Logan calling Tom son while he’s helping him piss after Tom offers to hold his dick for him and Tom responding by calling him “papa” sounds like something that would be in a parody video but no it actually happened in Prestige television show Succession
Happy holidays, @ithegodot! And so sorry for the delay 🙏 I tried to use as many of your prompts as I was able, hope you like it!
And thank you so much @eyeshields for hosting this event once more!
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The Christmas Bowl had been played just that morning. The Devil Bats had been there, giving it their all, but had ultimately lost to the Teikoku Alexanders. Being forced to watch their kouhai struggle on the field from up in the stands had felt frustrating in ways he could hardly articulate; there was still a tingling irritation at the back of his throat from all the shouting they had done. But since all they could do to help was yell encouragement to their former teammates and heckle the rival team, the match had been entirely in the players’ hands. Deimon’s team had grasped for victory with dirt-stained, desperate fingers, hanging by their very fingernails until the end, but their efforts hadn’t been enough: they were a solid team with some promising new starters and Chuubou was a good captain, but they had been no match for Yamato, Taka and Karin on their final year at the Xmas Bowl.
Deimon forbade third-year students from continuing club activities during the second semester, which was both stupid and unfair, but it also meant that he had to let the frustration go; the Devil Bats were not his team anymore, he should focus on his future instead. Winning the Spring Tournament was the last time he would ever play as the Devil Bats’ lineman, with Kuroki, Toganou, Monta, Taki and even Komusubi as teammates—not Sena, since the lucky bastard was off training in America—and now he ought to focus on studying for his entrance exams, since that was the purpose of the stupid rule in the first place.
It made his gut squirm and twist into knots, like a particularly clumsy snake. Studying was one thing; it might be a bother and he would moan and groan the whole way through, but he was sure he could pass the exams if he buckled down and put the effort in. He could even handle his dad’s bitching about prestigious universities and successful careers—even if it set his teeth on edge and made him want to pull the stick that must be lodged deep in his dad’s ass. The studying and the exams and his dad and his teachers he could handle, but the idea of going to university left him paralysed and breathless, because it would mean… would mean…
“Yo, Juumonji!”
A shoulder colliding against his, halfway into a lineman’s tackle, quite rudely interrupted his deep thoughts and brought him back to the present. “Ha!?”
“What’s got you so preoccupied?” Kuroki said the word with mockingly crisp pronunciation, exactly like the posh villain of the action film they had watched yesterday, and Juumonji hated that he still found it funny.
“Nothing, just thinking.”
“Ha, thinking? Or overthinking?”
Before he could respond, Toganou piped up with a stupid smirk. “Careful now, Juumonji, or your hair will turn white.”
“Yeah, you seem to be halfway there already!”
“You are hilarious,” he deadpanned, and really, punching Kuroki’s arm was nothing if not justice.
“Aw! And don’t you forget it. But look! We are already here.”
Sure enough, they had reached the Tokyo Christmas market, which was filled with colourful lights and displays and delicious smells and jolly noises. But most of all, it was filled to the brim with people.
“Shit, don’t people have anything better to do?”
“What did you expect? It’s Christmas; anyone who isn’t having dinner with their date is here.”
Toganou snorted with good humour. “I guess we should be thankful Kazu-chan turned that girl down, otherwise it would be just you and me here, Kuroki.”
“Poor Fujihara-chan! You are a ruthless heartbreaker, Kazu-chan.”
Ah, yes. Last week a classmate had asked him out on a Christmas date, and turning her down had been an awkward affair, since he was not the most tactful of guys. But really, they had barely spoken twice during the school year, and he had only accepted her Saint Valentine's chocolates out of politeness. He was also not interested in dating anyone; he was far too worried about amefuto and the looming threat of university.
Still, Toganou should know better than to try for a blitz when his own quarterback was vulnerable. “Are you sure it wouldn’t be just Kuroki here on his own? I saw you speaking with Nakagawa the other day.”
As predicted, Toganou’s face turned red behind his tinted glasses, his shoulders coming up to his ears. “Ha? Shut your mouth, you saw nothing!”
Kuroki gasped. “HAAA!? You spoke to Nakagawa, and you didn’t tell me??”
With his friends’ company and their stupid, familiar banter in his ears, it was easy to ignore the uncomfortable sway of bodies in a crowd of thousands—and the unpleasant, spiralling thoughts clamouring for attention inside his mind. As Toganou launched into a passionate retelling of his latest manga obsession—the one with demons, superpowered samurai hunters and that one guy with pink eyes and an improbably large sword he had started reading a few months back—, they looked at the stalls at the outskirts of the market, filled with wooden toys and handcrafted decorations and jolly performers singing, and slowly inched their way towards the centre where the food stands were waiting.
Juumonji couldn’t say he loved Christmas. He didn’t remember going to markets or light shows as a kid—not even with mom—and his only experience with the holiday was hanging out with Kuroki and Toganou during middle school, and for the last couple of years, with the Devil Bats. However, he could appreciate the pretty decorations, the delicious treats and the cheer that seemed to permeate the air like the misty breath of the crowd.
“I want Christmas cake!”
Juumonji grinned and hung an arm around Kuroki’s shoulders—a gesture so familiar it made his heart squishy, or something sappy like that. “Not sure giving you any more sugar is a good idea, but sure! Let’s go get some, I want to see if you can vibrate right out of your skin.”
“He’ll probably end up puking his guts through the night,” Toganou commented distractedly, pointing at a stall. “Oh hey, they have German beer! Let’s try and get some, I’m sure we can pass off as twenty-year-olds.”
“Now we are talking.”
As they elbowed their way towards the German food stand, they saw a distinctive silhouette that dwarfed everyone but a select few in the market’s crowd. Tall, rotund and powerful, Kurita Ryokan was impossible to miss; and once one started looking in his direction, it was easy to recognise the flashy, spiky demon Hiruma and the solid, easy-going presence of Musashi.
“Ah, look, it’s the Ha Ha brothers.”
The nickname made Juumonji’s stomach twist unpleasantly. He had long since accepted that they were stuck with it and, after they got their act together and became true members of the Devil Bats at the beginning of high school, it hadn’t bothered him much; it had symbolised a new beginning in amefuto, new friends and teammates and, above all, it had been proof of his bond with Kuroki and Toganou. They were more than friends; they were practically family.
“Guys, it’s so good to see you, it’s been so long! Did you come to celebrate Christmas together?”
Now, however, the nickname reminded him of the choice he had to make. His future lay ahead of him, ready for him to decide on a path that would take him away from the present, from what he knew. From them.
“Kurita-senpai! We saw each other just last week during the Koshien Bowl.”
“Yes, yes, and then we went to celebrate Hiruma-senpai and Saikyoudai’s victory, remember?”
His friends always liked to act tough in front of the upperclassmen, but Kurita made it impossible to keep the act for long, and they were already patting his back and arms in a hug that wasn’t as half-hearted as they wanted to pretend. Juumonji observed them with bittersweet fondness, but didn’t join in; his gaze slid over to Hiruma, who was keeping the chilly December wind at bay with a chequered scarf and a sharp grin.
Back in Deimon, the founders of the Devil Bats had always hung out together, in class, after class and during training. First just the two, and when Musashi came back, they went back to being three. Juumonji had looked at them and seen Toganou, Kuroki and himself, a strong bond of friendship that had endured insurmountable odds and only gotten stronger after strife. And yet, last year, the trio that back in middle school had founded the first American football team in Kantou to win the Christmas Bowl had split up and gone their separate ways: Musashi went back to work on his family’s company, while Kurita went to Enma university and Hiruma to Saikyoudai. The announcement, at the time, had been what planted the seed; and here he was, almost a year later, being slowly strangled by its roots and branches.
Seeing them here together, however, enjoying the Christmas market in casual clothes and rosy cheeks, in a merry mood that had even notoriously stone-faced Musashi smiling softly, gave him pause. Perhaps… perhaps there was a chance it could work out. Perhaps he didn’t have to choose between his ambition and the two most important people in his world.
“You look like you are about to shit yourself,” commented Hiruma in his usual crass manner, and it pulled a reluctant chuckle out of Juumonji. He had spent enough time with the demon as his captain to know there was a question somewhere in that statement.
“Sorry, my head was in the clouds for a second. I wasn’t expecting to see you guys here; are you having dinner after this, senpai?”
“Once fucking fatty has eaten his fill of oden and bratwursts, we’ll go for KFC.”
“We tried to get some, but they had already run out; apparently, you have to pre-order now.”
Hiruma popped a pink bubble. “I’ve had to pre-order at three different KFCs to get enough for the fucking fatty.”
“Ah, so it’s your fault they ran out!”
“You snooze, you lose,” the quarterback said with a grin. It was obvious he was in a good mood—eyes bright and tone light.
Juumonji entertained the notion of asking either Kurita or Musashi for barely a few seconds before disregarding it. It had to be Hiruma. Summoning his courage, he squared his shoulders and looked him in the eyes. Hiruma, sensing the change, quirked an eyebrow.
“I would like to talk to you,” he said with ill-fitting formality. “Now,” he added, unsure if it was clear, “in private, if possible.”
Hiruma looked at him up and down, popping his pink bubblegum. After a few nerve-wracking seconds, he nodded and used his thumb to point at a little deserted corner of the market not too far away. Juumonji sighed in relief as they excused themselves and made their way there.
“So? The fuck you want, fucking scarface?”
While it had been quite some time since he last thought Hiruma to be terrifying, while he respected and admired him and was pretty sure he wouldn’t try to blackmail him again, he still found him quite intimidating. Juumonji was just as tall and almost twice as wide, but somehow, Hiruma’s physical presence was almost palpable. His appearance and attitude made people uncomfortable; and his eyes looked like they could pierce into one’s very soul and peel back layers upon layers until all secrets lay bare to him. Knowing that Hiruma cultivated this mythology about himself didn’t make it any less effective.
“May I ask you a personal question?”
A thin, pierced eyebrow arched. Hiruma studied him with those sharp, all-seeing eyes of his, and Juumonji resisted the urge to fidget. Finally, a tilted head and a raised chin let him know he could go ahead.
“How did you decide that Musashi-senpai, Kurita-senpai and you should split up and play for different teams?”
There was a cat-like blink, and Hiruma turned his head to glance at Kuroki and Toganou, who were pleading their case trying to get Musashi to buy them beer.
“Kekeke, getting cold feet? I thought you said you wanted to play in the university league and settle a few scores with certain players”
“I do! I do, but…”
“But fucking fishlips and fucking sunglasses won’t be attending university, and you think that if you do, it will break their itty-bitty hearts,” the demon said, baring his teeth in an open-mouthed smile that was more sinister than friendly.
Juumonji sighed. Of course Hiruma had immediately zeroed in on the true core of the issue and hit the nail on the head. “The three of us… since we met in elementary school, it has always been us against the world. And then we met Sena and joined the Devil Bats and… For the longest time, we didn’t have any ambition beyond having a good time and trying to look cool, but now I want to be the best amefuto player I can be. For myself, for them.” He bit his lip. “But if that means being on different teams, living in different cities, I… they are my best friends; I don’t want to lose them.”
There was no retort, so he dared to look him in the eye and asked softly. “...how did it feel? Playing against Kurita-senpai?”
There was a pause, and the quarterback closed his eyes and breathed in, as if he were seeing it all playing out behind his eyelids. “Fucking exhilarating. One of the best linemen in Japan, who knows my tells and strategies… to play against him was a challenge in a way I have few times experienced. I can’t wait to see how he evolves and matures as a player so that we can face each other again next season.”
The genuine passion and admiration in his voice struck Juumonji dumb where he stood, gaping like an idiot as Hiruma’s solemn expression turned cartoonishly irritated.
“And I would fucking love to face Musashi in the same manner, if the fucking old man could get his fucking act together enough to make it in the X-League. Can’t believe that they lost with even fucking eyebrows on their team and now we have to play against fucking Panasonic in the Rice Bowl.”
“But don’t you… I mean, they are your friends.” He shook his head, crossed his arms. “Kurita-senpai lost the chance to go to the Rice Bowl to you and your team.”
For a second, he feared he would be mocked for his sentimentality; he could already see the toothy grin and the wide eyes Hiruma used to bait even the most stoic of people into a rage. Had he made a mistake in baring his insecurities to Tokyo’s devil?
“That’s right, the Enma Fires lost to the Wizards in the semifinals,” Hiruma said, looking serious once again. “Instead of fighting together towards the same goal, Kurita and I, even Musashi, now have to compete against each other to follow our dreams. You want to agonise over it? Be my fucking guest. I still feel… frustration, at not having them by my side at the Rice Bowl, but I have new teammates now, and I owe them my best performance no matter the cost. And losing now will motivate them to train more and play better next year, which makes the game all the more challenging. That’s what I love about amefuto.”
They stood there, looking at each other, and let the words settle between them. He thought this must be the most emotionally honest Hiruma had ever been with him, and it somehow made the lesson imparted all the more encouraging. The ball of anxiety that had taken root in his belly loosened a bit.
“I want that,” he said hoarsely. “I want to play with the best and be the best possible player I can be.”
“Good. Now quit your whining and fuck off with your brothers.” Hiruma waved him off, sporting a terrifying, demonic smile. “Merry fucking Christmas and all that. And if you don’t make the cut for Saikyoudai, I’ll fucking kill you!”
Juumonji couldn’t help but smile. Emotional honesty was over, apparently, but he could understand a bit of Hiruma-speak, and he wouldn’t forget his help easily. He imagined himself, as he had done so many times before, standing alongside Hiruma and Banba on Saikyoudai’s field; the negative space by his side where Kuroki and Toganou should be ached, but for once it looked bearable.
“I will make it.” The quiet conviction in his voice surprised him.
Grinning, Hiruma turned without a word and strutted to where Kurita was attempting to leave the bratwurst stall out of business, with Musashi watching on with a giant jar of beer and a grimace of admiration.
“Hiruma, look, they have curry-flavoured sausages!”
“I’m looking, I’m looking. Didn’t you want to go to that stall with wooden decorations from earlier?”
“Yes! The one with the little guys that look like you.”
“The fucking elves, yes, yes. Let’s go, then we can go for the fucking fried chicken.”
Having said their goodbyes, they went on, voices merging with the crowd’s. Juumonji watched them go, shivering slightly in the winter cold of December.
“Juumonji? You okay?”
Toganou’s voice brought him out of his reverie. He hadn’t realised his friends were standing right next to him, looking at him with matching frowns. “Yes, yes, of course. Let’s go get that Christmas cake.”
“Dude, are you sure? You’ve been acting weird for a while now.”
“And now you ask to speak with Hiruma-senpai in private? Don’t tell me you’ve pissed off some yakuza bigshot and need help!”
“Yeah, you should have come to us first! Though asking for Hiruma-senpai’s help was smart too, he is the most terrifying person in Tokyo.”
“Probably Japan!”
Juumonji shook his head with fond exasperation. “Where the hell would I have met a yakuza? We don’t get into street fights like we used to, and even then we never came across those.”
As his two dumbwitted friends began describing improbable scenarios on how he could have duelled a yakuza boss last month, nervousness gripped his sternum and he fidgeted in place. He needed to tell them. He had postponed this talk for months, too anxious and emotionally constipated to actually broach the topic that had weighed so heavily in his mind.
“I asked Hiruma-senpai about university,” he said, cutting their crazy scenarios off. He took a fortifying breath. “I… I think I will be trying for the entrance exams.”
“...yeah, duh? I’m guessing you’ve finally decided on Saikyoudai?”
“I thought you might go to Enma with Kurita-senpai, but I guess the Saikyoudai Wizards are the best.”
“They won the Koshien Bowl, we’ll see about the Rice Bowl! X-League teams are super strong; you saw how they obliterated Musashi-senpai’s team!”
“Next year might be different though! Sena is coming back, you think he’s going to Enma with Monta?”
Juumonji blinked. “Wait, you guys thought I was going to uni all along?”
Kuroki and Toganou blinked back, looked at each other, then got this irritatingly superior look on their faces. “This is what you were worrying your pretty little head over? Really, Kazu-chan… ”
“You are the only one of us smart enough to pass the university exams, yet you are so dumb.”
“So dumb!”
“Ha!?” Juumonji tried to punch Kuroki’s arm, but the bastard moved faster and pulled him into a headlock.
“Listen, idiot; we are a team, we’ll always be a team. But when it comes to amefuto, you have more potential than we do. And you have to rise to the top! Become the best lineman in Japan! And for that, you have to play on the best uni team. Who knows, maybe they’ll even scout you for an American team! Wouldn’t that be awesome?”
Juumonji stopped struggling, sagging in his best friend’s hold. “Saikyoudai is awfully far from Tokyo. And America is farther away still.”
The headlock had turned into a manly side hug, and Toganou’s hand patted his head. People in the crowd were looking at them, but they didn’t care one bit.
“Distance ain’t enough to stop us! We’ll always be friends, us three.”
“And, hey! You don’t know where we will end up! We may not be good enough to be in the NFL, but if you go there, we might follow and play in smaller leagues.”
“Yeah, don’t look down on us!”
“We are definitely not going to uni, though. More studying? I would rather do a thousand Death Marches.”
Juumonji let his hand circle Kuroki’s wrist where it hung over his shoulder, feeling his chest warm. “What will you do? You are definitely still playing, right?”
“Of course! My old man wanted me to inherit the shop, but I’ve been working there from time to time all my life and I don’t like it.”
Toganou hugged his other side, sandwiching him in their sweaty warmth. “We were speaking with Musashi-senpai just now. You know how his team barely has the minimum players, and apparently he could also use some help with his business.”
“Yeah! Moving cinderblocks or whatever construction men do. We could do that; keep us strong, no need for algebra and organic formulas and Edo periods or any of that bullshit.”
“If you join the Takekura Babels and I get into Saikyoudai, that means that if we both win our respective leagues, we would face each other in the Rice Bowl.”
“Ha? We will definitely reach the top of our league—Panasonic won’t know what hit them—and then you better bring in your A game to the Rice Bowl, bastard, or we will kick your butt!”
Kuroki and Toganou’s grins were beaming and contagious, and Juumonji was helpless to stop his own smile from spreading wide, even through the slight watering of his eyes.
“Are you going to cry?” Toganou asked, voice soft and devoid of any mockery, and Juumonji chuckled.
“Ha!? It’s just the wind, bastard.”
Kuroki crowed, lifting his fist in the air. “Good! Now let’s go get some Christmas cake!”
With their arms still around each other’s shoulders, they continued wandering around the market, enjoying their last Christmas of high school. What the future held, Juumonji didn’t know, but he no longer feared it. Whatever would come, he knew he would have Kuroki and Toganou at his side, always.
