Reposted by 📚🖋️Leblanc’s Lending Library: a Shuakeshu Anthology
Very excited to share this snippet for @shuakeshuwritezine.bsky.social :3
Did you know that the Japanese name for the Thieves' Den is "My Palace" (マイパラス)? What an absolute gift to everyone who enjoys making Joker have a terrible time inside his own head
![Fic by:
Corone
Spot Art by:
Kaetor
[Leblanc's Lending Library Logo]
Wordlessly, Akira places the mug of coffee, a glass of water, and an ibuprofen tablet on the table in front of Akechi. He dry swallows the tablet, seemingly not even registering the glass of water, then picks up the coffee. Akira backs off, leaning up against the counter, giving Akechi as much space as he can without leaving his apartment, because running away is the only idea worse than every idea he had last night.
It takes several minutes before Akechi says anything. Akira tries to make himself busy, to look like he's not thinking about changing his name and leaving the country. When Akechi does speak, he jumps.
"So," Akechi says, voice a little scratchy, eyes still squinted, "are we going to talk about it?"
Akira stares at the kitchen sink rather than meet Akechi's eyes. "We don't have to."
"Yes, we do," Akechi snaps, rubbing his temples. "Everyone saw."
Akira wants to scream. Akechi's right, of course. He already knows that. So instead of letting his feelings out, he schools his face into a carefully neutral expression and turns around.
How much do you remember?" Akechi also isn't looking at Akira. "Clearly you remember some it, but…"
Akira sighs. "Well..."
[Kaetor’s art shows a very disgruntled Goro, complete with messy hair and rumpled clothes.]](https://cdn.bsky.app/img/feed_thumbnail/plain/did:plc:ojrpnyf372obt5wv2tkdfnyg/bafkreidtkb5e2zyme73fudo22o24vg5usp32byo3b5c3o444iboggllkre)
![Fic by:
Kitty
Spot Art by:
Biip (Biipbop)
[Leblanc's Lending Library Logo]
Akechi gave him a withering look. "I seem to remember telling you I'm a terrible cook."
"I just need an extra set of hands. Butchering will keep me busy," Akira said, breezing past him to get the fish out of the fridge. He'd caught both the akamutsu and kinmedai himself, because it'd felt important to make this dinner something purely his to offer. He'd broken down the kinmedai the same day he'd reeled it in from the cold deep, but the akamutsu was still shining and whole.
They were similar, these two fish. Both red on the outside with fatty white flesh within, wide-eyed from life in the dark. The akamutsu's fangs and red eyes reminded Akira of his rival. It was tastier—oily and fragrant from the moment a knife slid into its belly. The kinmedai had to eat itself first, decomposing into something almost sweet.
Real chefs called it aging, but Akira understood the power of controlled ruin.
[Biip’s art shows Akechi packaged between fish, covered in plastic wrap. A sticker with the date of 2016.11.20 covers his eyes. Akira’s hand is holding the package, and his fingernails are painted black.]](https://cdn.bsky.app/img/feed_thumbnail/plain/did:plc:ojrpnyf372obt5wv2tkdfnyg/bafkreia4bfewflds7otwqfgemfjscrldrpoueb2ysffwtpn743zaoyk4vi)
![Fic by:
Ace Swervey
Spot Art by:
Sniper
[Leblanc's Lending Library Logo]
Kicking his legs grew impossible. Even digging his heels into the dirt-pounded ground and driving his hips up to jostle the fighter wasn't working.
YOU BETTER NOT, Loki warned.
NO CHOICE, an animal part of his mind growled. DYING.
An erratic buzzing filled Goro's head. Fangs pricked his gums. Loki's Blessing—a screeching death knell to any victim—consumed him.
DAMN YOU, CROW.
Goro howled as he became chaos incarnate. The fists around his throat faltered. Rage and insanity coiled in rueful tendrils, and its new found desperation aided Goro in dislodging the fighter's grip.
The fighter went sprawling, clutching his gut, and Goro coughed and retched. With a bone-deep inhale, Goro dragged his long-sword's tip along the ground, drawing grooves that inevitably connected the fresh drops of blood preceding it. He knew he was a hellish sight when he invoked Loki's Blessing on himself; hunched like a feral animal, snapping his bloodied jaw. Warmth rolled down his neck, his eyes stung, and thick blood bubbled down his chin.
"Fucking hells," the fighter whimpered.
Goro's voice came out in a monstrous, blood-wet growl.
"Huge mistake."
[Sniper’s art shows Goro in his champion attire stalking menacingly forward with his posture tilted, wrapped in shadows. He’s wearing a wicked grin behind his mask.]](https://cdn.bsky.app/img/feed_thumbnail/plain/did:plc:ojrpnyf372obt5wv2tkdfnyg/bafkreicbtrsfvzlauj4vuugrbuwedj3wmi473ktq3ziukjbdsgylw4cnxi)
![Fic by:
Stealth Noodle
Spot Art by:
Vin
[Leblanc's Lending Library Logo]
There are no weapons in the vending machine; Ren double-checked. Before Akechi can aim his final shot, Ren strides over to the board, plucks out the two darts in the center, turns around, and splays his right hand over the space they occupied, palm facing out. He angles his fingers to frame the narrow arc of the triple twenty. Akechi meets his gaze without blinking.
"Throw another bullseye," he says. "I dare you."
An unpleasant smile twists Akechi's mouth. Poison-sweet, he says, "As you wish," lines up his shot, and doesn't even hesitate before snapping his wrist.
Ren doesn't finch. He doesn't have time to before he hears the meaty thunk of the dart piercing the board through his flesh. The pain hits a split-second later, incandescent and disorienting. It should be enough to shunt him out of mind and back into reality, especially when his muscles spasm around the wound, letting blood leak out around the metal. Instead he's pinned inside his own mind like a dying bug.
[Vin’s art shows Ren standing beside the dart board, his arm outstretched and hand splayed over the bullseye. Akechi is watching him.]](https://cdn.bsky.app/img/feed_thumbnail/plain/did:plc:ojrpnyf372obt5wv2tkdfnyg/bafkreibamczzeifmlt4eogzytvfkmfw3b5pchwgaxvb5g2775vky7cbeea)
![Fic by:
munchmuffins
Spot Art by:
waipurglsnacht
[Leblanc's Lending Library Logo]
So he's an orphan, too. What a twist of fate, for them to meet like this. An ugly mirror to see how Akechi would've turned out if he wasn't raised on holy ground. What an awful life he would've had: scrounging for scraps and forced to commit crime to survive? He would never deign to live so dreadfully.
"In that case, I'll spend some of your pay for your food right now. You'll get the rest of it once l arrive at the cathedral. Sound fair?”
Akira doesn't say anything for a while. Akechi would've taken that as his refusal, but then he blurts out: "They serve pretty good curry here."
He's an oddball, that's for sure. "We'll get that one for you, then," he says before flagging down a servant who quickly takes down the order and scurries to the kitchen. A fresh plate of rice curry lands on their table almost immediately, the aroma so tantalizing that Akechi has to bite some of his bread to not give in while Akira feeds himself a spoonful of his meal.
[waipurglsnacht’s art shows Akechi dressed in priest’s garb and Akira dressed more roguishly with their dinner of bread and curry.]](https://cdn.bsky.app/img/feed_thumbnail/plain/did:plc:ojrpnyf372obt5wv2tkdfnyg/bafkreieu57qv52i3xzqjsraehxjl7cm3ug3idmwna3lsiko3aj4aqeufsu)
![Fic By
Zoe
Spot Art By
MK真理
[Leblanc's Lending Library Logo]
It's after midnight. The snow has long melted off of Amamiya's black trench coat as the Jazz Jin swells with toasted clove. Lithe yet fit, Amamiya fills it and his plaid pants seamlessly. To the soothing bassoon and fingers frolicking on piano keys, Goro drinks it all in. Of course this would-be corpse would prompt the most engaging night he's had in years. Every cell in his body is screaming at him yet there he is, rooted to his seat drunk on gin and laughter, enjoying the company of his most dangerous liability.
Goro tilts a tooth pick. He should gouge Joker's eye out with it. Pinch the optic nerve clean until blood rivers down polished wood. Instead, he pays the tab and swallows Joker's coffee liqueur-favoured laughter until his back hits the sheets.
Maybe it's the impermanence. The knowledge that like himself, these nights can never matter. Warmth is warmth no matter how fleeting and Joker's flesh burns hotter than brandy ever could. In it, Goro vanishes into the only prison that comforts him.
Amamiya smiles like a man unaware that he'd be dead in a week.
Goro smiles back.
Lucky him.
[MK真理’s art shows Amamiya and Goro at the bar with their drinks and Amamiya taking notes. He’s smiling at Goro, and Goro seems uncertain.]](https://cdn.bsky.app/img/feed_thumbnail/plain/did:plc:ojrpnyf372obt5wv2tkdfnyg/bafkreidh7hnrfilmoj6ygeq5jotutdf47bydz433s33wh4q777nxxl5mfy)
![Fic By
Kimmi
Spot Art By
Scarysu
[Leblanc's Lending Library Logo]
The quietness in the kitchen was blissful and so was Amamiya's visage, wearing a satin geometric button-up and handkerchief, his hair neatly styled with gel. Haru had asked him to dress formally for the event. His uniform suited him, but he was a sight to take in when he put in the effort.
"Some peace and quiet," Goro said instead. "And maybe one of those." He pointed at the tray Amamiya was holding.
Amamiya chuckled.
"Take a seat." He offered the barstool with a hand, and placed two drinks on the counter. "I'll be back in a minute.
“Keep one of these for me, pretty please?"
"Drinking on the job is very unprofessional, Amamiya."
"I'm too tired to care, boss."
True to his word, after quickly offloading the drink tray to one of the waiters, Amamiya sauntered back into the kitchen, gleefully taking the stool next to Goro and gulping down the drink in one go.
Goro would spend the next couple of hours like that: sat in that precarious stool, chatting with Amamiya whenever he'd come back to the kitchen while they shared stolen drinks.
"For how much longer do you think the party will go?"
Amamiya asked a few hours into their secret rendezvous, eagerly taking the cup of whiskey Goro poured and offered.
"I don't know," Goro sighed, spinning the ice in his cup.
The two of them perched on a nearby countertop, side by side, the edge of their hips millimeters away from touching. "It's not up to me."](https://cdn.bsky.app/img/feed_thumbnail/plain/did:plc:ojrpnyf372obt5wv2tkdfnyg/bafkreifrebmzfoxcui6oukt4j3pywbstylnebdxfd7osid7ske57wiwjiq)
![Fic By
Convocated
Spot Art By
Minkidoodles
[Leblanc's Lending Library Logo]
He's been standing at the bar for nearly six minutes, ignored. Goro's used to it. Nearly four years like this, and he can't make himself want to be needed again.
"Can I get a drink?" he asks, loudly.
A bartender startles, like he's only now seeing him. "I'm so sorry sir, your first drink's on us."
Goro nods. "I'll take your recommendation."
"Of course"
Back on the floor, waiters serve with familiar, glowing smiles. They would sooner collapse than let them drop a watt. He forgot how much he despises this shit, as he spots two arguing staff.
One clinging to the other's elbow, and— The realization hits him like a gunshot.
Black hair, storm-cloud eyes, and a slash-mark smirk he last saw three years, nine months and fifteen days ago.
[Minkidoodles' art: Goro Akechi, years older, holding his drink as he looks across the crowded room to see an older Akira Kurusu, dressed as a waiter, with his arm hooked around another waiter's shoulder and smiling.]
A hot hole in his chest, the cold bulkhead door at his back. It burns like yesterday. The longer he stares, the stronger the feeling, the louder the repeating word in his head.
Like a kick-drum, repeating over and over: fuck.
It's Joker.](https://cdn.bsky.app/img/feed_thumbnail/plain/did:plc:ojrpnyf372obt5wv2tkdfnyg/bafkreidj6n3mau7qigjvusi75anxngp27vfaazro3rxbfoqdkqtpicmlrq)
