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garrotejima‌.

Like ya don’t know. “Place stinks,” Majima surrenders, steeped in isopropyl.

But they both understand what words he swallows, that drive to be yakuza, to see his kyodai in the flesh – and gosh, isn’t he just too damn honest for his own damn good? Majima scowls. A fire’s yet lit in his eye, emboldened by those tendrils of sun capering shy through the curtains, and he weathers that joint pain gnawing at his nerves. He plods along. Trips up. Twice. He must seem a blasted doe with all that fawnish stumbling.

And he bets Sagawa’s humored when he fucks up and falls toward the bed rail. Screw it. All that ‘good sport’ talk, like he genuinely cares with all these dizzying pleasantries. Chan. God. He grips the railing and hoists himself up defiantly.

The muscles in his shoulders bulge with effort, but there’s still strength there, and his long hair feathers down soft. He doesn’t meet Sagawa’s gaze. Guy’s probably howling.

“They hopped me up 'till I was swimmin’ up to my eye in the stuff. Gettin’ chummy with me’s comin’ in a blur.” Mouthy. He frowns, realizes that isn’t the right answer. “Ya really know how to pull the theatrics if yer plannin’ on offin’ me.”

Right. He can still bite it. He doesn’t get him.

            “off you?” uh-oh. men have learned to fear that kind of airy rhetorical question. it almost sounds surprised. he laughs smooth as the smoke that falls between his lips, the noise half-scoff, half-mirth; a devil without horns or tail. majima's like a newborn fawn and sagawa— yeah, sagawa's not even trying to hide the way his eyes brighten in amusement. did he come here just to watch the kid struggle? maybe. “guess I can't blame you for thinking that. wouldn't be much of a hole if people just came crawling out of it.”

but majima did.

pivot. facing him now. under normal circumstances majima's got a few inches on him, and in his prime sagawa might even be cautious about approaching him. of course, this knee-shaking skeleton is hardly majima in his prime, so sagawa's not afraid to pull an arm under him and hoist the clattering bones up. weighs nothing. smells like a hospital. sagawa's cheer drops a notch or two.

there's a threat implicit in corded muscle under tweed suit (stronger, much stronger than he looks) and if majima really searches in his tone, something dark is under the aloofness of the question that follows. he pauses, close enough that their heads are roughly level—

              “what makes you so special?”

— and dumps majima back on the bed. 

               “obstinate kid like you should be floating down sotenbori by now. but shimano wants you alive.”

he doesn’t get him, either.

#garrotejima #SACCHARINE \ SADIST [ — SAGAWA TSUKASA \ IN CHARACTER; ] #good / #get used to it majima / #(: / #i'll have u know i'm having a GRAND old time /

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me writing sagawa is just “how many dog puns can I shove into one reply”

#[ — OUT OF; ] #answer; not enough / #never enough /

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garrotejima‌.

He’s being cute.

And Majima’s mean. He isn’t quite going for any particular look – snapping like a doberman, perhaps, or even coiled tightly like a viper on the hunt – but his wounds dampen the punch regardless. Sagawa’s right: he does look like shit. Propped against the far side of this sinisterly shady room, the damn kid mirrors roadkill several weeks into rotting. It’s almost pretty. The sunlight sprinkling through the window, scars and foul bruises blossoming warm with morning sun…

Like patches of summer against the welting reds.

Yet, Sagawa makes him feel cold, bitter, shivering as though a gust of arctic has his lungs in a vice. His smile’s still pleasant, though. It even kisses his eyes.

Like a devil with a promise.

"Get ‘nough of that here just waitin’ 'round for ya – like a damn house plant.” Majima pulls the sheet off of him and swings his legs over the bed. There, along the fat of his inner-thigh, a puckered branding glares at them angrily. Huh. He valiantly – stubbornly – moves to a stand. “Just tell me what ya got me here for already.”

give the kid an inch and he shoots off into outer space. sagawa watches majima pace the edges of his prison cell— literally, standing on legs that have only barely started to work; metaphorically, barking demands like he's the one who calls the shots— and he can't blame the guy, not after a year in the dark. but don't let that impressed look lull you into a sense of security; those raised brows marvelling at his new pet project (emphasis pet) already stubbornly trying to get out his cage hold a dangerous glint in their fondness, because while majima's stubbornness is impressive— cute, even— sagawa's sure as hell going to remind him where those bars are.

sagawa might bite cold but his mannerisms are all warmth. he makes a vague shooing motion in majima's direction, like he's chasing away the question itself.

         “pump the breaks a bit, majima-chan,” he chides. “you look in a mirror lately? you look like a corpse that crawled out the casket. just 'cause you can get up on your own two legs doesn't mean you should.”

he pulls the cigarettes from inside his coat, emphasizing the end of his words with the flick of the lighter.

         “doc hasn't given the all-clear yet. that means you're staying put,” and that's that. “what's the rush for, anyway?”

#garrotejima #SACCHARINE \ SADIST [ — SAGAWA TSUKASA \ IN CHARACTER; ] #(((((: what ever do you mean / #trust him! it's fine! /

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         "morning, tiger."

there's sagawa, cheery as a summer day, blowing through the door with the same confidence as the sunlight thrown across the off-white tiles of the clinic. the place isn't as well-equipped as the nearby hospital but the staff know better than to ask questions about the number of broken-boned, pulp-beaten men that stumble through their door on sagawa's payroll, so someone on the missing persons list for the better part of the year hardly raises brows.

sagawa looks him over. god, majima looks like shit. there's a weeping hole of infection where an eye should be, he's more blood and bruise than human being. sagawa's seen prettier corpses come out the hole.

he smiles.

        "doc says you're shaping up real quick," there's a briefcase under his arm but he doesn't seem especially keen to address it yet— seems content to make smalltalk at arm's length, strolling to the window. "should be up and walking in a week or two. then you can get out in the sun for real, eh?"

@garrotejima​ LOOKING PRETTY GOOD FOR A DEAD GUY, CHAMP!

#garrotejima #SACCHARINE \ SADIST [ — SAGAWA TSUKASA \ IN CHARACTER; ] #my favourite part about sagawa is he uses eh like i use eh / #are we sure he's not secretly canadian /

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starslung‌.

@disentanglements ( x ) !

    finn mostly exists in a solid state, until he sees matt sitting on the couch, and decides he needs to be there with him. he oozes his way over pillows, notebooks, and matt’s own limbs until he’s sprawled across matt’s lap, and decidedly happier in his current position. “hey.” a classic conversation starter, but also a dangerous one, considering just about anything could come after it. “i watched this guy on youtube build a real life version of the jam-toaster launcher from wallace and gromit. we should try that, too. but like, make it cooler.”

if matt ever gets bored of his current dissertation, the fluid dynamics of finn clifton would be an interesting substitute. finn's definitely shear-thinning, he thinks; he flows easily with just the tiniest bit of pressure applied and is stubbornly resistant to movement once he's settled there. matt lifts his arms to let finn ooze his way across his lap, because he still remembers the last time finn nursed a black eye from matt's dagger-like elbows, and regards him with piqued interest and raised brows from below the lower margin of his book.

anything could come after that, but finn says hey like someone's flipped the safety off the lab's nitrogen laser, so matt knows what's about to come out of his mouth is probably dangerous or at the very least appealing to matt's narrow band of fascinations.

funny how often those things coincide.

          "I thought it was pretty solid," he admits, and almost immediately corrects, "well, actually, I thought the toaster was pretty solid. hard to improve on electromagnets, right? but the jam launcher, I was thinking something a little more, mmm...” that hummed note mimics the noise of a railgun ready to fire. “shoot-y."

#RIOT \ ORION [ — MATT HOLT \ CHARACTER STUDY; ] #it's been two years and i think we FINALLY have a thread /

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concept: saejima gets a service dog post-prison to help him deal with ptsd and smooth his transition back into non-prison life

#LEGEND \ BURDEN [ — SAEJIMA TAIGA \ CHARACTER STUDY; ] #insert joke about 'he already has majima' here / #but seriously he's a lazy and goofy shiba named tamotsu / #who helps saeji with his nightmares / #and forming meaningful relationships / #thanks /

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#ENVY \ AMBITION [ — NISHIKIYAMA AKIRA \ CHARACTER STUDY; ]

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Ｓweet Ｒevenge

#SACCHARINE \ SADIST [ — SAGAWA TSUKASA \ CHARACTER STUDY; ] #god you know how fucking satisfying it must have been /

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“Back when I was a brat, I found a sparrow with a broken leg and took it home. Tried to nurse it behind my mom’s back. What’d I call it…? Mametaro, maybe? Never once had an interest in animals till then, but I fed the damn thing every day. Cute little shit, too. But I shouldn’t have lied to my parents. One day, I get home and they’re feeding it to the cat. I watched little Mametaro get eaten alive. …Day after that, I killed their damn cat.”

“And sure as shit… I’ll kill you too.”

#SACCHARINE \ SADIST [ — SAGAWA TSUKASA \ CHARACTER STUDY; ] #8))))))))))) / #i cannot believe i was validated this quickly /

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THE SYSTEM WILL SET YOU FREE

#QUINE \ COLLECTIVE [ — SUPERHOT \ CHARACTER STUDY; ] #............. (: / #epilepsy cw #flashing gif cw

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so saejima is duty-bound and kind of stoic and generally very bad at expressing positive emotions, tough love incarnate, a quiet and short-tempered big cat who knows what he thinks is Right and Wrong and has no problem kicking your ass if you’re the latter. he shows despite the fact that he thinks he’s a big trash thug who needs to be burnt to be worthwhile that he’s fiercely protective of the young and the elderly, and I’m just... really emotional about that. he and kiryu really seem to embody that old fashioned yakuza type, the protectors, the thing that’s glorified even if it’s a bold-faced lie because tojo isn’t that and hasn’t been that for a long time and won’t ever be that again, probably.

shitpost-y aside: that means saejima will probably adopt your muse. you already have a dad? fuck your dad. saejima’s your dad now. no bitchin’.

#[ — OUT OF; ] #LEGEND \ BURDEN [ — SAEJIMA TAIGA \ CHARACTER STUDY; ] #i'm........ rambling / #been a while since i wrote him or nishiki so i gotta adfasfasf / #get back in the lug's head /

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garrotejima‌.

“Yeah?” Majima fires back. “How'dya figure that?”

But okay. If ever either of them’s a wasp, it is certainly none other than the Tojo Clan’s mutt. He’s a buzzing soul, whizzing and zip-zapping where Saejima’s a boulder, something steady sat calm in a torrent of change. Still. Still. No one can fault him for that niggling pinch of fondness that swirls in his chest, but he wears it with great subtlety leaning on in as he does.

He stares.  “Is it cuz ya can’t handle me?” the ‘dignified’ brother goads, accent syrup-thick.

subtlety. sure. saejima doesn't think majima's ever been subtle about a damn thing in his life. he's got a more nuanced approach than his brother, sure— but it's hard to find a rival for saejima's bluntness. he's more hammer, less knife, and majima's fondness is as cutting as a blade.

saejima's eyes narrow the tiniest bit as majima leans in— and did he get taller while he was gone? the brute takes that as more of a challenge than the obvious bait.

        "it's 'cause ya were raised in the dirt," he says. "and dealin’ with ya’s like gettin’ kicked in the teeth, sometimes."

#garrotejima #LEGEND \ BURDEN [ — SAEJIMA TAIGA \ IN CHARACTER; ] #............. yes / #but don't go tellin' no one! /

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garrotejima‌.

“You complaining? We’re sortin’ this city out, innoculatin’ the fine people against a serious epidemic! Guys gettin’ dumb ‘nough to think they can step up to our plate. Ain’t a cure for that but to strike ‘em out.”

It’s like a snap of the fingers, that pulling grimace: there and then gone again, a flash of spring thunder or an idle, passing thought. Majima’s serious. He takes being yakuza serious, and doesn’t mind at all when he’s the chance to throttle a guy.

Saejima’s there thinking him a gaudy discoball, and it’s true – a discoball with arms and legs and a penchant to dole out hurt. Goons stepping on Shimano turf? Ha! They’re lucky shattered bones is all they get!

…But it’s always a let down. Weak. Boring. Dull.

“Like playing with the peewee league,” Majima frowns as though their shortfalls are a personal affront. He claps his hands together then, and rears around to smile at Saejima. 

“Alright! I’m wanting to go pro! Ya really got an idea on what it is men are wantin’. Maybe that hostess thing wasn’t me talking right outta my butt.”

the grimace doesn't fit majima's face at all, too humourless for the ball of fire and wit that's his brother. saejima doesn't like it one bit. he knows better than anyone how seriously majima takes it— maybe even more seriously than saejima himself— but he's not usually the type to wear it.

it's gone as quick as it comes, though, replaced with a grin that's far more his style. saejima huffs and lets the thought fall off him like water off a duck.

          "ya ain't hard t'figure out. it involves kickin' a guy's shit in and yer on that faster than a dog on a goddamn bone," he ribs, picking up his pace towards the cages. "gonna have t’start callin’ ya doctor majima soon, the way yer handin' out cures left n' right. let’s go inoculate some of the sorry chumps at the battin’ center, huh?"

#garrotejima‌ #LEGEND \ BURDEN [ — SAEJIMA TAIGA \ IN CHARACTER; ] #saejima vc: ya ain't paid me shit ya fucking cheapskate / #saejima vc: no cash no lip service /

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garrotejima‌.

He’s bristling serious, all live-wire nerve fit to electrocute. Weird. When he prowls in closer, it’s to conquer their space, and the loveseat behind them starts looking inviting. “Quit barkin’,” he orders, “and sit.”

open starter, HEY! BIG MAN’S SPEAKING!

he's seen majima pissed— right off his hinges furious, eyes as wild and destructive in a way that reminds saejima of typhoons. he's seen that anger and been subject to it more than once, but thankfully majima picked a mountain of a man to be his brother; someone capable of withstanding any storm. so saejima doesn't budge, at first. he looks majima over like he's sizing him up for a fight, deciding if that fancy desk behind him would buckle if saejima were to, say, throw eighty kilos of summer storms into it.

‘course, he doesn’t. because majima may be his brother but he's also patriarch majima goro, the mad dog, and right now he growls like the head of the pack. and what's saejima? familyless, homeless— the apartment that he's had maybe two months is currently a smouldering hole in the side of an otherwise unassuming building.

        “look at ya, givin’ orders like real tojo brass,” saeji falls into the loveseat per majima's command, and the legs squeak back an inch with the force of his weight. big cat's trying to squeeze himself into a doggy bed and he ain't happy about it. "it's like I keep telling' ya: wasn't anythin' important in there."

#garrotejima #LEGEND \ BURDEN [ — SAEJIMA TAIGA \ IN CHARACTER; ] #okay so! lemme lay out some details for ya / #saeji's been getting weird calls for a week trying to get him to go places and do some very terrible things to its residents / #got a gun and a tiger mask left at his doorstep / #upon telling them to go shove it up their ass they've been high key threatening and i guess now they're following through! / #chances are he told maji about the dumbasses trying to strong arm him but he didn't really give them a lot of credit until they uh / #burnt his house down lmao / #and oh the best is yet to come (: / #if maji keeps up with the news or gossip in his family he might have heard about a couple attacks on foreigners / #perpetrated by people in rubber animal masks / #but it's probably only been a couple weeks since they started so it's not big news yet /

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garrotejima‌.

Huh? “Can it. It makes me look dignified,” Majima grouses, bearing the same airs of a whining schoolboy. That Saejima… What a wholesale buttball of a guy, isn’t he? Sir Grey Hair moves. He bats lamely at that hulking bear paw of a hand, unimpressed and unenthused with all the needling theatrics. Grey, schmay! So what? He still looks great! “Word on the street’s callin’ fifty the new twenty. Ladies dig that salt and pepper.”

        “dignified?” he barks a laugh. “can’t say that’s a word I ever thought I’d be applyin’ to ya.”

he can swat all he likes but it's majima that's definitely the wasp of the two of them, buzzing energy and ready to sting a the slightest provocation. aren’t theatrics usually majima’s job? saeji doesn’t pull ‘em off with the same ease his kyoudai does.

saejima’s hand drops to his side but that’s no indication the digging’s gonna stop—

         "if you were any spice, kyoudai, ya'd be wasabi.”

#garrotejima #LEGEND \ BURDEN [ — SAEJIMA TAIGA \ IN CHARACTER; ] #saejima; whatever ya fuckin spicy tuna roll /

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dojiryu‌.

    ‘  LAST  TIME  IT  WAS  NOBODIES,  IT  WAS  OMI,  AND  WE  FUCKED  UP  A   whole  trade  deal.  you  remember  that?  ‘   it  was  a  failure  kiryu  took  equal  responsibility  for,  if  not  more–if  he’d  have  noticed  faster,  unveiled  all  the  details,  maybe  he  could’ve  spared  them  both  the  blunder,  and  he  threw  as  many  fists.  ‘  and  kazama  was  pissed,  because  shimano  was  pissed.  ‘ he  moves  to  cling  to  nishiki’s  atmospheric  pull  like  waves  of  gravity,  a  tall  shadow  just  behind  him,  when  the  bottleneck  of  the  alleyway  populates  with  a  small  group  of  ruffians  who  looked  around  their  age,  if  a  bit  younger.  the  leader  points  distinctly  at  nishiki,  and  kiryu’s  expression  harshens,  as  if  to  say,  nishiki,  i  told  you  so!  though  the  directed  frustrations  mount  instead  against  this  new  wave  of  assailants.  

he  didn’t  know  them,  but  he  would  fight  them,  because  nishiki  was  fighting  them.  kiryu  flares  his  nostrils  in  some  modicum  of  irritation,  hashing  out  in  his  head  what  he’ll  say  after  its  all  done  with,  focusing  for  now  on  the  impending  fight.  his  legs  part  in  a  clean  slide,  adopting  a  heavier  stance,  fists  tightening  the  sinew  in  his  wrists.   

they  charge  forward  ungracefully,  and  kiryu  meets  two  on  his  own,  using  the  velocity  of  his  kick  to  swing  the  first  by  the  heel  and  hammer  throw  him  back  into  the  ground.  the  second  gets  a  hard  blow  in  to  the  side  of  his  jaw  for  kiryu’s  attention  to  the  first,  and  the  boy  grunts  in  response  to  the  blossom  of  jarring  pain.  he  thrusts  his  elbow  out  and  connects  with  the  flesh  of  the  kid’s  throat,  jamming  his  adams  apple  into  his  esophagus.   

          "not the time, kiryu!" he shouts back, already moving forward to hit the first to come at him. it's convenient that there's no time to be reminded of the consequences of the last time nishiki had a go at the first kids to look at him funny— who disrespects tojo on tojo turf? look at the pin! he's not hiding it! nishiki had been insistent that they had come at him first, but kazama wasn't having it, and kiryu had guilted him in that way that's half angry frown to get him to finally admit he fucked up.

for kiryu's brute force, nishiki is quick feet and snappy punches, socking the dude in the gut— ugh, the kid's got some gaudy button-up that makes nishiki scowl— and following quickly with two more, a one-two-three line the steps of a dance. the flourish of a finishing kick that sends his opponent careening into the dirt. five tonight. he's not even getting paid for these ones.

     “nice!” he watches as kiryu gets some kid's neck intimately familiar with the bone of his elbow, flinching a little in the way that says he knows exactly how much that hurts. barely sees the fourth come after him for downing his friend— but nishiki's seen that too many times, snatches the kid by the wrist (the look on his face!) and drops him, forcing him to the ground with nishiki's own weight to land on him when he does. he hears the choked gasp of pain as all the air is forced inelegantly from his body, and swears he can feel the kid's ribs crack.

#dojiryu #ENVY \ AMBITION [ — NISHIKIYAMA AKIRA \ IN CHARACTER; ]

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dojiryu‌.

     IT  WASN’T  WRONG  TO  HELP  PEOPLE.  it  niggled  at  him  that  nishiki  seemed  to  believe  it  so,  how  he’d  turn  his  head  and  bat  a  blind  eye  to  an  injustice.  there  was  a  difference  between  subservience  (or  feigning  it,  god  knows  he  was  a  good  faker)  because  your  aniki  demanded  a  punishment,  and  being  willfully  ignorant  for  no  good  reason.  it  was  something  that  pulsed  like  waves  under  kiryu’s  heart,  and  on  a  worse  day,  he  would’ve  held  onto  it  longer,  would’ve  shoved  nishiki  so  it  hurt.  but  he  doesn’t.  today,  it  eases  out  of  him  like  an  extracted  bullet,  because  nishik  is  insistent  in  his  own  ways.  (and  he  didn’t  want  to  be  mad  at  his  kyoudai  for  something  about  his  personality  he’d  been  aware  of  for  years–it’d  be  unfair,  to  say  the  least.)  

the  smell  of  his  oath  brother’s  cigarette  stings  at  kiryu’s  eyes,  the  smoke  rising  in  fading  wisps,  though  it  merits  no  verbal  complaint,  nishiki’s  weight  rolling  affectionately  into  his  triangular  frame.  he  makes  a  puffy,  easy  sound,  glad  that  he  was  not  forcing  the  issue.  ‘  doesn’t  mean  you  won’t  tell  the  server  to  supersize  mine.  ‘  he  grumbles,  though  it  lacks  any  real  bite,  a  half  hearted  gripe  from  one  man  to  another  over  his  deriding  habits.   ‘  ..  matsuya  curry,  ‘  kiryu  says  slowly,  as  if  weighing  the  decision,  as  if  it  made  any  real  difference  where  or  what  they  ate.  ‘  am  i  picking  up  the  tab?  ‘

his free hand pulls the cigarette from his mouth, and he pushes the smoke up and watches it dissipate into the buildings above their heads. kamurocho is all tightly-packed apartments and shops, each one of them pulsing with life, each one full of stories. nishiki, of course, is only concerned with those that pertain to babes and good food.

         "I don't know, are you?"  the question is only semi rhetorical. nishiki knows kiryu, and nishiki knows kiryu is always predictably short on cash. he had wondered if kiryu was faking it, considering nishiki's definitely the big spender of the two of them— until one day he had peeked at kiryu's bank account over his shoulder, and incredulously questioned how kiryu managed to pay rent every month with a balance that small. "can't say I'd mind being treated for once," he hums, the thought of food making his stomach growl and twist like a waking beast. "and hey, don't complain. I saw you monster through an XL bowl of udon in fifteen minutes the last time we were out. you go through those things faster than kashiwagi, man."

#dojiryu‌ #ENVY \ AMBITION [ — NISHIKIYAMA AKIRA \ IN CHARACTER; ]