— nothing unusual for him, but worth noting in silence.

He breathed.

Shuffling was heard in the background.

2:36 AM

Fuyuhiko was half asleep when Peko finished showering, and caught her trying to leave quietly. He slowly got up and made his way to lean on the doorframe, hand lazily stuck in his jinbei, and watched her. Despite all her yukatas being black, they had subdued patterns on each of them if one looked closely enough-- the blond was trying to discern whether it was her plain one or one that he bought her. He had gotten two of them for her birthday and Christmas last year, and all but screamed at her in an attempt to convince her to keep them.

He speaks up “That’s the birthday one, right? Your yukata.”

“Yes, it is. Thank you greatly once again.” With a towel in hand, she continuously wrung out the excess water out of her hair, “The material is incredibly comfortable and breathable.”

Recognizing his semi consciousness, Peko seemed more relaxed under his watch; though it wasn’t her place to understand, she remembered him doing this when they were children. On the worst days (i.e the patriarch and matriarch endangering his life during their fights), he would not fall asleep despite being put to bed first by the maids. Instead, he would watch her nestle into her spot beside him, and only then could he fall asleep. She just like then, she told him to put his worries aside, sleep for the rest of the night, and advised him to take today off as no one would dare pester him over his absence. Though, for as long and as well as she knew him, it was ironic how concerned Peko was for Fuyuhiko yet remained oblivious to his deeper troubles. It’s why she mistook the worry in his apprehension at her leaving for a sense of weariness and exhaustion to which she promised she’d quickly leave him to rest. Of course, her words only inflamed the expression on his face (that was not ironic, but instead typical) while his arms crossed in a defensive position.

Even if she knew her heart to be kind, she could not comprehend why that kindness would be extended to herself, a tool, and therefore she could not understand why he protested her leaving.

“I-It’s the middle of the night in Tokyo; there’s some pretty drunk bastard roaming out, no doubt.”

“I will avoid confrontation.”

“Didn’t you say the lock at the girls dormitory is super loud? Wouldn’t you cause a scene entering this late?”

“I can move quickly before I am spotted.”

“Gh-- Your hair is still wet, and then you’ll get sick dumbass!”

At this she looks at him directly with a raised brow, but he doesn’t meet her gaze. Her hand rested on the string of her sword bag, “Please do not worry me. I will be fine.”

He seemed to have no more arguments.

“Then, if there is nothing else you need of me, I shall leave you alone now.” Just as she headed to the door and reached for the handle, Peko paused. Perhaps what he needed now was...comfort, though the bodyguard is not confident enough in doing such a thing-- at least, not in the way he may need it, if at all. Who could fault her hesitation? The last time she tried to ease his worries she let too much of her own weakness show and it worsened the situation.

But if she could provide him some closure...

“What?”

Her posture straightens to face him, “Sato deserved to die-- no, she deserved a fate worse than death. Even Koizumi should...” She stabilizes her breath and unclenches her hand, “I digress. You did it: with your strength and your wits, you killed Sato. That being said, accepting the fact you’ve murdered another person is not without trouble. Regardless if they deserved to die or not, regardless of how strong or skilled you are, regardless of premeditation or in the heat of the moment. Someone’s blood is now personally on your hands.”

“And there’s going to be more in the future.”

“Yes...I suppose that is inevitable. Please forgive my impudence, young master. Sleep well.”

Just like that she messed up again; she wonders when she’ll learn to just keep her mouth shut instead of trying to comfort him...or whatever that pathetic display of encouragement-- if one could call it that. Peko reckons that life would be easier for the both of them if she were a simple yes man. As per usual, being so wrapped in her worries of offending him she failed to perceive the true problem he was facing at hand. When the yakuza heir said there would be more bloodshed, he did not intend to brush her off, but meant that the responsibility and weight of killing was something he needed to adjust to sooner rather than later. Of course, his usual poor communication which fought with a trepidation he tried to hide from her did nothing to help her understanding.

Sometimes, Fuyuhiko forgets that Peko isn’t a mind reader, so there’s no possible way she would know he feared losing her the same way he lost Natsumi if she walked out the door this instance unless he spoke bluntly.

“Stay with me.”

The blond wasn’t sure if the words even left his mouth, and if they did he had not been sure if she heard him. Even though he had always been told to command her, he could never bring himself to do it-- there schools lives notwithstanding as he convinced himself it was for both of their sakes. It wasn’t like Peko’s...circumstances were unique to her; in fact, there were plenty of subordinates throughout the gang who shared her position, her ‘status’ as an object. The self-justified feudal system the clan upheld made bile rise to his throat each time he thought about it. Fuyuhiko has witnessed firsthand the horrid treatment of those people (tools, as they were denoted): the fear in their eyes, the way their bodies are thrown like rag dolls, and the absolute aura despair surrounding them. He doesn’t want that for Peko, he doesn’t want her to be his victim anymore than she already is.

In the end, it seemed that she did hear him, but not in the way he expected when she kneels with her back to the door placing her shinai on her lap.

“I don’t mean guard my door. I meant that I want you to spend the night with me.”

So much for speaking bluntly.

“Young master...?”

“Fucking hell-- look, what I meant was,” He exhales forcibly, “What I mean is...remember when we were really small, and I had those shit fucking nightmares? How I wouldn’t sleep until you climbed into bed next to me?”

He relaxed when he saw her relax.

“I understand.”

He speaks slowly hoping to regain some composure, “I know this kind of thing is inappropriate even if we’ve done it already. I-I mean, we’re high school students now, ya know? Even if it’s just sharing the same bed space, this isn’t something teenagers should be doing. But I...I just--”

“It’s fine. You do not have to explain yourself to me.”

“So you’re okay with doing it? Sh-Sharing the bed, I mean. And don’t say just yes because I asked you, got it?!”

For the third time, “I understand.”

Now it was Fuyuhiko’s turn to overthink their conversation; he knew neither of them were the ‘heart on the sleeve’ types, but he wonders how much exactly she keeps to herself. Whether she thinks him pathetic or weak, but wouldn’t dare tell him directly to his face. Whether she truly hated his existence, and put on a front because she had no other choice. Theoretically speaking, it was a silly thought to worry about. He knew she all but worshiped the floor he walked on-- excused his behavior when it shouldn’t have been excused, took all the cursing he threw at her without blinking, and so on and so forth. But knowing all this and hearing her curt responses did nothing to ease the tension of his nerves.

If Peko thought him incompetent, was there truly any hope for him?

It doesn’t take him long to set up a makeshift divide on his queen size mattress with an extra pair of flat sheets. Fuyuhiko was in bed before Peko as the latter made sure to lock the door; just like earlier, all he could do was watch her move about doing her own security check. He doesn’t think he’d ever find a justifiable reason for all his starring-- perhaps hypnotism would be the closest explanation. She does everything from opening and closing the window (checking it’s bullet resistance and angles for assassins, no doubt) to leaving the room to make sure the front door and balcony door were properly locked. When she returned, Peko looked over the bedroom; with a small sigh, it seemed her rigid inspection was finally finished.

Seconds after this, the lights were turned off as now the soft glow of his bedside lamps filled their portion of the room. The mattress dipped when she sat down, and Fuyuhiko heard the faint sound of the silver haired girl fixing her bamboo sword between the bed frame and the nightstand. Her glasses were the last to leave her body, and joined the lamp on said stand. However, before she could lay down Fuyuhiko stopped her with a sudden jolt that even caught her off guard. The yakuza heir reached under the pillow to find the tanto knife he always kept hidden. She had lent it to him long before they arrived at Hope’s Peak Academy— when they went to different high schools; if she were to be separated from him, then at least he could use it to defend himself. Obviously, there were no qualms of ‘packing’ in the estate, but no one bothered to give him a weapon in the first place-- he even had to use part of his allowance to buy his favorite brass knuckles. The clan members assumed with her by his side she was the only weapon he would use. Nevertheless, there had been a sense of satisfaction for Peko that he had kept it with him for the past two years. She had selected the knife from her collection based on what she assessed of his skills and strength. Once he placed the weapon beneath his pillow, their bodies collapsed on top of the blankets— each letting out an exhaustive sigh. It was the kind of exhaustion that made it impossible to sleep despite a long day of physical labor. Neither of them could be bothered to switch off the lamps, so they laid in silence for a few moments, eyes facing the smooth ceiling above them.

“Hey, Peko. My bad for cutting you off like and saying shit like that.”

Peko was never sure how to take his apologies; she was not the type to hold grudges, and she had never done so with him. They were unnecessary, as she thinks she would forgive him no matter what he does (to her or otherwise). Therefore, she took a moment to choose her words carefully; perhaps if their relationship were better, she would be able to speak more comfortably around him.

“You needn’t apologize. You are correct: once you ascend to your role as the patriarch, you will have even more enemies.” Her tone becomes more assertive, “Rest assured, I will be the one to dirty my hands and cut them down if they oppose you.”

“I still should let you speak.” He stared back at the ceiling, “You said something like that before, ‘Someone’s blood is my hand now’. What were you gonna say after that?”

“Simply...that it would be wise to detach yourself from what you’ve done. Regret is futile, but to associate this with any kind of pleasure is dangerous as well. If you let Sato haunt you it will be as if you never killed her at all.”

“I-Is that what you do?”

Peko eyes darted across the roof above them as if looking for something that wasn’t there. She was a child the last time she gave too much thought into her first assassination; she’s more ashamed for allowing her emotions to seep through than the killing itself.

“I don’t feel anything when I do. Not anymore.”

“When was the first time,” Why does he keep pushing her about this, “That you killed someone?”

How could she forget, “When Mr.Hiromitsu notified Lord Raiden that his team identified our kidnappers, I was instructed to dispose of them.”

He could only stare horrified at her. How does one respond to that? To be told that the person laying next to you, who you grew up with and were closer to anyone else in this world, had been turned into a murder at the age of six. He knew his father wasn’t a saint and in fact might have been the devil himself, but there was something particularly putrid about involving children with his bloodthirst. What was the point of having a code if the boundaries were blurred altogether? Sure, Peko had stained her hands with blood now, but what was his father hoping to accomplish by sending her out to do something so dangerous at the age of six? What if Peko failed and died? Did his father, or his mother for that matter, think they could just replace her without him noticing or caring? His parents should be smarter than that. His parents should know...

He might have been foolish enough to fear her as children, but they should have known how worse everything would have turned out if they let her die.

“Young master, I am sorry for my failures on that day.” Her voice brought him back before he spiralled into an abyss.

“Huh?! Peko, what the hell are you talking about? We’re both still alive ‘cause you were the only one who had any sense left.”

The swordswoman sat up, feet swinging onto the floor— he couldn’t see the expression she was making, but he didn’t need to know she was blaming herself. Again.

“My inability to control my emotions worsened our predicament. If I had controlled myself as I was supposed to,” Her fingers gripped the yukata, red eyes dulled and downcasted, “Then perhaps we would have returned to the manor sooner. If I kept my head clear…it is my fault we were lost in those woods for so long.”

He quickly sat up, “Peko, we were six! I’m pretty fuckin’ sure any normal six year old-- hell, any normal person would have also been scared out their fuckin’ wits. Weren’t you just on my case about letting shit go?”

“That is…” What he didn’t expect was for her to turn to him with a pained expression; somewhere along the lines of pleading, regret, and shame all bundled into eyes that once, unwillingly, struck fear into him, “I’m...not...a normal person, I’m-- I am my young master’s tool, a tool to protect you and to kill for you. That is my only purpose. I should never make you doubt your safety. This also means that I must protect what is precious to you, and Lady Natsumi...if I were not so useless she would still be alive and you would not have dirtied your hands.”

It returned again: the heavy feeling in his chest that was filled with remorse and his self-loathing. He knew she was right, but not in the way she thought. How many times had he pushed for her to be independent of him, to express her opinions and insight? Then, the one time she did as he asked he proceeded to not only dismiss her altogether, but brushed off her rightful concerns for Natsumi’s adjustment into Hope’s Peak. He knew his sister better than anyone, knew the type of trouble she would get into in a normal high school; sure she could throw her weight around ordinary bastards, but this school had its fair share of freaks and superhumans. He also knew that she had Peko run her a few favors (both normal and yakuza related), so it would only be natural for the swordswoman to investigate her transfer even if had no desire of doing so.

“You...you can’t blame yourself; you were just following my orders. Natsumi was my responsibility and mine alone, and I fucked it up by not checking in on her.”

But Peko, as stubborn as Fuyuhiko, would not hear it.

“Sir, you mustn’t blame yourself. If I were a tool capable of being trusted, then I am sure your orders would have been different.”

“Why don’t you get it already? Out of everyone in this world, you’re the only person I can trust. Everyone else is willing to kill me without a second thought.” It felt like he was suffocating, “You’re always putting my life first with no damn regard to your own. You're not invincible, Peko!”

“That is exactly why I intend to fulfill my purpose as your tool until I am a corpse at your feet.”

“Goddamnit, we are done with that crap!” He’s grateful that the room was sound proof, “I don’t want a tool! Tools can’t die. They become dull, they break, and you replace them, but they definitely cannot die. If some fucking rotten cunt smashed your skull in you’d die!”

“I-I wouldn’t let that happen, I assure--!”

Peko’s eyes widened when he suddenly gripped her shoulders; shaking her not violently, but almost desperately as if she would have disappeared into thin air if he didn’t cling onto her that very moment. She had not realized the full look of anxiety and fear on his face until she fully met his stare for the first time that night.

“But you can’t know that,” His voice broke, “You can’t possibly fucking know that! What the hell’s the point if you’re dead?! Natsumi thought she was untouchable, that’s why she was all starting shit with everyone around her. And now what? Now we have to cremate her.”

Finally, his guard breaks and he rests his forehead on her shoulder,

“So, please...stop saying you’ll protect me until the day you die. I don’t...you can’t expect to keep going with whatever life you give me. It’s not worth it, because if I have to bury you too—”

“...Young master?” Peko remained as still as she could; his voice was so weak that she feared he’d fade away from existence if she made any sudden movements. He was so close to her she was sure he could hear, if not feel, her erratic heartbeat-- not that he fared any better than her at the moment, of course. Since neither were the hugging type (at least not openly), the silver haired girl thought to support him through a light touch on his arms.

“Please don’t leave me. I’m so afraid. I can’t do this on my own, Peko, I need you.”

Suddenly, his confession sparked a fundamental shift within the two. From her shoulders, Fuyuhiko’s hands now clung onto the fabric of her back leaning into her more, and Peko welcomed him without a second thought. Relying more on her instincts, one arm supported his weight while her other hand rested below the nape of his neck. An outsider looking in may think it a fond scene: two high school sweethearts expressing their love for another in the middle of the night. However, that sort of naivety could only last so long. What the outsider misunderstood was their embrace had not stemmed from affection or intimacy, but possession and obsession as they clung to one another.

In other words

“I will never leave your side, young master. There is no other place for me than by your side. If you wish for me to stay next to you for all eternity then that is where I shall stay no matter what. Even if the world turns upside down, I will stay beside you.”

“Good.” He pries away from shoulder just to meet her ever intensive stare; it doesn’t affect him anymore (he welcomes it), “Peko, from now on it’s just you and me. Not as master and tool...just together, okay? We live together and we die together.”

“Then let us die of old age and nothing else.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Finally, they laid down embracing each other and fell asleep.

———

#kuzupeko #peko pekoyama #fuyuhiko kuzuryu #pekoyama peko #kuzuryu fuyuhiko #kuzupeko fanfic #danganronpa #danganronpa 3 #danganronpa anime

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itsa-lie · 3 years

Text

Birth Of A Liar Part Three

||Part One||Part Two||Part Three||Part Four||Part Five||

Oh boy, I have some angst in store for you today let me tell you. This poor boy has been through a lot.

Trigger warning for murder, taking care of babies, bl**d, and cl*wns

DICE...everyone liked the sound of that. Hanako gloated that it was like she was in one of those secret spy organizations like in the movies and, well Kokichi couldn’t agree more. He did sneak into a cinema once or twice so he knew a thing or two about evil organizations. Not that he thought he was evil, hell no, couldn’t be farther from the truth. But from Maki and Goro’s comments about stealing being evil it was kind of hard not to have that mindset.

So he went with it. Even practiced making evil faces in the mirror a few times. Practice makes perfect after all.

And would you know it the young boy actually loved having company. Sure Goro was quiet and always apologizing for the dumbest things, Maki scared the shit out of him, and Hanako cried for almost everything, but it was fine. Besides, Hanako taught him a really great trick to guilt-trip adults. All he had to do was cry. That easy. Just cause a scene and everyone would go to your aid. Plus with extra people they were able to get more things like televisions and game consoles. It wasn’t stealing, it was giving to orphans and that wasn’t evil...right?

However it really wasn’t an organization with only four people...in the movies they had more members. So once as Kokichi was sitting in front of the store he usually steals or guilt-trips people to buy from he sees something odd going on in the street. A woman carrying a bundle in her arms while another man chases her from behind. He seemed to have a gun in his hands, the woman was running for her life! A headache filled the boy’s head as a memory crossed his mind. He was smaller. A woman with black hair holding him. A man with purple hair knocking a gun out of the hand of a man pointing it right for him. Cringing at the slight pain Kokichi held his head. He didn’t know why he did this but he got up and chased the man.

His feet were not as fast as the man however and out of no where there’s a loud bang. Then a baby crying. Kokichi quickly hid behind a brick wall. It was a good thing he did too, since the gunned ban came out of the alleyway with a handful of cash leaving a crying baby at his wake. Should he dare look back there? He definitely wouldn’t like what he was going to see. Still he turned around slowly into the dark alleyway. The woman was face down in a puddle of blood while the baby cries brokenhearted and afraid beside her. Cautiously Kokichi approached the woman and checked for signs of life. There was none. Also for a second he could see the woman being that black haired woman carrying him in his memories which made him gasp and fall back.

“N-No...t-that’s not mama...” He consoled himself. She’s probably okay and will come back for him, after all the body was gone the next day, who’s to say an ambulance didn’t pick her and his father up and bring them to safety? Now they’re just looking for him! But this baby...what if something happens to it? It was much too young to take care of itself like he was. Ooooh but what would Maki and the rest say? He has to decide quickly, the sounds of sirens were coming closer and closer.

-------------------

“YOU BROUGHT HOME A BABY?!” Maki’s loud tone of voice made Kokichi jump and the baby cry even louder. “Yeah! It’s our new pet! Surprise!” Maybe if he pretends it’s a gift they won’t get so mad. He was wrong. Goro smiles politely, even if it was easy to see the baby just made more worry on him. Maki was very angry, angry enough to beat Kokichi to a bloody pulp and she probably would have if he wasn’t cradling a baby in his arms. Hanako was very excited though, jumping up and down to try to see the baby.

“Babies aren’t pets, dipshit.” Maki growled holding her temples. She does her best not to curse in front of little ones but by God was she in a bad mood. Even Goro could see the steam rising out of her. Maybe he should try to heal the situation a little bit.

“Now now, Maki. You did the same thing when Hanako was in danger.” Goro tries to put a hand on his sister’s shoulder before she pulls away. “That was different! You can’t just STEAL a baby! What if the parents find out? What if they find out about us?”

Kokichi was silent, he shows the blanket with a bloodstain on it.

“They won’t...it’s mom is dead.”

“D-Don’t call them an ‘it’! And what about their dad?!”

“I-I dunno! W-Why are you yelling at me? You’re scaring the baby!”

Maki quickly took the baby from Kokichi’s arms and examined them. Their cries getting louder and louder, the baby thrashed and moved. Finally Maki looks at the others, her eyes closed. “They need a diaper change.”

“W-What?!”

“N-No way am I doing that again! I already used to change yours, I’m not doing THAT again.”

“Ewww hehehe!”

“You don’t have to. You just need to get me some diapers and diaper cream. You steal from the store all the time, right?” Maki states, bouncing the baby on her shoulder. That oddly seemed to calm it down a little. How was she this gifted with kids? “Fine, but don’t let it barf or poop or whatever on our stuff. Hana, stay with Maki and help her with the baby. Goro, come with me.” True to his leader form Kokichi gives orders imminently and the rest follow. Perhaps what Maki said was right. Being a leader does run in his “jeans”. As ordered Kokichi managed to snag a bag of diapers and diaper cream as Goro distracted the workers as usual. Man Kokichi hopes he doesn’t grow much taller because stealing is way easy because of his height. At long last they arrive at the abandoned building they lived in.

“We got the-”

“Give me that.” Maki practically took the supplies out of his arms. She must be really desperate to stop the infants crying. Even Hanako was covering her ears. Swiftly Maki places the baby on a table and begins working. Curiously Kokichi looked over Maki’s shoulder to see what she was doing and then quickly regrets it, his face turning green and close to dry heaving. That was a horrible idea. Yet Maki seemed...unbothered by it? It was almost mesmerizing at how fast she changed them. Once she was done the crying...stopped?

“Did you fix it?” Kokichi asked, now feeling better from the peace and quiet without the baby yowling.

“Did you fix him. He’s a boy.” Maki corrects him as she cradles the child. “And yes. He’s fine now. Also his name is Kenji...” The baby quickly falls asleep in her arms finally making the place quiet.

“How do you know?” asked Goro tilting his head to the side. Maki simply shows Kenji’s tiny chubby arm to reveal a hospital bracelet on it.

-Kenji Date, DOB: 7/6/20XX, Paitent ID: 11037

So the baby was probably born recently given how close the dates were, maybe about one month old. Still Maki was looking angry with Kokichi, but didn’t do anything. “C’moooon you can’t stay mad at me forever can you? Look at this faaaace. It would be sad without my ultimate assassin friend.”

“Call me that again and you’ll be the next victim...” she warns, her eyes narrowing again. “But aren’t assassins and murderers different things?” Kokichi asks, honestly confused. “They’re the same thing, dumbass...” Well shit he didn’t know. Another awkward silence.

“I guess everything worked out in the end though. And hey! We can add more members with other orphans! Think of this, a whole network of orphans working together to protect each other!”

Maki shook her head. “That sounds like a cartoon...”

“But you’d watch it, wouldn’t you?”

“Fine, I guess so...but no babies okay? They’re really hard to take care of as it is.”

And with that promise, DICE gained more and more members. In about a few years the whole place would be practically crawling with orphans or kids who wanted to be away from abusive homes. In fact so many orphans had lived there that they even had to move some to upstairs rooms. And with more members came cool new stuff! More toys, books, games, anything they could steal they would. It was like running their own little orphanage. However they did have to have some other leaders in power too making sure the other’s stayed in line. Kokichi picked nine others to “co-star” as he put it in his operation. Of course Maki was one, so was Goro, but because he was immature only the tall kids get to be the co-leaders.

“But you’re shorter than all of them! How are you leader?” Hanako asked one day as everyone was making masks to wear for Halloween to play their usual pranks and to hide their identity. “Because I came up with this idea so, as it’s so plainly obvious to see, I should be leader!” Kokichi grins booping the girl on the nose. “Hmph! Well I thought only tall people could be leader so...”

“Nhyhehehe, oh Hana. Tell you what, if anything ever happens to me, you become leader okay?” He tips his leader hat and flaunts his cape as if he was trying to be dramatic. Though how dramatic can you be with an old baseball cap and a tattered old bed sheet flowing behind you? Hanako looked hopeful as her eyes sparkled. “I can have the hat and cape too?” Kokichi dramatically held the bed sheet in front of himself like a vampire would. “Any perks of being DICE leader you can have. But I won’t be leaving any time soon you know~”

As the children drew their masks, Kokichi starts the meeting.

“Hello my fellow crime syndicates! As you know, today is Halloween. We’ve been waiting for this day all year my friends. And finally it came!” The whole building filled with applause which made him laugh. Maki just shook her head. If he keep it up they’ll be found out but he kept everyone so...so together. “Now I know what you’re thinking...’why would we be making clown masks for?’ Well I’ll tell you! Bring in the boxes!”

Hoards of boxes came rushing in being displayed in front of all the children eliciting “oohs” and “ahhs” This was probably their biggest heist yet! Never have the kids seen so much stuff come in before, not even food. What sort of wonders awaited inside those containers? “Now, open!” The bigger kids opened the box to reveal the most amazing thing! Costumes and prank supplies covered the ground. This was the year! This was the year they have an actual, real Halloween! All the kids went forward to grab some stuff but the co-leaders organized them into a single file line to make sure everyone got a costume and supplies.

“Sorry, all the costumes are clown costumes but, hey that’s why I made you all make the masks!” Kokichi exclaimed. Everyone didn’t mind. This was a fun activity and now they had something they can do that normal kids with parents usually do! However Maki was the only one to speak up. “You got crates of costumes? How do you expect not to get caught?! You know they have security cameras, right?” Kokichi shrugged his shoulders and places his hands behind his head. “So? Look at their faces! Even Kenji and Hanako are smiling! Worrying about that stuff will just ruin the moment so just reeeelax a bit Maki.” It was true. The kids looked more happy than ever. But something inside her seemed like this was going to be a bad idea...

Once everyone was dressed they all hit the streets. Each child knew about their one rule: no killing. Their leader was against murder in any way possible teaching the children how horrible death was and how they should avoid it. All of the kids got a costume, as well as eight of the Co-Leaders, but Maki and Kokichi were left without one. “I don’t mind. As long as the kids have one I will just go as Kokichi Ouma for Halloween.”

Boy was this the most fun these children have ever had, With their clown suits and masks on their faces they made mischief in the city. Toilet paper rolls on houses, chalk graffiti on walls, water buckets on doors, the whole place was crawling with little clown gremlins causing mayhem in their wake. It was enough to make Kokichi proud. “Oh this is enough to bring a tear to my eye~!” The leader claims dramatically. Maki just rolled her eyes and said nothing, however she was happy to see the children having the time of their lives. However she stops as she was walking, looking like a deer in headlights at the televisions in a shop window. Kokichi waves his hand in front of her as to get a reaction. All she could do was point.

A newscaster on the screen started talking, a picture of a clown at his side, underneath the headline states: “Clown thieves hit the streets”. Kokichi could feel the lump forming in his throat.

“Good evening.” The newscaster began as he bangs his stack of papers on the table once to align them. “A group of pranksters? Or a group of kidnappers? A hoard of clown suit wearing children hit the streets today causing panic and anger across the city. We have no idea where they come from or what they want, but they continue to wreak everything in their path. We go live to our reporter, Michiko Nakajima.” The screen changes to a woman in a dress with a microphone in her hands. Kokichi could have sworn that the woman was behind him somewhere.

“Thank you, Natsumi-San. I am standing here on the very street where young Kenji Date was taken from his mother’s arms seven years ago. His mother shot dead in an abandoned alley. They couldn’t find the killer or the child’s body, however one clown who has been taken into custody had Kenji’s hospital bracelet in his pocket!” The screen shows a picture of Kenji, his mask off, looking sad and disappointed. The two leaders could feel their souls about to fly from their body.

“I like where I am! You’re not gonna take me to some stinky orphanage!” Kenji exclaimed on the screen as two men take him away. “Luckily the father was still alive to bring little Kenji back home to his rightful place.” The reporter finishes as it then cuts to a man who has red puffy eyes. It seems he had been crying. This makes Kokichi feel immense guilt rise up in the pit of his stomach. “I’m just happy I can finally see my son...these clown people took seven years of me getting to know him.” The man looks like he could break down at any second. “He won’t even call me ‘dad’, he just says ‘where’s Kokichi and Maki’ or ‘Kokichi will save me’!”

The name “Kenji” meant “an intelligent child” but also meant “ public prosecutor”. It all made sense in a way. Just like his own name, “Kokichi”, meant “little luck”. Right now he was having no luck. Maki was beginning to sweat too. From the corner of her eye she could see the news reporter and camera crew come closer. “This makes it even more curious. Years ago another child had been lost after his parents death. Kokichi Ouma, then three years old, was deemed lost as both his parents were killed by his father’s own gang. Another, Maki Haruwaka, the youngest of many children, killed her father in cold blood before leaving with her older brother Goro Haruwaka. Both these children have yet to be found, but law enforcement is still on the look out.”

Without warning Maki began to run. She knew this was a horrible idea! No one would even know their secret if Kokichi just did an inside Halloween party instead like they usually do.

“M-Maki wait-”

But it was too late, she already ran too far. He tries to catch her, but was stopped by a big brawny man who held him by the shoulders. Kokichi kicked and thrashed, but the man had no trouble taking him to where he wanted him to go.

“Maki!!!”

The newscaster looks back at the camera, obviously excited by this rise in the story she was reporting.

“We have word that we might have just found the lost children Kokichi Ouma and Maki Haruwaka! Could this be a clue to find more missing children? We will give updates as soon as they’re avalible. Michiko Nakajima, Tokyo news.”

#kokichi ouma #kokichi oma #heandcanons #we learn more about DICE :3c

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perditaalottachocolate-blog · 6 years

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April Weather (19)

@adrinetteapril 2018, Day 19: Partners

Days: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | art | 6 | 7 | 8 | art 1 | art 2 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | art | 19 | art | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | art | 29 | 30 |

AO3 / fanfiction

Confronting Ladybug about her talk with Marinette was turning out to be quite a challenge. Chat Noir could call her any time, but how would Adrien arrange a meeting without causing too many questions?

In the last few days Ladybug had been restless. She went out on unscheduled solo patrols, transformed and detransformed a few times on the way, as if she knew she was being followed. Tracking her was proving to be nearly impossible, even with Chat’s resources.

Adrien decided to follow her in his super suit and randomly detransform after a while in hope of meeting her in his civilian form. Not once did he succeeded in spotting Ladybug, but quite a few time he happened to almost bump into a very confused Marinette. Not that she noticed. He was keeping a low profile and managed to avoid being spotted by her. Was she tracking Ladybug too? Maybe she wanted more details about him saying she was just his friend?

After the encounter in the rain, when he simply couldn't ignore the soaking wet girl, Adrien’s motivation at contacting the spotted heroine doubled. Plagg, unhelpful as usual, pointed out that it really didn’t matter, but the boy got into his head that talking to Ladybug would somehow clear the air and help him clean up this mess. He wanted to be near Marinette again, he wanted to chase away that sadness and surrender he saw when he walked her home. He didn’t dare to put a label on all the other things he wanted to do with her, not wanting to get his hopes too high.

Desperate times finally called for desperate measures. After the last akuma battle Chat Noir handed Ladybug a card with a location and time.

‘What is it, Chat?’ she frowned at the marked spot. It was that same bench over the Seine, where her and Adrien had their little talk after the photo-scandal.

‘A guy we saved some time ago said he needed to talk to you about something,’ he replied, keeping his features carefully blank. ‘He sounded as if this was something important.’

Ladybug shifted her gaze to him, blinking in confusion. ‘And you’ve agreed, just like that?’ She snapped her fingers. He noticed that she seemed less patient lately and more acidic when it came to comebacks. Her eyes had lost their joyful gleam. He wanted to ask if something troubled her, but she made it clear this concerned her civilian identity, hence she couldn’t say a word.

Chat shrugged. ‘I trust him,’ he stated and that was the end of it. That at least didn’t change. They were partners and she still trusted him immensely. That was the first time he asked for something like that, so she assumed it was important.

Adrien arrived at the river bank with a few minutes to spare. He sat on the bench and fidgeted nervously, wondering if Ladybug would come. An irrational fear was screaming at him that she would flee the moment she saw him. He craned his head to see if he could see her coming from any of the buildings behind his back, but he searched and waited and Ladybug was nowhere to be seen.

He rubbed his thighs in exasperation and hid his head in his hands again, his fingers digging deep into his perfect hair and messing it. Why wasn’t she coming?

‘Adrien?’

Just like the first time, she appeared in front of him silently and out of nowhere. He looked up to see her in the exact same spot as before.

‘Was it you Chat Noir mentioned?’ Ladybug asked, voice tight and worried.

‘Yes, Ladybug,’ he confirmed. He wasn’t so sure anymore this was such a good idea. He didn’t like lying to her, and while omitting the full truth wasn’t the same as lying, it wasn’t honest either. Pretty much what Marinette had done not telling him how she had felt.

She fixed him with a puzzled stare. ‘He said it was important? Is this miraculous related?’

Adrien flushed, his hand automatically going up and to his neck. He didn’t see that coming. She must have thought it was about miraculouses or Hawkmoth. Bad, bad idea. Abort mission?

‘Weeeeell, not really?’ he offered.

Ladybug frowned.

‘It’s personal,’ he sighed in resignation. She was probably going to leave any second now.

The heroine released a startled, ‘Oh?’ She was still standing where she landed, but now she tilted her head as if he piqued her interest.

‘Remember when we talked a few days ago?’ Adrien started. ‘After those pictures of me and m- Marinette appeared in the internet?’

‘Yes?’

‘Did you talk to her about it?’ he asked, watching her carefully.

‘Why would I?’ she shot back, eyes blown wide.

‘I don’t know,’ he shrugged. ‘I’m only asking if you did.’

‘Why are you asking?’

‘Because I need to know,’ he replied, his patience growing thin. Why wouldn’t she just answer? ‘People were talking about me, about us, and… and…,’ he didn’t want to finish this sentence. He couldn’t really say they broke up because of that, because they hadn’t dated for real. But he felt as if someone robbed him off his time with Marinette and he wanted to find the culprit.

Ladybug’s stance turned defensive. ‘Look,’ she rubbed the bridge of her nose and looked up. ‘I swear I didn’t talk to Marinette about you or about anything else, okay?’

Adrien stood up to be closer to her. Somehow he never noticed that he could tower over her if he wanted to, even in his civilian form. ‘Listen, something happened between me and Marinette,’ he explained, a desperate lilt to his voice, ‘and I’m trying to figure out how to make it right.’

Her eyes snapped back to him. ‘Make it right? Is it broken?’ Did he imagine the scoff in her voice? ‘I thought she was just your friend.’

That was it. That was the line. Adrien inhaled sharply. Words rolled off his tongue before he could stop them.

‘So you did tell the girl I love that she’s just a friend to me?’ he burst out.

There was a pause filled with his angry pants and her opening and closing her mouth a few times.

‘The girl you-,’ Ladybug finally choked out, going all pale. ‘B-b-but you said-’

‘You asked if she was my girlfriend,’ he said with emphasis, ‘not if I love her. It was a matter between me and her, no one else. Did you interfere?’

‘W-w-what?’ she stuttered.

‘Did you tell her I think of her as only my friend,’ Adrien asked again, silent plea in his eyes.

If she was out of countenance before, now she looked distraught. She stared at him for a moment, as if making up her mind. When she averted her gaze, the mask of confidence and power was back on. Only the pupils blown wide betrayed that she was shaken.

‘I really didn’t,’ she claimed. ‘Now excuse me, I must go,’ she turned to him with a lopsided smile. ‘A hero’s work is never done,’ she murmured.

He whipped his head at her. ‘W-what?’

‘It’s just something Chat says sometimes,’ she shrugged. ‘Bug out!’

And before he could stop her, she was out of his sight, leaving him flabbergasted again.

Adrien didn’t really remember how he got home, but his head already hurt when he closed the door to his room behind him.

‘Talk to me, Plagg,’ he shot at the floating black sprite, who flew out of his bag.

‘Sure,’ the kwami shrugged and cleared his throat. ‘Uhm, uhm. So, did you know that camembert was originally invented in Normandy, in the midst of the French Revolution, by one genius of a woman named Marie Harel? That marvelous cheese took the name of her home town - Camembert. I’ve already signed the petition to recognize this word as the synonym of perfection, by the way,’ he winked at the boy and resumed the lecture. ‘But where was I? Ah yes. The wood box typically associated with this cheese was introduced a hundred years later, as a cheap way to carry the delicacy without squishing it to pulp. Which by the way is a total waste of…’

‘Not about cheese!’ Adrien groaned and clutched at his hair. His head was swimming with unexpected thoughts and observations.

Things didn't add up. They didn’t add up badly. What’s worse, his subconsciousness was screaming at him in capital letters and kicking his consciousness viciously, but for the love of him he could not make out any words in that constant screech in his brain. Was he on the verge of epiphany or aneurysm, he really couldn’t tell. Might as well have been both.

‘About what then?’ Plagg tilted his head curiously. His ears perked up.

‘About who told Marinette,’ Adrien huffed. ‘It wasn’t my father, it wasn’t Nino nor Alya.’

‘With you so far,’ the kwami nodded appreciatively.

‘And it wasn’t Ladybug,’ the boy concluded releasing another exasperated sigh.

‘Correct.’

‘So then who does that leave?’ the boy scratched his aching head. ‘I’ve eliminated everyone.’

‘Not everyone, kid.’

Adrien looked at him as if he grew a second head. ‘This doesn’t make any sense!’

‘It doesn’t make sense, because you’re thinking about it wrong,’ Plagg lectured. ‘If no one you told tattled to Marinette… who does that leave?’

‘Me?’ Adrien’s brows shot so high up they disappeared under his bangs. ‘I told Marinette?’

Plagg nodded eagerly.

The boy tossed this thought in his head a few times. ‘But that’s impossible,’ he finally said.

‘Is it?’

‘Yeah, because that would mean…’ he drifted off. ‘The only logical conclusion would be…’ he tried again. ‘Ugh, why does my head hurt so much?’

‘That’s right kid, you can fight it!’ Plagg flew closer and waved his paw encouragingly. ‘You’re just one step from breaking the glamour. Get enough clues together and it’s gone.’

Adrien stilled and looked at the flying cat, his green eyes as big as saucers. His brow furrowed.

‘Are you really saying,’ he drawled, slowly, carefully, as if he was trying to grasp the edge of a thought that was sliding out of his reach, ‘what I think you’re saying?

Plagg’s mouth stretched into a shit eating grin. ‘What do you think, kid?

Check out a deleted scene to this chapter

#adrinetteapril2018 #day 19: partners #perdita writes #april weather #adrinette #ladynoir #ladrien #Adrien Agreste #Chat Noir #Ladybug #Plagg #ml fic

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kittykatknits · 7 years

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Hi! So I came across (several) posts stating how Sansa is "removed" from everything Northern and how Lady's death means she's less of a Stark and that she doesn't fit in the North arc as her arc is completely different from her siblings (which is magical),the Northerners won't accept her,SR destroying snow castle means she'll never return to WF etc. My question: Do you think Sansa will return North? Do you think she'll ever reunite w/ her siblings and stay in WF? Thanks

Oh yes, to both questions. Easily. I’d also say Sansa will be the first Stark to cross the gates into Winterfell and it’s quite possible she’ll serve as a focal or rallying point for her siblings.

As for the rest, Sansa suffers from a negative POV bias in the first book, and honestly, I’m often left with the feeling that the old adage is true, first impressions matter. I’m not going to get into the narrative structure of Sansa’s chapters or character in this but we can tackle the rest of it.

I’ll go through those comments, point by point, below. This is long because I don’t know how to shut up.

(1)First, Sansa isn’t removed from everything Northern. She happens to be the only Starkling born in winter, and as we know, winter is a time for wolves. Not only that, much of her story line is about her ties to the north, it’s why she’s being used for her claim. It’s also important to note Sansa’s claim is not just over Winterfell, it’s about her name. Sansa is a Stark, she’s descended from a line going back several thousand years. That matters a lot in Westerosi politics, where name and status mean so much. The girl has power and her story is very much about her learning to wield it.

Her strongest desire is to go home, back to Winterfell, back to the north, to the place her family has lived in and ruled over since Bran the Builder. She also has the distinction of featuring snow and winter imagery in her chapters. In fact, the prominence of both only increases as the books go on. I’d say of the Starklings, she shares it with Jon the most. Here are a few lines from aFfC below:

So lovely. The snow-clad summit of the Giant’s Lance loomed above her, an immensity of stone and ice that dwarfed the castle perched upon its shoulder.

The small diamond-shaped panes of the window were obscured by frost. Alayne rubbed at one with the heel of her hand, enough to glimpse a brilliant blue sky and a blaze of white from the mountainside. The Eyrie was wrapped in an icy mantle, the Giant’s Lance above buried in waist-deep snows.

Old snow cloaked the courtyard, and icicles hung down like crystal spears from the terraces and towers. The Eyrie was built of fine white stone, and winter’s mantle made it whiter still.

Shards of ice and snow rained down on them, and the oak creaked and strained. Robert gave a gasp and clung to her, burying his face between her breasts.

There are lots more I could mention but let’s focus on that last one. Shards of ice and snow are raining down on them. Literally, winter is falling in that quote and Sansa is the one leading Sweetrobin down the mountain. Remember what she said in SoS? She’s stronger within the walls of Winterfell. She’s stronger when winter falls. If that isn’t Northern, I don’t know what is.

Beyond that, this girl is a wolf, or more accurately, she can sometimes be a wolf in sheep’s clothing. However, Sansa never forgets who she is and she lets her fangs show at times:

A kind of madness took over her then, and she heard herself say, “Maybe my brother will give me your head.”

She would name them Eddard and Brandon and Rickon, and raise them all to be as valiant as Ser Loras. And to hate Lannisters,

When Sansa had first beheld the Great Sept with its marble walls and seven crystal towers, she’d thought it was the most beautiful building in the world, but that had been before Joffrey beheaded her father on its steps. “I want it burned.”

Let his sword break and his shield shatter, Sansa thought coldly as she shoved out through the doors, let his courage fail him and every man desert him.

We also get one of my favorite exchanges in the series:

“…Harrenhal has withered every hand to touch it.“

“Then give it to Lord Frey.”

-Alayne I, aFfC

None of the above are words or thoughts from a character that should be perceived as meek or passive. Sansa is one the most empathetic characters in the series and one of the kindest but she can be fierce too.

Now, as to Lady, the discourse tends to focus so much on whether Sansa got her wolf killed, even though the entire answer isn’t so simple. What happens after often gets overlooked:

When it was over, he said, “Choose four men and have them take the body north. Bury her at Winterfell.”

“All that way?” Jory said, astonished.

“All that way,” Ned affirmed. “The Lannister woman shall never have this skin.”

- Eddard III, GoT

So, if the wolves are representations of the Stark children, then Sansa is currently the only Stark to have a piece of her soul within the grounds of Winterfell, none of the rest can make that claim. More than that, let’s look at what Ned is saying here, it’s foreshadowing. The Lannisters tried to lay claim to Lady but, ultimately, they failed. It’s the same with Sansa, they had her as a prisoner but they never got her skin. Ned also says that Lady will be taken north, all that way, with four men to act as an honor guard. Sansa is going to go north, with an army of men, and she will be able to do it, in part, because of the relationships her father built so long ago. Lady connects Sansa to the north.

(2)I’m really not sure what to make of her arc as being different from her siblings because of the lack of magic. For starters it’s horribly reductive, for all of them, not just Sansa. Jon’s arc is just as much about politics, negotiation, diplomacy, and leadership. Heck, part of his story in Dance is to count hams. Where’s the magic in that? It’s the same with Arya. Her arc also includes themes of leadership, identity, and justice v. vengeance. All of that matters as much as the magic.

Sansa is also a warg, just like her siblings. She’s mentioned by the Ghost of HH which connects her to magic. She has magical stories being told of her. And you’ll rip my Sansa is an empath theory out of my cold, undead, wightified hands. I’ll grant that magic is not as prevalent in her story line but completely devoid? Nope.

She also happens to have very similar story lines to both Bran and Arya. They start the series secure, are held prisoner, forced to hide behind false identities, have taken up with mentors that all have…well…dubious motives. All three are moving towards a point where they will somehow outsmart their teachers, reclaim their identity, and make their way home.

(3) I’m not going to break down the entire snow castle scene, its been done many times before and I don’t have much new to add at this point. However, as it relates to her, it’s the symbolism that matters.The giant managed to knock over a couple of tower roofs and part of a wall. The giant didn’t destroy WF, Sansa stopped him. Even more, the snow castle scene gives us this line:

She wondered where this courage had come from, to speak to him so frankly. From Winterfell, she thought. I am stronger within the walls of Winterfell.

Not only that, we get this gem later:”You were bold enough in the snow.“

Lysa says that to Sansa just before trying to shove her out the moon door but it’s a heck of a line. Snow makes Sansa bold, she’s stronger where winter falls.

(4) The northerners are fighting to save The Ned’s little girl, so not sure why this would not also apply to Sansa? The challenge with her is that no one knows where she is or how to get to her. The whereabouts and “identity” of Jeyne Poole are well known.

Sansa was forced to marry, just as Jeyne was. If Sansa and Tyrion returned north, under similar circumstances, it would only be a matter of time until Sansa was made a widow. Not only that, it’s made explicitly clear why northerners are fighting:

"Ned’s girl,” said Morgan Liddle. He was the second of three sons, so the other wolves called him Middle Liddle, though not often in his hearing. It was Morgan who had almost slain Asha in the fight by Deepwood Motte. He had come to her later, on the march, to beg her pardon … for calling her cunt in his battle lust, not for trying to split her head open with an axe.“Ned’s girl,” echoed Big Bucket Wull. “And we should have had her and the castle both if you prancing southron jackanapes didn’t piss your satin breeches at a little snow.”

..and later (in one of my favorite passages in the entire series)…

That seemed to amuse the northman. “I want to live forever in a land where summer lasts a thousand years. I want a castle in the clouds where I can look down over the world. I want to be six-and-twenty again. When I was six-and-twenty I could fight all day and fuck all night. What men want does not matter."Winter is almost upon us, boy. And winter is death. I would sooner my men die fighting for the Ned’s little girl than alone and hungry in the snow, weeping tears that freeze upon their cheeks. No one sings songs of men who die like that. As for me, I am old. This will be my last winter. Let me bathe in Bolton blood before I die. I want to feel it spatter across my face when my axe bites deep into a Bolton skull. I want to lick it off my lips and die with the taste of it on my tongue.”“Aye!” shouted Morgan Liddle. “Blood and battle!” Then all the hillmen were shouting, banging their cups and drinking horns on the table, filling the king’s tent with the clangor.

-The King’s Prize, aDwD (bold emphasis mine)

What about the above would lead the reader to believe they would not care about Sansa? They are fighting for Ned’s girl and House Stark, they don’t care about a crown or the Iron Throne.

Let’s switch gears to Manderly now:

“The north remembers, Lord Davos. The north remembers, and the mummer’s farce is almost done. My son is home.”

-Davos IV, aDwD

Manderly got his son back and now he’s honoring his promise, because he remembers. He wants his liege lord back and he’s at Winterfell, making it pretty clear to us, the readers, that his mission is a suicide mission.

Also, let’s not forget the Umbers, they remember as well. Whoresbane is repeatedly described as old. Not only that, the Umber forces are divided so the green boys are with his brother while he has the old men. Whoresbane is planning to turn his cloak and go down fighting, exactly as described earlier.

With all of the above, I’d sooner think Sansa, the girl who is believed to have killed Joffrey, will be welcomed home.

Sansa is a Stark and a Wolf. She’s going home and she’s going home soon. If I’m wrong (and I’m not), I’ll eat my hat.

#Sansa Stark #sansa stark meta #house stark #house stark meta #ASoIaF #asoiaf meta #anon asks #feel free to ask #feel free to ignore #my meta

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