Family Practice
Sep. 19th, 2020 12:40 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
madimpossibledreamerFollow-up to A Place for Cordelia Miyamoto.
Quick rundown: In this universe, Japan is run by the women. Miyamoto Suna is Xander, and she's a matriarch of the Miyamoto Family, or Miyamoto-gumi. The pinky thing was also referenced in Phoenix Spirit as yubitsume, and in an article about actual yakuza playing Yakuza 3 the journalist offhandedly mentioned that several of the members had issues holding the controllers. The word bokutou is preferred over bokken because it's more precise (at least, so says my research), meaning a wooden katana. Irezumi youkai are the 'tattoo-spirits' all yakuza have, and invoking one gives the colored fiery aura seen in Ryu ga Gotoku (Yakuza) games. Inoue-chan is Andrew. Ofukuro = Boss, Miyamoto's title, and Ani-san = Yakuza Husband, Cordy's title. Oh, uh, also, and I might have forgot to mention this in at least one previous fic, Suna and Sunao or Nao-kun are the same person. Miyamoto is genderfluid and simultaneously at peace with it/confident in their choices and more messed up than canon.
More author's notes: background notes
Specific fic-related Author's Notes: tbh what are titles
Like her counterpart (the one from Slayer's Mad Whelp, and possibly canon depending on how traumatic Faith was and what direction Xander's PTSD chose to take it) Suna really doesn’t like not being able to breathe. That’s on Kumai, this time.
Cordy really should’ve asked before she hugged Miyamoto at the end, but she doesn’t quite have a normal barometer for touch, particularly in Japanese society, and fortunately it’s not something that makes Suna’s particular issues worse.
Main Points:
Buffy/Yakuza AU (Bloody Petals)
Chapter Summary: Cordy and Miyamoto spar, and Miyamoto has a panic attack.
Word Count: 1863
Rating: Teen
Suna’s not taking this as seriously, with a ridiculous kawaii sushi shirt that lets her midriff peek out and jogger pants in an extreme color with something written on the side in hiragana she can’t quite make out. That in particular ticks her off—she wants her wife, at least, to take her seriously.
That being said, her expression is absolutely serious for once. “Anyone who tells Akiyama-san ‘bout all this—any’a it—is givin’ me their pinky. Don’t gotta tell y’all that’ll make participatin’ in Miyamoto-gumi game night a hell of a lot harder so don’t even think ‘bout tryin’ that shit.”
A couple of them shuffle, but all of them realize how serious this is. Miyamoto doesn’t threaten physical violence often—not to her own Family members, anyway. Sure, she’ll fight them, sometimes, to get them to calm down, but for all she knows it’s about what they talked about. Control might be harder for some of them than for others. Spiritual pain, either from ancient tools handed down or from the healers every Family has on retainer, is the preferred method. Pinkies or cigarette burns mean she’s utterly serious, though in many cases it seems like the thought of disappointing the Matriarch is worse, for this weird Family.
“Yes, Ofukuro!” they all yell in unison, bowing, and it looks like the spreading ripple on a pond.
“I’ll let ya get in the first hit.” Suna smiles provokingly at her, standing nonchalantly, and that gets Cordy’s hackles raised. She charges, fist raised, and Suna sidesteps. She catches only a glimpse, but it changes everything. There’s a calculating, careful look in Miyamoto’s eye. She doesn’t look like she’s taking this as a joke. She’s actually treating her with respect, just like she had in the fight the day before—with unknown powers, at least, she likes to let the opponent make the move and reveal a little about how their power works first. Well, then. Time to get creative.
Various weapons have been left around for their use, including what she suspects to be Suna’s third favorite bat, but there’s also a wooden sword—a bokken, or is it bokutou?—on the ground. She ducks under the probing hit like she’s playing limbo, sliding just a little to grab the sword and come back to standing. She expects to have to dodge another attack as she turns, balancing the sword against her back like she sees them do, but as she turns she finds Suna staring at her, slack-jawed. “What? I watched your girls training. I was paying attention.”
“That is incredible.” Miyamoto sounds vaguely breathless. The look on Suna’s face makes her feel like she had when she’d first danced with Nao-kun all over again.
“It’s pretty easy, actually,” she responds, showing off, and has to sidestep the rush with the dagger, teeth bared and expression intense. She says she worked it off, but she hadn’t been expecting this, apparently. Cordy feels the rush of wind past her side. That was close.
She could manipulate Miyamoto’s aura again, or that of her weapon. But that won’t achieve what she needs. She focuses on herself, instead, pulling the most out of her own body and her bokken. She hears the gasps and knows what they’re seeing. Gold spiritual flames, coming off both body and weapon. Very similar to invoking or drawing on an irezumi, only she is drawing on her own soul’s power, not that of an outside source. While she’s at it, she swings the wooden sword down into an arc that smacks Suna’s legs hard enough she’ll definitely bruise. Miyamoto backs away slowly, rubbing at the spot and grinning a manic, slow smile. Suna just starts circling slowly, predatory light in her eye. She tries something else that she’d used before, only it’s not going to be as effective as then because she’s being just a little bit careful. She cares whether Inoue-chan who always makes her delicious food and has delighted at flexing her foreign cooking muscles and Fuyuki-chan who had included her in a snowball fight and Ayako-chan who had entertained her by being a complete goofball survive. And, of course, her wife, and all the ones she didn’t know well enough yet. It’s not like before, with the lecherous man who would have gone after her if not for her father’s “protection”, the woman who would punish her cheerfully in the name of a fake god, the one who would stand and watch and do nothing as her father demanded the women of the cult, the woman who suggested that once she came of age she would “become one” with the cult.
She reaches out and feels the auras of the people around her, so many it’s a strain to reach out. Fortunately, she doesn’t have to do so for long, opting to just mentally reach and yank. Distantly she hears several of them crash to the ground. The sudden influx of energy is a rush but if she doesn’t ride the wave she’s going to go under. The best thing to do with it is release it in one big explosion. Which she does.
There are more crashes, and she opens her eyes to see Suna propping herself up with a hand. As usual when she’s been pushing herself too much her vision keeps flickering between normal vision and a colorful vision, just seeing the auras with different intensities. Miyamoto definitely seems dazed, but that manic grin has only grown.
She’s obviously still a little off-balance but she still darts in, a little unsteady on her feet. She’s gone from feral to semi-feral and seeming half-drunk. But then, there’s something else: she has yet to draw on or invoke her irezumi. Cordy manages a few hits and only gets a few shallow blows that will bruise when she doesn’t manage to dodge completely, but the usual advantages of weapon reach don’t seem to apply. Suna seems to flow smoothly around her hits—for the most part—though Cordy gets a few hits of her own.
Suna won’t stop trying to bite her arm, so she pulls her wife into a choke hold, and Miyamoto goes berserk, kicking and biting and hitting and laughing madly and stabbing wildly with the dagger. Cordy pushes her away, stumbling back herself, and Suna faces her, eye murderous and breathing hard. She really feels in danger at this point, and all of the Family sound like they’re holding their breaths.
Miyamoto’s eye suddenly goes wide and unseeing and the tantou clatters onto the ground. She falls, like a puppet with her strings cut, and Cordy cries out in wordless alarm and runs to her wife’s side. Some of the other Family members yell a warning, but she doesn’t pause. Suna doesn’t have the dagger in her hand anymore, and even if she could at a single thought, that’ll just be a little temporary pain. She can’t just stand here and listen to the goofy geek she spent forever just talking to and the vibrant, intense, confident woman she wants to be sob loudly and brokenly on the ground. She pulls Suna into her arms, waiting for the sting of a blade that never comes. Cordy tries to send out soothing waves with her aura, ones that say Breathe; I’m here; it’s all right; you’re safe. It’s hard, given that she’s barely felt that in her life before and doesn’t always recognize it when she sees it, but she does her best, and the crying slowly eases to hiccups that would be funny if they weren’t so heart-wrenching.
“I ain’t ever safe,” Suna mutters into her collarbone, and movement out of the corner of her eyes draws her sight. All of the women are now facing away, standing at attention. That might be their way of saying they’re not paying attention. “In the Yakuza, showin’ yer belly…ain’t askin’ fer anythin’ but t’ get bit.” Suna’s still crying.
Cordy can’t help but whisper. She knows it’s just the illusion of privacy, and she hasn’t dared to admit this out loud or even to herself, despite the fact that all she’s had to do is research things online and watch Miyamoto’s extensive video collection—which had been a wonderful new adventure, for a while. “You think I don’t have PTSD from being in a cult?” She doesn’t know for sure, given that she hasn’t been to a psychologist, and she suspects Miyamoto has it too. She’s been researching, trying to figure out how to deal with her issues without being a burden, but now she thinks that maybe, she wouldn’t have been a burden. Maybe they should’ve talked about this, and they’d have both had longer to work on their issues together. “But we’re married, so we’re supposed to support each other, right? We can help each other, and when it comes to the world outside, watch out!” That at least gets her to smile through the tears trickling down her face. Good. “Miyamoto-gumi, what do you have to say?” she asks, raising her voice, and they answer in unison.
“We haven’t seen or heard anything, ma’am!”
It’s sweet. Even more so given Miyamoto’s wide, shocked eye. She’s not used to this either.
“I want to keep my pinky, Ofukuro and Ani-san! I like game nights!” Aoki-chan adds, and there are a few chuckles from the others who are clearly not facing them, murmurs of agreement and gentle ribbing as well.
Suna’s feeling good enough to stand, now, even if she is a bit wobbly when she tries and holds out her hand, and another thought occurs to her—that they ignore her other eccentricities, and if she does indeed have PTSD she’s probably done this before in their presence and they just ignore it.
“I’m such a proud father,” she says out loud, because they get joking around (which is a thing she still has to work on) and she has to vocalize how much she loves this Family somehow right now.
And if some of the Miyamoto-gumi’s eyes aren’t dry when they pass, well, no need to remark on it, right?
Quick rundown: In this universe, Japan is run by the women. Miyamoto Suna is Xander, and she's a matriarch of the Miyamoto Family, or Miyamoto-gumi. The pinky thing was also referenced in Phoenix Spirit as yubitsume, and in an article about actual yakuza playing Yakuza 3 the journalist offhandedly mentioned that several of the members had issues holding the controllers. The word bokutou is preferred over bokken because it's more precise (at least, so says my research), meaning a wooden katana. Irezumi youkai are the 'tattoo-spirits' all yakuza have, and invoking one gives the colored fiery aura seen in Ryu ga Gotoku (Yakuza) games. Inoue-chan is Andrew. Ofukuro = Boss, Miyamoto's title, and Ani-san = Yakuza Husband, Cordy's title. Oh, uh, also, and I might have forgot to mention this in at least one previous fic, Suna and Sunao or Nao-kun are the same person. Miyamoto is genderfluid and simultaneously at peace with it/confident in their choices and more messed up than canon.
More author's notes: background notes
Specific fic-related Author's Notes: tbh what are titles
Like her counterpart (the one from Slayer's Mad Whelp, and possibly canon depending on how traumatic Faith was and what direction Xander's PTSD chose to take it) Suna really doesn’t like not being able to breathe. That’s on Kumai, this time.
Cordy really should’ve asked before she hugged Miyamoto at the end, but she doesn’t quite have a normal barometer for touch, particularly in Japanese society, and fortunately it’s not something that makes Suna’s particular issues worse.
Main Points:
Buffy/Yakuza AU (Bloody Petals)
Chapter Summary: Cordy and Miyamoto spar, and Miyamoto has a panic attack.
Word Count: 1863
Rating: Teen
The last time she’d had a wall of Miyamoto-gumi surrounding her, they had been standing in the way of the Chase Cult, ready to fight them all if they had to. She’d probably cried at the time, touched by the loyalty they’d shown. No one had ever had the courage to stand against them, not for her, not even in the smallest of ways. It was unthinkable. Even if it was selfish, just like her tricking Miyamoto into marriage was selfish, and Miyamoto accepting that for some kind of prestige in her Clan was selfish, their good deeds aren’t limited by their selfishness, either. People can have more than one reason for an action. This time, there’s a palpable air of excitement. Even the most gentle member of the Miyamoto Family has a sadistic streak, and they’re excited about a fight with an unknown participant. She’d be upset by the idea they’re probably placing bets, except they tend to place bets on everything and she’s not even surprised at this point.
Suna’s not taking this as seriously, with a ridiculous kawaii sushi shirt that lets her midriff peek out and jogger pants in an extreme color with something written on the side in hiragana she can’t quite make out. That in particular ticks her off—she wants her wife, at least, to take her seriously.
That being said, her expression is absolutely serious for once. “Anyone who tells Akiyama-san ‘bout all this—any’a it—is givin’ me their pinky. Don’t gotta tell y’all that’ll make participatin’ in Miyamoto-gumi game night a hell of a lot harder so don’t even think ‘bout tryin’ that shit.”
A couple of them shuffle, but all of them realize how serious this is. Miyamoto doesn’t threaten physical violence often—not to her own Family members, anyway. Sure, she’ll fight them, sometimes, to get them to calm down, but for all she knows it’s about what they talked about. Control might be harder for some of them than for others. Spiritual pain, either from ancient tools handed down or from the healers every Family has on retainer, is the preferred method. Pinkies or cigarette burns mean she’s utterly serious, though in many cases it seems like the thought of disappointing the Matriarch is worse, for this weird Family.
“Yes, Ofukuro!” they all yell in unison, bowing, and it looks like the spreading ripple on a pond.
“I’ll let ya get in the first hit.” Suna smiles provokingly at her, standing nonchalantly, and that gets Cordy’s hackles raised. She charges, fist raised, and Suna sidesteps. She catches only a glimpse, but it changes everything. There’s a calculating, careful look in Miyamoto’s eye. She doesn’t look like she’s taking this as a joke. She’s actually treating her with respect, just like she had in the fight the day before—with unknown powers, at least, she likes to let the opponent make the move and reveal a little about how their power works first. Well, then. Time to get creative.
Various weapons have been left around for their use, including what she suspects to be Suna’s third favorite bat, but there’s also a wooden sword—a bokken, or is it bokutou?—on the ground. She ducks under the probing hit like she’s playing limbo, sliding just a little to grab the sword and come back to standing. She expects to have to dodge another attack as she turns, balancing the sword against her back like she sees them do, but as she turns she finds Suna staring at her, slack-jawed. “What? I watched your girls training. I was paying attention.”
“That is incredible.” Miyamoto sounds vaguely breathless. The look on Suna’s face makes her feel like she had when she’d first danced with Nao-kun all over again.
“It’s pretty easy, actually,” she responds, showing off, and has to sidestep the rush with the dagger, teeth bared and expression intense. She says she worked it off, but she hadn’t been expecting this, apparently. Cordy feels the rush of wind past her side. That was close.
She could manipulate Miyamoto’s aura again, or that of her weapon. But that won’t achieve what she needs. She focuses on herself, instead, pulling the most out of her own body and her bokken. She hears the gasps and knows what they’re seeing. Gold spiritual flames, coming off both body and weapon. Very similar to invoking or drawing on an irezumi, only she is drawing on her own soul’s power, not that of an outside source. While she’s at it, she swings the wooden sword down into an arc that smacks Suna’s legs hard enough she’ll definitely bruise. Miyamoto backs away slowly, rubbing at the spot and grinning a manic, slow smile. Suna just starts circling slowly, predatory light in her eye. She tries something else that she’d used before, only it’s not going to be as effective as then because she’s being just a little bit careful. She cares whether Inoue-chan who always makes her delicious food and has delighted at flexing her foreign cooking muscles and Fuyuki-chan who had included her in a snowball fight and Ayako-chan who had entertained her by being a complete goofball survive. And, of course, her wife, and all the ones she didn’t know well enough yet. It’s not like before, with the lecherous man who would have gone after her if not for her father’s “protection”, the woman who would punish her cheerfully in the name of a fake god, the one who would stand and watch and do nothing as her father demanded the women of the cult, the woman who suggested that once she came of age she would “become one” with the cult.
She reaches out and feels the auras of the people around her, so many it’s a strain to reach out. Fortunately, she doesn’t have to do so for long, opting to just mentally reach and yank. Distantly she hears several of them crash to the ground. The sudden influx of energy is a rush but if she doesn’t ride the wave she’s going to go under. The best thing to do with it is release it in one big explosion. Which she does.
There are more crashes, and she opens her eyes to see Suna propping herself up with a hand. As usual when she’s been pushing herself too much her vision keeps flickering between normal vision and a colorful vision, just seeing the auras with different intensities. Miyamoto definitely seems dazed, but that manic grin has only grown.
She’s obviously still a little off-balance but she still darts in, a little unsteady on her feet. She’s gone from feral to semi-feral and seeming half-drunk. But then, there’s something else: she has yet to draw on or invoke her irezumi. Cordy manages a few hits and only gets a few shallow blows that will bruise when she doesn’t manage to dodge completely, but the usual advantages of weapon reach don’t seem to apply. Suna seems to flow smoothly around her hits—for the most part—though Cordy gets a few hits of her own.
Suna won’t stop trying to bite her arm, so she pulls her wife into a choke hold, and Miyamoto goes berserk, kicking and biting and hitting and laughing madly and stabbing wildly with the dagger. Cordy pushes her away, stumbling back herself, and Suna faces her, eye murderous and breathing hard. She really feels in danger at this point, and all of the Family sound like they’re holding their breaths.
Miyamoto’s eye suddenly goes wide and unseeing and the tantou clatters onto the ground. She falls, like a puppet with her strings cut, and Cordy cries out in wordless alarm and runs to her wife’s side. Some of the other Family members yell a warning, but she doesn’t pause. Suna doesn’t have the dagger in her hand anymore, and even if she could at a single thought, that’ll just be a little temporary pain. She can’t just stand here and listen to the goofy geek she spent forever just talking to and the vibrant, intense, confident woman she wants to be sob loudly and brokenly on the ground. She pulls Suna into her arms, waiting for the sting of a blade that never comes. Cordy tries to send out soothing waves with her aura, ones that say Breathe; I’m here; it’s all right; you’re safe. It’s hard, given that she’s barely felt that in her life before and doesn’t always recognize it when she sees it, but she does her best, and the crying slowly eases to hiccups that would be funny if they weren’t so heart-wrenching.
“I ain’t ever safe,” Suna mutters into her collarbone, and movement out of the corner of her eyes draws her sight. All of the women are now facing away, standing at attention. That might be their way of saying they’re not paying attention. “In the Yakuza, showin’ yer belly…ain’t askin’ fer anythin’ but t’ get bit.” Suna’s still crying.
Cordy can’t help but whisper. She knows it’s just the illusion of privacy, and she hasn’t dared to admit this out loud or even to herself, despite the fact that all she’s had to do is research things online and watch Miyamoto’s extensive video collection—which had been a wonderful new adventure, for a while. “You think I don’t have PTSD from being in a cult?” She doesn’t know for sure, given that she hasn’t been to a psychologist, and she suspects Miyamoto has it too. She’s been researching, trying to figure out how to deal with her issues without being a burden, but now she thinks that maybe, she wouldn’t have been a burden. Maybe they should’ve talked about this, and they’d have both had longer to work on their issues together. “But we’re married, so we’re supposed to support each other, right? We can help each other, and when it comes to the world outside, watch out!” That at least gets her to smile through the tears trickling down her face. Good. “Miyamoto-gumi, what do you have to say?” she asks, raising her voice, and they answer in unison.
“We haven’t seen or heard anything, ma’am!”
It’s sweet. Even more so given Miyamoto’s wide, shocked eye. She’s not used to this either.
“I want to keep my pinky, Ofukuro and Ani-san! I like game nights!” Aoki-chan adds, and there are a few chuckles from the others who are clearly not facing them, murmurs of agreement and gentle ribbing as well.
Suna’s feeling good enough to stand, now, even if she is a bit wobbly when she tries and holds out her hand, and another thought occurs to her—that they ignore her other eccentricities, and if she does indeed have PTSD she’s probably done this before in their presence and they just ignore it.
“I’m such a proud father,” she says out loud, because they get joking around (which is a thing she still has to work on) and she has to vocalize how much she loves this Family somehow right now.
And if some of the Miyamoto-gumi’s eyes aren’t dry when they pass, well, no need to remark on it, right?
