#short write

Warnings: Swearing

Additional information: No use of Y/N, transfer from my Wattpad.

Requested by:

...

“Sorry you had to stay open so late. I completely forgot about the date.” Dazai scratches his cheek to a bakery staff that looked a little tired. She eyes him semi-suspiciously for the briefest of moments; at this late of an hour, a man dressed in black, a scar running down his bandaged eye, and a sharp, red-eyed gaze. His features seemed soft enough to trust, deceiving as it may be. She smiles. 

“No worries. I’ll have it out for you. I froze it a bit, if you don’t mind, we had the heater cranked up in the shop today.”

“That’s fine, my daughter’s birthday is tomorrow. Or…” He checks his phone and squints at the dim light. 

“Today, rather.” He corrects, as it was five past midnight, now.

“You kept me waiting, knuckle-head. Do you know how little sleep I’ll be receiving because of you?” Calls an annoyed, yet joking tone as the woman reappears with a pale orange cake (Dazai notes how Chuuya would have felt jealous from encountering this interaction between them. It's a cute thought, so he mentally slides it away to keen over later). It’s carved and shaped like a pumpkin for the telltale fall of October. Dazai made sure to ask for it to appear as realistic as possible. Along with it were branches that held cartoon black cats and witches, ghosts, skeletons, you name it, there was aplenty.

“My apologies, my apologies.” The brunette saunters up to the counter with a shit-eating grin.

“Busy day today? Your shelves are missing most of its stock.”

The woman snorted, or held in a scoff and it slipped by anyway. “Yeah, definitely saved me the trouble of putting the inventory away, but me and the guys worked our asses off.” Gently, she packages the cake away in a white box, almost gingerly, even, making sure the shipment and its contents weren’t going to crush anything delicate.

“Store this somewhere cool, or all our work will be for nothing,” she jests, placing the box on the counter. “5,948.40, if you will.”

“Sure thing.” Dazai flicks out his credit card held between his middle and index finger. She takes the edge of it and swipes it after dialing up the accurate amount.

“Speakin’ of busy, your little friend isn’t with you.” She notes to the vacant spot beside Dazai. For some silly reason he looks beside himself, as if to entertain her.

“Oh, Chuuya?” He asks, cocking a head to his blind spot.

“He’s taking care of my little girl.” He’s careful not to spill the our hanging in the air around his lips, as he didn’t care to tell anybody about his personal relationships—with his husband, no less.

“Is he? Never pegged him the type to babysit.” The woman returns his card as Dazai snickers. “He’s actually a real softie, y’know. Especially when it comes to kids, if you can believe it.” From a standpoint of seeing the redhead so often with a scowl and/or a serious expression, it almost felt like he was cranking out the most labor lies on the block.

“Can’t say I’ve heard that story before.” She checks the cashier. “Receipt?”

“That’d be great.”

She hands him a slip of paper.

“Thanks for staying open late. That was nice of you.” He tips a bill of 10,000 yen to her, personally. “Keep the change.”

“Wait, what?—”

Dazai turns, halfway towards the door with parsal in hand.

“Hang on, sir, you seem to have made a mistake—”

“Night, ‘mam. ‘Till we meet again!” He salutes her with one arm before going back to cradling the box. He could hear a faint: “You…too.” Before a jingle rang through the muffled doors and glass of the shop as he shut the door behind him.

Dazai only walks a few paces, before hearing familiar sets of guns click around his vicinity.

“Salutations…undistinguished guests.” He greets, tucking the receipt under his thumb casually, though rather uncaring for it.

“There’s no way you can be a mafia-boss. You’re either toos brave tah stand around wit guards or yahs just plain stupid.” A man with a sort of drawling accent where he dragged his s’s pulled closer. The nozzle of his gun was aimed at him, as many other muzzles were, stashed away in the shadows. Dazai takes in the distinct shadow he makes. Judging from the fine line of a lump the light cast for his silhouette, he has a pony tail, and a cigarette. Though the vile smell of the smoke was a dead give away.

“Drop the cake, princess. Ya ain’t foolin’ anyone wit’ it.”

“No way, I just spent a pretty penny on it.” He retaliates, his sharp sense of smell latching onto every scent surrounding him. The metal of guns and gunpowder, the salt of the sea.

He’a come across this smell before, and immediately pinpoints it as the Octo organization, strict on building their hide-outs beside the sea, so they could use stolen submarines to escape. 

They cropped up at the beginning of the month, and Vigilante seemed to destroy them had they set foot on their turf or started fucking with either of their affiliates. So far Intel progressed enough to uncover they were from overseas. They had a mass of weaponry and aimed to shoot down the head of Mafia.

“Fish outta water, huh?” He asks coyly, still not bothering to turn around despite being held at gunpoint, “what are you doing so far from the shore? Must be getting hard to breathe this far on land for sea-dwellers like you.”

“Funny ‘yer insulting us. Ya ain’t got guard. Yer unarmed. All ya gotchaer are ya wits. That enough to take a bullet, sweetie?”

“I’d advise you to watch your mouth. Only my husband refers to me as such.” His voice drops an octave, threateningly. His expression remained between a shift of neutral poker face and a smile.

“‘AN NOW HE’S THREATININ’ US!” He barks out in laughter, his mates howling deliriously.

“Ya really are sometin arentcha? That’s cute, really.” 

The way he mumbles around the cig really irks the brunette. He wants the man to choke on it, burn himself halfway down his throat and die.

“Enoff chit-chat. Let’s cut to the chase.”

“Excellent idea.” Dazai agrees, preparing to step forward. “You guys think for a while like the numb-skulls you are, and I’ll maintain my schedule by arriving back home on time before my little-chibi-wife finds out I was gone.”

He hears blustered stuttering amongst the group.

“You dog! You think you can mess wit us an get away with it?! You ain’t goin anywhere!”

“Oh, so that insults you—?”

The brunette felt the barrel of the gun nudge against the back of his skull, stranded in the curls of his soft brown hair, which didn’t bother him in the slightest.

“I’ll blow yer head off, ya bloody scoundrel, I’ll—”

“Pity.” Dazai interrupted him, as if spitting out the word.

“I was going to let you live if you didn’t touch me.”

“ANH?”

“Ah well. Plans always change, I suppose. Oh, and it’s ex-mafia boss, to you.” Dazai closes his eye and grips the cake box a tad tighter.

“WHO CARES, YA BLOODY RAT!? WHO DO YOU THIN—”

BANG!!!

Dazai heard the delightful sound of a body crumble and collapse, a gun clatter to the concrete. He smells the telltale scent of blood, and the cigarette trails off its aroma in such a way to alert the brunette it departed from its original owner.

He sighed with a bout of pleasure, before taking his feet to bring him to a leisurely stroll.

“BOSS!?” One of the men yowled, like a cat, which grated on Dazai’s ears.

“Sigh.” 

He heard a gun adjusting behind him. 

“YOU’S PIECE ‘A SHIT! YOU’LL PAY! YOU’LL—”

Just then, before the man could pull the trigger, another man before Dazai solidified, brandishing a scalpel.

Scarlett eyes, a menacing expression, a cloak of darkness.

“I’d prefer if you clean this up quietly.” Dazai spoke airily, as the scalpel had long been flicked into the man’s direction, carving a deep crevice into his thick skull.

The ground rattled with the collapse of what Dazai assumed to be a rather burly man with either a lot more fat or more muscle, or both. Either way, it didn’t matter anymore.

“I’m off schedule because of you.” The brunette spoke with a note of pity, maybe sorrow, under the voice drenched so deeply in darkness the man could vouch to be the very essence of it.

His figure appeared more lean, and the shadows of his face only grew. The light around the surrounding area seemed to dissipate, the shadows swallowing up anything that emitted a source of light in a ten foot radius. The overhead street light extinguished entirely.

His eye opened, now, a dark red, like cut-open flesh, yet shined like a blood moon. “Dispose of them swiftly. I can’t waste any more time of little leeches like them.” 

The prince of darkness whisked away as the very blades, cards, and various other weapons alongside abilities, vanquished all the foes left behind flawlessly, disposing of them in a timely matter and settling back into the seclusion of the shadows. Various eyes trailed at the lingering path Dazai took, the night having swallowed him a long time ago, no traces of his arrival nor departure, personally, to be seen.

Funny random thought the hashiras playing smash or pass with each other who would smash who and who would get passed? 👀

- 🍜

Hmmm. Well, right off the bat, this is how I view such a scenario with the Hashira playing Smash or Pass with each other:

Gyomei probably wouldn’t smash any of the Hashira as he’s concerned he’ll actual smash them and hurt them but he politely passes them all. He doesn’t know what the smash actually means

Tengen smashes the girls and then Kyojuro as a joke, just for Kyojuro to repeat it back on him. Though, he proclaims it was a joke

Giyuu wont smash any of the Hashira as he isn’t attracted to any of them. He doesn’t even want to be playing the game

Muichiro won’t smash any of the Hashira either as he just sees them as friends. None of the Hashira would smash him back as they’d never touch a child

Mitsuri would probably smash a few Hashira. She picks Giyuu as she feels bad for him, Tengen because she is curious of how experienced he actually is and Obanai for obvious reasons, but politely pass everybody else

Kyojuro would most likely smash absolutely every Hashira as he is happy to spread the love around to all of the people he cares about. Poor man isn’t aware of what “Smash” in “Smash or Pass” means

Obanai will harshly pass everybody but spam smash on Mitsuri, getting to bang Mitsuri is his absolute dream. He would probably make jokes about half-smashing Sanemi

Shinobu has very little interest in all the Hashira so it’d be many passes. Like Mitsuri, she’d pity smash Giyuu but also smash Kyojuro as she appreciates his kindness

Sanemi would smash Mitsuri to test out his curiosity(but he’d get eaten alive by his bestie so he doesn’t say so) otherwise, he passes every other Hashira. He also makes jokes back about half-smashing Obanai

Time sat up for the second shift on the night watch. It was sickly warm and the nightly breeze made the energy around the chain restless and unsettled. Though he normally resigned to getting lost in the sounds among their camp. The fire crackling, the leaves rustling in the wind. The crickets singing in the night. One sound that had his ears on alert was the soft sounds of the group sleeping.

For the most part they seem to all sleep okay. However, he was not alone when nightmares of their past adventures taken, before being they were brought together, but occasionally you can here a huff if their dreams are not settling or allowing one to sleep.

This was one of those nights as he was in watch. Everything usual in the ways of sounds of the night and among the chain. However, his ears this night pick up on the subtle sound of one of them sniffling. Not from a cold, but of a wet sadness. He looked around to pin point the sniffles. It seemed most of them were all sleeping somewhat peacefully. Then he spotted in the fire light a shake of one of them. Their shoulder shook and trembled. The member’s breathing being shaky.

Sky.

He quilt got up where he sat and walked over to the knight. Kneeling down. In the light as best he could see the puff red eyes, clutching of their blanket and the wetness on their cheek. He gently brushed the tears away. The youth opened their eyes and looked up at their leader. Another stream of tears flowed from their eyes.

“I miss her.” Their voice broke even in a subtle and quiet whisper.

Time took a seat beside them and rubbed their shoulder and replied, “I understand, I miss mine too.” He warmly smiled at them. Before looking over where the rancher slept with the champion curled up against him. The traveler also curling up beside the champion.

He softly smiles at the sweet scene. He then looked back down at sky. His thumb rubbing calming circles on their shoulder. “I miss my wife, but I know everything will be okay. Even when I miss so much. You will be too. Hopefully Hylia will be kind and drop us off in your era. So you do get to see them. For now. It’s okay to miss those you love. Or loved. We will all meet again in some time.”

The sky child looked up and nodded. Taking on of his hands to wipe away his tears. Time looked up and stayed quiet and then said quietly, “they never are truly far away.”

Sky looking at him. “How so?”

Time looking back down at the youth. He took their hand and placed over his own heart and he smiled. “Because they are always right here. Even we we are far from home.”

Sky sadly smiled. As he felt their leaders heart rate beat calmly.

-

Ahsoka didn’t know how long she was unconscious, but she didn’t think it was that long. There were rocks still tumbling around her and settling from their initial descent. She twitched all of her limbs to make sure nothing was broken before she attempted to move any further. 

Her montrals were still throbbing and she had a killer headache but other than that she felt relatively ok. Bruised and battered but alive. 

Off to her left she heard a groan. Her montrals must be more kriffed up than she thought because that groan sounded loud, much louder than it should sound. She groaned in response to the assault to her head. 

“That kriffing sucked.” 

Ahsoka curled around her head as Fives’ extremely loud voice seemed to echo through her whole head. However she found herself agreeing. 

“Yeah you could say that.”

Something very big shifted off to her left. It was followed by a load crack and a grunt.

“Kriffing hells.”

There was more shifting. Why did that sound so much louder than it should? 

Ahsoka slowly uncurled herself from her ball and attempted to blink dust our of her eyes. She quickly realized that it was pitch black down here. Sure enough she could hear the sound of rocks piling up on each other above them, likely blocking the hole they had just fallen down. 

“I can’t see a kriffing thing. And my helmet light’s damaged.” Fives complained. “And the ceiling’s pretty low.”

Ahsoka paused at that. It didn’t sound like this was a small room, and her montrals (though they were pretty busted right now) told her the ceiling was a good ways above her. When she checked Fives Force signature, something felt off, like it was twisted strangely.

“How badly is it damaged?” She asked.

“Not that badly, probably just need a good whack.”

Once again the chamber filled with loud shifting. “Are you alright commander?”

Something was definitely not right. 

Ahsoka grabbed one of her lightsabers off her belt and ignited it. She blinked rapidly as he eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness. Slowly green tinted shapes began to take form in front of her. 

The cavern itself was big, there were high walls around her and the ceiling was probably a good 20 feet above her head. Next she turned to face Fives and promptly froze.

Sitting upright a ways away from her was Fives. Everything about the ARC trooper looked fine except for the fact that he was about 5 times bigger than he should be. His helmet reached over half way up the wall and there was a sizeable dent above him where he had hit his head a few moments ago.

She felt and saw the exact moment that he realized that something was very wrong when he froze as he spotted her on the floor below him. 

For a few moment’s they were both silent. She stared up at his visor while he stared down at her.

Then in unison they both said, “Shab.”

"It all started when I accidentally picked up the wrong suitcase at the airport."

Prompt: “Everyone has a Purpose Line: a line on the ground that, if followed, will help a person lead a fulfilling life. The lines are invisible to everyone but the person they’re meant for, and can lead them to job opportunities, first loves, etc. One day you step off your Purpose Line.” by @writing-prompt-s

typo edits.

*****

Not everyone has a Purpose Line to follow.

Most people do, at least during key moments of their lives, right before an altering decision that affects more than them, but not everyone does.

Some people live their whole lives with their eyes glued to their feet, waiting for a moment where the line will glow to life and point them in the right direction. Some people are unlucky. For them, there is no right direction, no opportunity that can save them.

They are the people who slip through the cracks. They’re everywhere, doing whatever they can because there’s nothing else they’re supposed to be doing. They live fine.

A Purpose Line isn’t needed. It’s just a guidebook.

Yours has sat under your feet your whole life, walking with you with every step. It helps you avoid people on crowded sidewalks so you don’t get too jostled and it helps you in every way that a place can.

It’s where you got your job. It helped you get promoted by leading you to a coworker that was, well... totally screwing up. A Non-Liner. Accidents happen, when you can’t see where you need to go.

It’s understandable, if not irritating. That’s why Purposefuls, or Liners, whatever you wanted to call them, were favorable. Less likely to cause problems.

You’re kind of tired of not causing problems.

As a child, you hadn’t cared for the bright strip of light beaming under your feet. You’d been one the rebellious ones, who’d turned in the opposite direction and followed your whims, until you understood what the line meant. If you wanted to amount to anything, to live a happy life, you had to follow your line.

You remember having a happy childhood, when you’d ignored your line. Your line had never led you to Brandon, and he was best friend, still, today.

One could still succeed if they didn’t follow their line, it was just harder. Following yours felt like sniping an opportunity away from someone else, having it handed to you by some all-powerful being, not earned. Just gifted.

That’s why you make the impulsive decision to stop following your line, to stop having life handed to you in pretty gift wrapped bows. In the morning, you’re supposed to get coffee to keep you focused through the day. Instead, you call in your two weeks and ignore the squirming line beneath your feet.

Your life was yours. Not some metaphysical line’s. Your decisions are yours and you’ll live on your own merit. Your own luck.

It would be more exciting, at least. You were done following everyone else’s plan.

*****