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gallusrostromegalus · 2 days

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Hi, I was re-reading the AEIWAM tag and was wondering how exactly Aizen manages to kill Genkai? She seems one of the most put-together Kenpachi's and Aizen is well Aizen? Did he do it himself or were the curse nails involved?

Kenpachi Genkai has a Lieutenant named Gosuke Kiganjo.

She's fond of Gosuke. He's a quick-witted man with a delightfully jaded opinion of humanity, in contrast to young wife Kakiyo, who has such a resolute sense of Justice she can sometimes make the elderly captain almost believe in the inherent goodness of humanity again. They make a splendid couple, her willingness to do the hard work of improving lives pairs well with his pragmatism and sense of efficiency.

Genkai enjoys their company- it's a terrible thing to be Old, but worse to be Old and Lonely, so she allows them to have her over. She and Kakiyo debate the practicality of the young woman's latest scheme to improve life in the Rukongai while Gosuke cooks. Genkai is sure Yamamoto's decision to transfer Kakiyo as a seated officer in the 4th to lieutenant of the 5th Division under Captain Hirako is not just balancing Shinji's tendency to procrastinate on his work and take inadvisable shortcuts. Yamamoto plans to have her run the 5th someday, and Genkai agrees with the choice.

Oftentimes Kakiyo and Gosuke's friend Sosuke Aizen is there too. He's an agreeable young man, if somewhat forgettable. He has a good memory though, and generous- he always brings fresh produce for Gosuke to make dinner with, and always remembers Genkai's fondness for Garlic Greens.

(continued under the cut)

Gosuke missed his calling as a housewife, Genkai thinks, with no small appreciation of the work that goes into running a house. But he is a splendid cook, and she enjoys many dinners with the couple and their friends.

But she is old. She feels it in her heart- not emotionally, she's not sentimental, but she feels it in the way her heart skips and thuds and the sharp pains in her chest. "Cardiac Arrhythmia" Unohana says. Her heart is failing, falling out of sync, and someday, she'll have a massive heart attack if she's not killed in the traditional way Kenpachis are.

Unohana offers her treatment- Foxglove, deadly to eat a leaf, but diluted into Digitoxin pills, it steadies her heart a bit. She takes the pills with some reluctance- when she remembers to. The duties of a captain are many and more complex than ever, and again, she allows Gosuke to do her a favor- He remembers her medication schedule, and puts the pills next to every meal he cooks for her- almost all of them these days.

...But eventually, the inevitable happens, and three months after her diagnosis, Ninth Kenpachi Genkai dies of a massive heart attack in her sleep after dinner at Gosuke and Kakiyo's home.

When Retsu Unohana does her autopsy of Genkai, something seems amiss- the damage to Genkai's heart is much more advanced than Unohana had expected from her exam less than twelve weeks ago. She should have known- Genkai wouldn't splint broken bones half the time, preferring to rely on her body to heal, and underestimating what she was borrowing from the future.

Unohana rules her Cause Of Death as "Heart Failure", and can only assume that Genkai had not benefited from what little of the Digitoxin she managed to take.

---

A week later, Kiganjo is promoted to Captain of the 11th, and according with tradition, forgoes his given name to assume the Title and mantle of the office.

Now-Kenpachi Kiganjo is somewhat overwhelmed by his new duties, as well as wracked with grief. He cannot bear to clean out his beloved Captain's quarters. Kakiyo grieves differently- the physical work and care she can give to the former captain's belongings will ease the emotional pain, so she offers to clean out the captain's quarters for him.

She is still friends with her colleagues in the fourth, especially Unohana, and as a Lieutenant she's entitled to see the results of the Autopsy. Its puzzling, Unohana's statement that she must not have taken her medication- she watched Gos- her husband put her pills on the tray of every meal he cooked for her in the last twelve weeks. Was she just throwing them away?

It's even more confusing when the clean-out fails to turn up a single pill. She should have found some in the trash or swept under the furniture, right? Maybe it had all been taken out.

That night, she's home alone. Go- her husband is working late while he catches up on the job. She opens the pantry and glares at it- part of the reason she married him was that he was such a good cook. She never got the hang of it, that was always Kaname's chore growing up. Ugh. It's been a long and emotional day and she's got a headache-

She opens the medicine cabinet in search of the aspirin, and is confronted with the Perscription Bottle of Digitoxin. That must be where he was storing it while he cooked for Genkai. Best remove it before he gets back and is reminded- she thinks as she picks the bottle up.

It's full. In fact. It's completely unopened. ...And the pills look nothing like the ones G- Her Husband had been putting on Genkai's tray.

She stands there. Trying to make sense of it. Was this a second bottle? Prescriptions came in three-month supplies, maybe he had just finished out the first bottle when she died, and this would have been her next bottle of medication? She goes to check the date-

"Anyone home?" 5th Division third seat Aizen calls out.

"MOTHER FUCK- I'm sorry, I'm so sorry Aizen- You startled me and it's- it's- Oh God, I miss her so much!" Kakiyo sobs, and Aizen appears at her side, a comforting shoulder to cry on.

He escorts her to the living room and lets her sob while he gets the kitchen in order and cooks- He used to be a confectioner before he was a Shinigami and he makes a good fried rice too. He tells her stories about the candy business and childhood chicanery he got up to with his brother back in West 43 until-

-She almost doesn't recognize the man as her husband at first. Something is wrong with his posture, stooped and sluggish, and grimacing where there should be a grin. But the tenth Kenpachi comes and embraces his wife, and- it's alright. He's still her husband, and she lets him carry her to bed.

When she wakes up late the next morning, she stumbles into the bathroom and squints at the counter- There was something in here she needed to ask her husband about- Something about? Ugh. She can't remember. She feels hungover, and whatever it was is gone now.

---

On his way back to the 5th, Sosuke Aizen stops on the bridge over the canal, looks around to make sure he is alone, and dumps the bottle of digitoxin pills into the canal. He tears off the label from the bottle, tears it up, takes a look around for witnesses again, and throws the bottle and torn label into the trash-filled canal.

Lily of the Valley is the token flower of the 5th division, a symbol of Purity and Innocence. It's also quite poisonous- all parts of the plant are toxic, and will cause cardiac problems in high enough or continuous doses. Foragers must be very careful to not mistake the leaves for wild garlic greens- they look extremely similar. Lily Of The Valley has not much flavor, so a few leaves might not be noticed in a whole bunch, especially if they're all cooked in the same dish together.

Eating a bit won't kill, but one leaf in a bunch a few times a week could prove fatal in a few short months. Especially if the person is prevented from taking Digitoxin to counteract the effects.

He nearly had a heart attack himself when he saw the bottle on the bathroom counter, but with Kakiyo so tired already, it wasn't hard to weave Suigetsu's illusions around her, cutting off her memory of the bottle, and the autopsy report.

He'll have to talk to his co-conspirator about these slip-ups. His wife is quite observant, and it would be a shame if the lovely Kakiyo had to be dealt with as well. At least, before she has been of more use to Aizen. His plan demands that he eventually control the Fifth division, and the fact she outranks him is... inconvenient.

---

About a week later, Head Librarian of the West 51 District Library Kaname Tousen receives a letter from his sister Kakiyo in the Seireitei. She writes (Or rather, she has carefully dented the Vellum with Braille, the thin calfskin holds the marks better through the mail) about the sudden decline and death of their good friend Genkai, and how profoundly the loss has effected his brother-in-law. She doesn't actually use the name "Gosuke" anywhere in the letter, only referring to him as "My husband".

Kaname is saddened as he reads, but then he worries, as she writes about how stressed she's been- strange lapses in memory, paperwork mislaid- thank goodness third seat Aizen had found and filed that report for her. How distant and humorless her husband has been- coming home late and reeking of alcohol even! She has the terrible feeling that there is something wrong, even more than her friend's sudden and saddening death. Something is terribly, terribly wrong, but she can't imagine what it is.

...Maybe it's just the grief. I keep seeing conspiracies in coincidences, jumping at shadows- but there's nothing there.

I know you've got the summer reading program, and I can't take enough time to travel out there right now- write back soon? Tell me about the summer students and the state of the town, how you and Sajin are. You have a gentleness with your words I could use right now.

All my love,

Kakiyo

#Bleach #bleach fanfiction #AEIWAM #An Elephant Is Warm And Mushy #Kaname Tousen #aizen sosuke #long post under the cut #cw: fictional murder

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calypsocolada · 8 months

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KISS | denji

(click here for part two!)

synopsis: afraid for your life you promise a kiss to a devil. cw: aged up characters, blood, kissing, fluff, cussing wc: 2.7k

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Honestly, what were you thinking? Denji is a single minded person. If there is a goal in his head he will do just about anything to get to that goal. That goal being various things to do with girls. You knew better than to ask him for anything, let alone promise him something. That something being a kiss.

Just a kiss.

Something spoken in the heat of the moment. Your back against the wall, death knocking on your doorstep. It was stupid really. A devil got the better of you. Most days you were quite proficient in a fight. But after a late night of drinking with friends, woken early and thrown into a fight you didn’t exactly have the best chances. Blame it on the throbbing hangover or just your survival instinct kicking in but you made the stupid decision to promise that if Denji got you out of this devil infested cave you would kiss him. You’re not even sure why that promise left your lips and honestly it was embarrassing, even more embarrassing that Denji practically tripped over himself to do just as you said. It was like watching a man be possessed. He tore those devils to shreds and when he was finished walked over to you all full of himself, offering his hand to help you off the floor. The cave was stained in blood. Denji was covered in it. It looked like that scene from the horror movie you watched with Aki a few months ago. The one with the girl in the pink dress winning homecoming queen only to be doused in pigs blood. You slapped his hand away, slipping and sliding on your way to your feet.

“Disgusting.” You commented, wiping blood off your hands.

“Hey!” Denji called after you as you headed back towards the entrance of the cave, feeling your way along the walls. You could hear him sliding on the blood as he followed you out. “What about my kiss?” He asked. Honestly you’d forgotten what you said a few moments ago and his words were like a slap to the face. You and Denji joined the Public Safety Division around the same time, he was a few months older than you but acted like a twelve year old boy. Obsessed with things that made your blood boil. You tended to stay as far as possible from him.

“It was a joke.” You said, slipping and almost falling but Denji grabs you and hoists you back to your feet.

“A joke?” He asks as you push his hands from you and huff, straightening.

“Yes, a joke.” You scoff, seeing the cave entrance in the distance.

“Jokes are supposed to be funny. You owe me a kiss!”

“I don’t owe you anything!” You growled over your shoulder.

“So promises mean nothing to you?” He calls back after you. You don’t answer him, just hurry out of the cramped cave into the sunlight, breathing in the fresh air. Your clothes and skin were covered in devil blood, your hair matted with it. You practically gagged, reaching for your cell phone. “Y/nnnnn?” Denji says in a sing-songy type voice.

“What?” You snap.

“I will bug you day and night for that kiss, you know that right?” He jests as you turn to look at him. Just like you he was covered in blood.

“Denji,” You start through clenched teeth. “I thought I was going to die in there.”

“Uh huh.” He hums, attention like a dog.

“I said something stupid, just forget it.”

“It wasn’t stupid.”

“It was very stupid.” You growl, turning away from him as you message for a ride.

“It wasn’t!” Denji aruges. “You promised a kiss. I am looking forward to it.”

“It’s just a kiss. Any girl can give you that.” You sigh.

“I don’t want a kiss from any girl. I want one from you.” He clarified, you turn to look at him.

“Me specifically?” You ask and Denji nods his head. “Why?” It was no secret you couldn’t stand Denji, you argued with him all the time and criticized him. Denji scrunched his face as though you said something outrageously stupid.

“Why? You’re hot that's why! Like one of the prettiest girls on earth.” He stresses. You furrow your brows, amusement on your features.

“Oh really?”

“Really!” He asserted. You shook your head.

“Denji, I was scared. I thought I was going to die.” You stressed, running a hand through your hair. “I would’ve said anything to have you save me.”

“And I would’ve done anything to save you. Which I did. By the way.” Denji says, taking a step towards you. You step back, shaking your head.

“I’m not kissing you.”

“Just one kiss.” He interrupts. “Just one quick kiss, it doesn’t have to be long.” You stare at him for a moment. He really wanted a kiss badly, it was written all over his face.

“You’re crazy.” You shook your head.

“You’re beautiful. Now can you kiss me.” He takes another step forwards. You roll your eyes.

“I am covered almost head to toe in Devil blood.”

“So?”

“So?” You echo. “It’s disgusting. And you're covered too.”

“So we go home, clean off and kiss after.”

“I. Am. Not. Kissing. You!” You stressed, heaving a sigh as you pointedly turned away from him. It was quiet finally and you knew Denji would be pouting behind you but you didn’t care. You weren’t kissing some devil. Especially since it would be your very first kiss. It wasn’t going to happen!

Your guys’ ride finally showed as you and Denji loaded in. It was silent between you two the whole ride and you’d say it was awkward but it wasn’t like you guys were friendly before this moment. Something in you felt sort of guilty. Denji looked like a kicked puppy as he stared out the window. Like he was a kid with candy and you smacked it out of his hand or something. It was just a stupid kiss, someone else will come along one day and kiss him and he’ll forget about it. Or even would probably forget about it in the next hour.

But Denji didn’t forget. He wasn’t mean to you, just quiet. It was weird. He was quiet getting out of the car and walking into the house. Didn’t sing at all in the shower like he usually did and was quiet at dinner, which Aki noticed and was very concerned over. He gave you a look and you just rolled your eyes with a shrug. After cleaning up the table, Aki went off to bed as you and Denji did the dishes. He didn’t say a word for the first fifteen minutes and honestly it was driving you insane. Sometimes his incessant talking was annoying but right now you missed it. You passed him a clean dish and sighed.

“Are you seriously still upset?” You asked quietly, not wanting to disturb Aki. Denji dried off the dish and put it away, grabbing the next one.

“I was looking forward to it.”

“The kiss? Seriously?” You asked as he looked at you.

“Why is that so hard to believe?”

“Because it’s me you're talking about kissing.” You say, amused. He fully turns to you, cocking his head.

“Are you unaware that you're one of the prettiest girls in existence? Seriously? Of course I want to kiss you, I’m not that stupid.”

“Keep your voice down.” You hiss.

“Why? Scared i'll wake up your crush?” He whispers teasingly, you give him a sharp look but the blush that creeps on your cheeks is answer enough for him. He starts belly laughing, a loud laugh that has you yanking your hands out from the water and slapping it over his mouth. Your other hand grabbing him by the front of his shirt and yanking him forwards.

“You are fucking annoying.” You hiss angrily, he laughs beneath your hand as you pull back, turning away from him.

“I didn’t think you’d be so scared to kiss me.” He whispers as you turn, eyes slicing to him.

“Scared? You think I’m scared.”

“That’s what this is right?” He asks, his mouth tilting up in a smirk. “You’re scared you’ll fall in love with me.” Your brows shoot up and a scoff of a laugh escapes your lips.

“No, that is definitely not it.” You shake your head.

“Sure, keep telling yourself that.” He jests.

“Seriously, it’s not, devil.” You hiss as he shrugs his shoulders. Annoyance floods your system as you reach and turn off the water, grabbing a towel. He watches you closely as you toss the towel at his chest, he grabs it, drying off his own hands. “I’ll prove it to you.” You say stubbornly, his brows shoot up as he realizes exactly what you were going to prove. He turns to face you. “Then you can stop walking around like a wounded puppy, now come here.” You direct and he does just as told, taking a step closer to you. You inhale, blowing your breath out sharply. You’d never kissed anyone before but you’d seen people kiss in movies and on the street so you also took a step closer and definitely ignored the way your heart skipped a beat when your eyes met his this close. Your hands shook so you flexed your fingers, hiding your nerves well enough. You hesitantly reached both your hands up and placed them on either side of Denji’s face, his cheeks burned beneath your touch, his eyes darting from your own to your lips. This was so stupid. Just hours ago you’d rather die than relinquish your first kiss and now here you were about to give it to Denji of all people. You swallowed nervously, sucking in a quiet breath. Both of Denji’s hands, which were at his sides, now moved to your hips, causing you to jump. “What’re you doing?” You ask, he looks at you apologetically.

“I don’t know, it just felt right.” He says and although your moments from smacking his hands away something about it did feel right. And not wanting to investigate that idiotic feeling anymore you just pushed it out of your head and swallowed down your nerves.

“Whatever, okay,” You breathe out. “I’m gonna kiss you now.” You say and his fingers on your hips tighten slightly, pulling you just the smallest bit closer as he nods his head, eagerly. Your heart does a funny flip in your chest because now you two are mere centimeters apart. It's a stupid thing really, it’s not like you harbored some deep feelings for Denji… Right? You shook your head externally and huffed, yanking his lips to yours in a final effort to get this moment over with. Denji gasped slightly as your lips met his. His eyes shooting open in surprise. If he was being honest with himself he didn’t think you’d actually go through with it. He’d known you for months now and you were well above being teased usually. Sure he was very very bummed when he thought you wouldn’t kiss him but since he thought it would never happen this was a total surprise. Like hitting the lottery. A one in a million thing. And he would not take this for granted. You pulled back a second later, his eyes still open as yours opened to meet his. For a second you two just stared at each other, blushed red. You cleared your throat, your voice a bit high as you spoke. “There, now you can leave me alo-” His arms slipped around your back, his eyes falling closed as he leaned down closer to you, your lips slotting together in harmony. Your breath hitched in your throat as Denji pulled back, taking you with him as he practically lifted you off the floor into his arms, your legs kicking out behind you. Almost as though the little space between you was too much and needed to be eradicated. It was just supposed to be a quick peck but you couldn’t pull back. You felt something shocking like electricity as the kiss deepened, as he set you on the ground and you buried your fingers in his hair, his hands grabbing your hips as you two walked back, his back practically slammed into the fridge.

“Oh uh-” Aki’s voice gasped from the hall. You yanked back away from Denji, red faced and embarrassed. Aki looked amused, like he was holding back a laugh. You covered your face, turning back to the dishes. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.” He says, grabbing a drink from the fridge.

“You didn’t.”

“You did.” Denji says at the same time as you. Aki heads back without another word but you could hear him snickering down the hall. You turn the water back up, getting back to the dishes. You feel Denji slide next to you as you give him a clean dish to dry.

“Can we do that again?” He whispers, your stomach dropping as well as the dish in your hand.

“Let’s just pretend that didn’t happen.” You say, embarrassed and flushed with emotions that you never thought were even remotely possible. Denji knew this is where things were headed but it didn’t stop the pain he felt when you reinforced that.

“Thank you.” Denji says quietly, you swallow, biting your lip. “You’re a good kisser.”

“Okay.” You snap slightly, just wanting the thick tension and jarring want to subside. All the quiet did was reinforce the tension and awkwardness. You two finished up the dishes and headed back towards your rooms that were right across the hall from one another. Denji turned to you before you could slip away and grabbed your arm softly. You turned, hoping the nerves weren’t showing on your face.

“Are you-,” He scratched the back of his head, he seemed like the nervous one. “Are you mad at me?” He asks as you furrow your brows, shaking your head.

“No.”

“Oh good,” He breathes out. “Because it’s killing me not to kiss you again.”

“Denji,” You said in surprise, eyes glancing at Aki's door. You didn’t like Aki the way everyone thought you did, he was more like the cool cousin you wanted to impress. Denji catches the look and swallows.

“Oh, I see.” He says almost dejectedly.

“It’s- it’s not like that.” You say with a sigh.

“You don’t have to lie, I get it.” He says with a sort of forced kind smile.

“I’m not lying.” You snap quietly, running a hand through your hair. “It’s not like that.” You stressed as he pursed his lips and nodded his head. He didn’t believe you obviously and the jealousy on his face was apparent. “I’ll prove it.” You say as Denji just watches you. You yank him by the shirt back against your lips and that familiar buzz in your stomach flutters again. Kissing Denji felt like tumbling off the side of a cliff. Freefalling towards something certain to kill you. That was until his arms tense around you and that freefalling slows to a gentle stop. There was nothing gentle about Denji until he kissed you. He seemed like a different person entirely in this moment and you needed space before you did something stupid so you pulled back, his eyes are still closed and that’s the first time you think Denji looks beautiful. It freaks you out.

“Good night.” You say hoarsely, slipping out of his hold into your room, pressing the door closed. Your heart is thudding in your ears as you step back until the backs of your knees hit your bed and you fall on it. You stare at the door, willing your heart to stop beating so erratically, flexing your shaking hands. You kissed Denji three times and each time was better than the last. As unbelievable as that was.

Denji watched your door slam in his face as he staggered back, blushing and dizzy. He couldn’t contain the smile that plastered to his lips as he balled his fists, pumping them in excitement. Denji only had eyes for you, he thought you were so cool and calm and collected. Always level headed and smart. He thought the world of you but never really thought you’d feel anything but annoyance towards him. But clearly, he was wrong, and he’d do anything to keep it that way.

#chainsaw man #denji #csm denji #chainsaw man denji #denji x reader #denji x you #fem reader #csm x reader

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newtthetranswriter · 4 months

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Would you do a fluff with a hint of angst Chifuyu request of Chifuyu being extra clingy and affection with his s/o after Takemichi tells him the truth about their future and tells him his future wife (aka his current girlfriend) is also killed by Kisaki? Also feel free to make it gender neutral if you’d prefer!

(Art by me)

A/n: Hello anon, I love this idea. I hope I did it justice, and I hope you enjoy it. I hope it’s okay that I made the reader Mitsuya’s younger sister, it just felt like it fit for the way it was going. Feel free to request more or just chat. I hope you have a good day and remember to hydrate or diedrate. Requests are still open.

Word count:881

Paring: Chifuyu Matsuno x Mitsuya!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of canon death, not great clingy writing from an arospec person

To say Chifuyu was stunned was an understatement. He just found out that in the future not only is he married to his current girlfriend but they are killed at the hands of Kisaki. Multiple feelings were running through his head, happiness and joy that he and Y/n worked out even twelve years from now, but also sadness that his loyalty to the true vision of Toman gets her killed. What was he supposed to do? He could break up with her and save her from being stuck with him or he could help Takemichi stop Kisaki. Yeah that sounded like a good plan, just stop Kisaki instead of coming up with a shit lie to end a perfect relationship.

Chifuyu was pulled from his thoughts when Takemichi spoke again. “You can’t tell anyone. Who knows what it would do to the future.” He stated like it wasn’t obvious. “I honestly shouldn’t have told you, it all just slipped out.”

Calming his freaked friend, Chifuyu spoke. “Don’t worry I won’t tell anyone, they’d call me crazy if I went around spouting about the future. Let’s go get some food, and figure out a plan, Ok?” He asked, still shaken from the information but trying to push down his anxieties about it all.

After discussing plans with Takemichi, they decided that at the Captain’s meeting, Takemichi would try to bribe Mikey into not letting Hakkai leave Toman, Chifuyu bid his friend good night and head home. Once home he sent a quick text to his girlfriend, nothing crazy just an ‘I love you, and hope you have a good night’. Now on the other end of the text conversation, Y/n was confused, sure a good night text was normal, but why that phrasing their conversations were normally just quick and shortened texts because let’s be honest texting on these phones sucked. Brushing off the confusion, y/n responded with her own simple ‘good night’ and fell asleep, after all Chifuyu was probably just being clingy, he did lose a close friend a month ago so it’s fine.

The next day before the Captain’s meeting, Chifuyu opted to invite Y/n out for a lunch date. Y/n wanting to spend time with her boyfriend happily agreed, meeting him at their normal lunch cafe.

“Hey Fuyu, not that I don’t love the spontaneity, but what’s with the random lunch date? Isn’t there a captain’s meeting today?” She asked as they entered the cafe. Y/n was in the loop with everything Toman, not only was she dating the vice captain of the first division, but she’s also the second division captain’s younger sister.

“Uhhh, yeah there is. I just wanted to spend some time with you beforehand.” Chifuyu responded, grabbing her hand. He led her over to the counter quickly ordering their usuals and paying before she could protest. Once their order was placed they walked over to a booth in a back corner to sit and chat.

As Y/n took her spot on one side of the booth, she was confused as Chifuyu slid in right next to her, normally when it was just the two of them they sat across from each other, so this was odd. “Chifuyu, why are you sitting there?” She asked, trying to understand his weird behavior.

He just shrugged and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “So how has school been going?” He asked, trying to shift the topic from his random clingy behavior.

They spent the next hour chatting about random things and enjoying their lunch. But Y/n couldn’t help but notice that no matter what was happening Chifuyu always had a hand somewhere on her, whether it was his arm across her shoulders while they talked or his hand brushing her leg as they ate. She didn’t want to seem put off by the affection so she once again brushed it off as still being clingy after Baji passed. It was harder not to question it when they were leaving. Normally at the end of a date they would share a quick kiss and hug, before going their separate ways if they hadn’t planned to do more, but it seemed like Chifuyu didn’t want to let her go.

“You need to go, you have that meeting to go to.” Y/n said, gently pushing Chifuyu off her. He hesitated for only a second longer before releasing her, pulling away with what Y/n would describe as a sad smile making her concerned. “Are you ok? What’s wrong?” She asked cupping his cheeks.

Chifuyu just kept smiling and brushing her hands with his. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just love you so much.” He said getting ready to leave.

Y/n just looked at him confused for a second, before chuckling. “Love you too, now go before Taka calls me asking why I’m keeping you from the meeting.” Chifuyu let out a laugh at that, placing a final kiss to her cheek and running off. She was left standing in front of the cafe staring after her boyfriend’s retreating figure. Sure he was acting a little strange, but you know what, she would take a clingy Chifuyu over a distant Chifuyu any day of the week, so she’ll let it slide for now.

#x reader #tokyo revengers x reader #chifuyu matsuno x reader #chifuyu x reader #tokyo rev x reader #angsty fluff #answering requests

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cboffshore · 3 months

Text

still too burnt out to write. dangit.

BUT!

GLOOM DIVISION comes out in like twelve days!!! to prep, I've been listening to other IDKHOW work and goofing off with some fashion drawings.

anyway, poll time:

#Lila draws #fashion design #idkhow #idkhow fanart #gloom division

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crepesuzette2023 · 1 month

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Do you have an opinion on what actually happened in Barcelona and John's motivations?

No strong, line-in-the-sand, until-here-and-no-further opinion, and not prepared to die on any hills, but here is a blurry snapshot of my current thoughts on the quote unquote matter. (And thank you for asking!)

I think the question of "what happened in Barcelona" has too long been mixed up with speculations along the lines of "was John gay" or "did they have sex." While I relate to the curiosity, I think these questions, due to the bigotry of the times, led to simplistic, un-gay alternative theories (alternative to 'it was a Lennon-Epstein sex vacation', that is), which further confused the matter.

I do not think going to Barcelona was a power move on John's part to vet Brian and establish himself as the leader of the group. By the time of the trip (April '63), Brian had been the Beatles' manager for a while. He'd changed their act, found them a recording contract, had a separate contract with John and Paul as songwriters. He was in. Similarly, at this point, Brian would have been familiar with the power structure within the band, including John's leader/founder status and the equality that was the basis of the group and Lennon—McCartney. They were not a front man and a backing band, and Paul and John were not competing for the status of leader/main decision maker. It was them, together. There was no motive at the time for John to get alone-time with Brian to defend or regain his leadership status.

In addition to that, I don't think it's likely the vacation was related to the order of the Lennon-McCartney writing credit. Did John go to Barcelona with Brian to gain leverage that would allow him to demand his name would always go first, going against his previous agreement with Paul and Brian (which stated the main songwriter's name would come first, and all royalties would be shared 50/50)? Hmm. To me, this doesn't fit with Lennon-McCartney presenting themselves as a team of equal partners during the Beatle years, and with John emphasizing the roots of the partnership as reaching back to their romantic teenage pact. Neither of them tried to hide that writing was something they shared. There was no overt struggle for dominance, or even a clear division of tasks (as in, you do the lyrics, I do the music; or: you do the ballads, I do the rockers). And they planned to keep writing after the Beatles were done. Given all this, I feel it's unlikely John would scheme and try to get Brian alone in order to get his name put first, with Paul then just accepting it, because Brian and John forced him to.

It's so important to remember that much of the Beatles story is told in retrospect, after a bitter break-up, and in response to sometimes deliberately dumb or salacious questions. Yes, Paul framed Barcelona as a power-play on John's part, but that was after he and John had been through their own history of struggles of a decade or more, all of it amplified by the press and biographers of all stripes. And yes, John claimed Paul overpowered his artistic vision and fucked with his songs, but that, too, was in a later, more bitter time. In April '63, though? Were Paul and John really fighting for dominance? For leadership? For being the star?

I'm not denying that power played a role in John going to Barcelona with Brian, but I think it was something subtle—something related to being different...to John being the one to spend time with Brian, John separating himself from the band; John being the one Brian wanted to take along. And John agreeing to go.

{side bar on how every Beatle splitting from the main Beatle blob to travel down his own path with someone or something else functioned like a battle cry or warning signal to the others cut for brevity reasons!!!}

And yes, I think sex played a role in that decision. John made the choice to spend time alone—not a weekend, but twelve days—with a gay man who openly fancied him, and had tried to take him on solo trips before. Now, after refusing earlier, John agreed to go along. Trying to put myself in John's place, I have to believe that he knew the issue of sex and attraction would surface and have to be dealt with in some way, and that it must have felt exciting, and a little scary, but also: that it was time to do it, instead of always wondering what if.

But, judging from the events at Paul's (and Ivan Vaughan's!) 21st birthday party, I think it's fair to say John felt conflicted about it as well.

What actually happened in Barcelona? I'd be surprised if they didn't have sex. Judging from Brian's apparent blushing and walking-on-air happiness after the trip, I hope it was good.

Where this all fits with John and Paul, God—I've no idea.

The truth is rarely pure, and never simple. — Oscar Wilde.

Here is a lovely picture of John and Brian.

photo: Harry Benson

#John Lennon #Brian Epstein #lennon mccartney #what happened in Barcelona?#asks #The Beatles

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katsukikitten · 1 year

Text

Tw: Suicidal themes and description of attempt. Pt2

The American Hero commission is just as shady as Japan's, if not worse. Run in an obvious front to hide the "classified" floors that ran deep beneath the city, right under the feet of unsuspecting or uncaring citizens. The government is so desperate to hide secret divisions that not even heroes should know about it.

But Katsuki does.

Only because he can't let sleeping dogs lie.

Remembering Izuku spilling his guts to him one day, figuratively and literally, having had far too much to drink at his own birthday party. Izuku excused himself outside, vomiting up his anxious feelings that didn't mix well with his twelve shots of tequila.

Lady Nagant

And all that Izuku knew of her before that dumb ass passed out into Bakugou's arms. It wasn't unusual for this to happen when Izuku drank too much, hell even sober he'd call Bakugou in the middle of the night to tell him some dark secret he couldn't bear to keep with himself any longer. Katsuki was used to hearing things he shouldn't, normally he'd file it away and hardly gave it second thought.

But the name rang in Katsuki's ears until he searched it up himself, finding that she was part of something the hero commission tried so desperately to both cover up and "disband." A division that took care of threats to hero society no matter who or what the person was.

Any threat.

Bakugou was sure he fell under the category of any. Especially with his big mouth, accidents could happen, even to the strongest heroes.

Or so the virtuous society claims.

The irony of the city skyscraper isn't lost on Bakugou. Named after some long since dead hero who's estate paid for the construction of it but it doesn't take a genius to figure out that not a single cent went to anything that would actually help the community.

Instead living and dead hero's families all did the same, desperately clawing to ingrain and immortalize a hero into society in hopes to make a killing in profits.

Times like these Bakugou realizes why asshole villains like Shigiraki and Dabi wanted to send it all to hell.

Hero society was just another form of capitalism which bred nothing but greed.

The fuck was he fighting for anyway?

Nothing was going to change it and it was obvious every move he made was the wrong one.

Bakugou's leg bounces as he sits in the corner of the embassy lobby waiting to be called back into the shrink's office. Right arm pressed snugly into the wall before he grips onto his knee tightly to make it stop moving. Mind jumping back and forth between the day's earlier events with the hero, who's name he still didn't bother to remember, and how everything seemed to be askew.

Tilted, blurred or blacked out in globs of sticky ink, his view on life turning that much more nihilistic with each passing year while everyone around him felt the opposite.

He digs the heel of his palm into his left eye as if that will help him adjust. Spiced caramel scenting the air and he can feel eyes on him again.

Listen not with your ears but here.

Stupid fucking woman, why was she popping up into his head now as his heart races. Right eye burning, giving him a throbbing headache as he tries to force sight into it. Tries to will it.

But as it has been for the past eighteen years he can't see any more than he could yesterday.

Until he holds his breath to count and then for a fraction of a second he can see it. Can see the rough outline of a person, like a black silhouette on an even blacker backdrop.

"Bakugou Katsuki." He opens his eye with a squint as he stares up at the last minute appointment the old hag insisted he take. The doctor was young, around the same age as him, his thick file in her manicured hands has him grinding his teeth.

He hadn't had a mandatory session in years, probably since Kirishima couldn't hold up the rubble any longer, passing out while Bakugou watched him faint, his jagged cliffside skin turning soft and smooth before being nearly crushed to death under a half standing building. Kirishima was in the hospital for weeks and Katsuki struggled to eat.

It was the first instance of quirk failure, of losing his grip on the tightly wound fuse of his temper.

He leveled an entire block.

The second was with Izuku, when the emerald haired man was stabbed through his solar plexus, blood flying from his mouth, staining his chin and throat. And what did that dumb ass Deku say, "Are you alright, Kaachan?" before falling to his knees, further impaling himself on the rod that lodged in his body.

Katsuki blacked out after that. Not that his body fell from the sight, oh no. His mind switched off and Katsuki worked on rage and instinct alone.

The crater Bakugou created is still there today, record breaking and comparable to that of an atomic bomb or sizable meteor from space.

The media dubbed him nuclear after that.

But they didn't fucking know what it was like, watching your friends cheat death over and over again. In more horrific ways than the last.

But how many times could his friends win, even with a padded hand? Each time they cheated the meticulous god they raised their chances of losing the next time.

Katsuki knew from experience, with each brush with Death, he became closer than the last.

The ignorant public, the apathetic hero commission, they didn't understand.

Couldn't understand that Bakugou has an undying need to win. Not for bragging rights or to be the best, although those were welcomed, but because Bakugou Katsuki refused to have blood on his hands.

He needed his complete victory.

And having it since his first year at UA. Of saving his friends, his co workers time and time again over the decades despite the doctor's speaking of him never being able to do pro hero work again.

He saved them, he had to save them. Denki, Mina, Ochaco, Shoto, Kirishima, all of them. Yes, even Shitty Deku, especially shitty Deku, idiots all of them, pushing themselves too hard and never asking for help.

"Bakugou Katsuki." She repeats and this time Bakugou stands. His presence already making a hush fall over the lobby, more eyes on him except this time he could glare from his good side.

Snarling his teeth at their eyes fixated on him and their mouth agape like dead fish. They suddenly find the floor or their phones interesting as he stops in front of the woman.

He has to look down at her, even in her four inch heels, she gives a tight smile but turns in her long pencil skirt until they reach her office. She's smart and enters first, letting Bakugou stand by the door while she comes around her desk and sits.

Her hand gesturing for him to shut the door and take a seat, silently he obeys. But not without a suck of his teeth.

It smells like cinnamon and paper in the office, it's sparsely decorated, her degree and accomplishments hanging on the same wall as the door, had Bakugou's eye not wandered around the room he wouldn't have seen them.

So she liked her accomplishments but didn't wanna brag? Or was it one of those psychological tricks therapists do?

A box of tissues sits on her desk, a small crystal candy bowl that looks more like it belonged to an old woman. He snorts seeing the assortment of random candy. There was a three musketeers for Shitty hair, a twix for Icyhot and Deku, the couple always wanting to split, and even a lemon warhead for Dunceface.

He leaves the sweets alone as she settles.

"Coffee Mr. Dynamight?" She asks as she places her reading glasses near the tip of her nose.

"No." He spies the keurig, knows he doesn't want any of that shit.

"Well, I'm glad you're here today, when Clair-"

"Clair?" Bakugou scoffs, leaning back in his chair. She lets her dark eyes rove over his relaxed body language. How his arm slumps over the back of a chair and she almost misses his calculating eyes.

"Clair, Clairity, your hero mentor." She tries to keep the bite out of her tone, tries to remember Bakugou would sometimes use arrogance as a defense or wall but something tells her he really didn't bother to remember this time around considering the circumstances.

"Hmm." A non committal hum, a milky and sharp eye coming back to look at her. Burning gaze making even the professional shift in her seat.

"I'll get straight to the point then and won't waste your time but I believe we should start you off on a low dose of your old prescriptions again. Just to try to level you out."

"Why? I'm not suicidal?" He scoffs, glaring at his thick file, he hates that goddamn thing. Most doctors like her pushing for drugs first, although he'd never had it happen so quickly before.

Guess she could take the record for that.

"You were at one point, that doesn't just go away." She flicks through the papers, pretending as if it was a small thing she could have misread before looking back up at him. He returns her glare, snarling lips before he shifts in the chair, a more defensive stance, feigned arrogance thrown out the window in favor of full on agitation.

It wasn't like Bakugou thought medicine was pussy shit, he knew it wasn't. Was happy to hear it was working out for Kaminari's anxiety and especially Izuku's panic attacks but almost every brand he was on made him feel worse.

Less than.

Less than a hero.

Less than a man.

Less than Bakugou Katsuki.

Even if he'll never admit he set the bar at an impossible height.

"Maybe for me it did." Ironic he would lie when he hates a liar the most. Maybe because they remind him of himself sometimes.

Spreading half truths that he was fine when he wasn't. His blistering anger burns everyone around him, especially himself. Although he was on the mend until this past year.

Soon Katsuki's scent overpowers the cinnamon candle in the room. She gives him a long knowing look.

"Medicine paired with talk therapy is quite effective. It put your outbursts in remission and -"

"No." He barks, "I ain't taking shit. I'll talk to you til the fuckin sun explodes before I ever take another god damn zombie pill. Drop it." His quirk flares at the end, the smallest pop on his chest and several down his right arm. He stands, giving her his back as he leaves since he had nothing more to say.

Typical of Bakugou's luck it pours down sheets of thick freezing rain and there wasn't an umbrella in sight.

Not that he wanted one, hands angrily in the pockets of her hero suit that clung to him even tighter now thanks to the wet weather. Pressing his face in the high collar of his winter suit as he lets gravity pull his posture downward. Feeling as if he was walking through sludge, as if the steel of his knee plates and boots were attracted to the Earth's magnetic core making his legs feel as if they weighed a thousand pounds.

Still he pushes on, slowly as the cold sinks into his bone marrow until he's home.

The apartment complex smells worse when it rains, the old heating system of the building smells like it's burning something. Most likely the hair or paws of the scurrying rats Bakugou had heard last night and all he can think about is how badly he wanted a long hot bath and to never wake up when he went to bed.

Or at least be able to sleep in til noon, if his internal clock would allow him.

On the bright side his couch should be here, needing to be assembled but there none the less. As he comes into the narrow hallway of the sixth floor he snarls when he doesn't see a couch or a mattress, frame or box spring, anywhere to be found.

Quickly he pulls out his phone, droplets of water from his hair making it difficult for him to navigate the sensitive touch screen before he's biting off his thick gloves to tuck under his arm. Pulling up two emails. One saying his couch was delivered and the other claiming his mattress was delayed.

What the fuck? Delayed and delivered. Where the fuck was his couch?

He thinks maybe he should try to ask a neighbor if they'd seen any delivery guys or who walked off with his package.

He hears shuffling coming from apartment 6D and figured he'd start there.

Your door opens slightly before he can even knock.

"Oh my friendly neighbor." You let the sarcasm shine through, "I-"

But before you can finish Bakugou's already spying the oversized cardboard box propped up against the wall by your kitchen, a picture of the couch he ordered plastered on the side.

"Why is my fuckin package in your apartment?" His voice is a growl, strong hand gripping the door just above the chain. He's broken plenty of stupid little door chains and this cheap one that was probably on its last leg was going to be the last thing that stopped him now.

"I took it from the hallway so it wouldn't get stolen????" Your voice goes up at the end in disbelief.

"By you ya mean?"

"Wow." You bark out a humorless laugh as you unhook the chain, "I was trying to be nice. I was going to buy us takeout at the only nice place round here and help you build it but nooooo!"

"Noooo! Now my neighbor gets to try to build this complicated as fuck couch by himself, get frustrated, quit and sleep on the couch cushions wishing he'd been nicer to me." You hold open the door for him to drag the couch box out. He rolls his eyes as you speak. His gloves fall from under his arm onto the floor of your apartment as he grabs onto the box and lifts. Carrying the heavy and awkward couch on his own with ease before you slam the door the second the last of that cardboard clears your threshold.

"Asshole!" You call through the front door before he's fighting with his own to get it open.

Not even bothering to change as he rips open the box, flipping through the instructions. There were only pictures, the words in a language he wasn't familiar with.

"Fuck." He separated everything the best he could. Easily holding up the heavy metal as he tries to assemble but somehow the wrong leg or screw is used and after his fifth attempt at step four he loses it.

Letting it drop with a loud thud and a cuss. His downstairs neighbors quick to bang on the ceiling with their broom and he hits his fist back in response.

Rising to take a shower like that may be the solution and when he comes back the couch will be built on its own. Letting the hot water burn into his skin as he stands under the stream, using the last of his travel sized shit and thinking about the train stops from hell he'll have to take to find what he needs.

He comes back to the project at hand after dressing in a long sleeved shirt and boxers. There was just no way in hell he was going to be able to have the patience to do this tonight. His right eye and arm burning before he digs in his small bag to place two numbing drops into his eye to hopefully last him until he finally falls asleep.

"Sleep on the couch cushions"

Growling at how true your words turned out to be as he rifles through the box for the soft portion of the sofa.

He lies on the dark cushions on the floor. The half put together pieces of furniture, mostly incorrect, sits facing him. As if mocking him with a half smirk to remind him of another one of his failures. Because who the fuck couldn't put their couch together, the soft linen of the dark couch already suffering from a hand print singe or two as he needed to put the couch together for something to sleep on.

He checks his phone again and the mattress is still very much lost in this hellscape of a city. Makes Bakugou toss his phone roughly and the screen cracks even more.

What the fuck am I even good for? Can't even build a fuckin couch.

The late night thoughts creep in as they always do and now he's regretting not asking for those sleeping pills he used to get. Although she probably wouldn't have prescribed them considering what happened the last time he had them. Taking the orange bottle out of the medicine cabinet with blurry vision, reading his useless name before he titled the full month's worth into his mouth and swallowed thickly. Apathetic to the bitterant coating that stuck to his tongue and back of his throat. Forcing him to swallow mouthfuls of saliva as the small white pills struggled to make it down past the lump in his throat.

He only did it because he felt his double dose wasn't going to cut it, far from able to get a peaceful sleep. And it sure as fuck wasn't going to stop the sour, toxic voice in his head that monologues about everything he'd ever done. Forgiven or not.

Remember when Shoto got fuckin skewered because you couldn't respond fast enough? The pills made you sluggish as hell and icy hot almost died cause of it.

Remember when you had to tell Mina that Kirishima might not wake up because she was too hysterical to understand the doctor? You just had to take the weekend off because of your 'mental health' didn't you. Couldn't hold it together long enough for the doctor to clear you for the week.

Remember when you let yourself get taken by Touya and your friends put themselves in danger and almost got expelled because you're too weak?

Remember that little girl you couldn't save? It couldn't have been that hard to catch her, she was only four blocks away.

Remember when you were the downfall of Allmight?

You know you're not living up to Edgeshot or Beat Jeanist's legacy, they wasted their time and lives on you.

Remember when you told Izuku to take a swine dive off the school building cause he was quirkless? It should have been you, you worthless piece of shit.

What's the fucking point? Why fight? It never ends, just lie down and die like the pathetic dog you are.

Oftentimes Bakugou found himself agreeing, he wasn't living up to their legacy, his chest scars screaming at the thought. He picks at the fabric of the cushion as his mind marinates in his failures. In the fallen faces of his friends, of the quiet nights of sitting with their unconscious bodies and how he should have been with them and not on another mission. Of the aftermath of unspeakable shit and knowing exactly how the human body shouldn't bend or break.

Tears prick his eyes and slowly fall from his nose but he does nothing to stop it, he feels numb if anything, hollow feeling in his chest where the anger rotted away everything until his chest cavity was empty.

Nothing but a weighted nothingness, a void, or black hole that gnawed away at his insides, sharp cold teeth scraping at his bones until there was nothing left.

The smallest part of him, the part that took decades to give a soft voice to, whispers that he's glad he didn't have the pills right now. Because he would tip the bottle back and take as many as he could.

And this time Izuku wouldn't have a weird feeling to come check on Bakugou in the middle of the night.

Even if he did, he wouldn't make it in time thanks to the massive ocean and land mass between them.

The thought brings him some comfort as twisted as it was but at least he wouldn't have to gag around Izuku's panicked fingers just to vomit all over his friend again.

Stupid fuckin Deku.

Bakugou's phone rings once, then twice. Illuminating the living room with harsh artificial light, Bakugou waits for it to go to voicemail. If it's important they'll leave one and if it's from Japan they should be smart enough to do the math for the time difference and realize he was probably asleep.

At least he should be.

Fingers grabbing at the broken glass and letting his faceid open the phone. Palming his right eye where the tears burn when they escape in fat drops. Wiping them away with a stone cold face as he plays the one voicemail

Izuku: Kaachan, I just wanted to check on you, you don't have to call back. I know it's late. I'm just having a weird feeling. Eijirou-kun said he hasn't heard from you either. Which isn't unlike you but I know how you can be. Well not how you can be. Just- just you usually check in with one of us or you text fuck you in the group chat and-

Izuku's laugh rings out in the small space when he realizes what he's doing.

Izuku: I'm rambling! I know you hate that. …… I'm just worried about you, ev-everyone is. Anyway just a call or text away! Bye Kaachan. I love you. Oh uh that's weird I know but Dr. Yuki suggests I be more open about what I'm feeling, so I'm telling my friends I love them now. Since that whole thing with Shouto-kun. Hopefully it won't make you too uncomfortable. ….. even just a middle finger emoji, to let me know you're alive, would be enough. Bye Kaachan, I'll see you soon.

Finally that nerd shuts up, Katsuki's fingers moving against the fractured glass finding Izuku's direct chat at the way at the bottom of his logs. He clears his throat before tapping the mic symbol to send a voice memo.

Katsuki: Dumb ass Deku, do you know what time it is? Course I'm livin'! Ain't shit gonna kill me. Now fuck off if ya don't have anything better to do.

Three dots pop up quickly making Bakugou think that Izuku is glued to his phone while Shouto prepares cold soba for the pair.

Izuku: Sorry Kaachan I know it's late. Thank you ❤️

Katsuki: ❤️

Katsuki: 🖕

Katsuki shoots Kirishima and then the group text a quick reply, telling them America was as shitty as all the other times he's been here and that he hadn't had time to find a new hole in the wall restaurant to tell them about.

He locks his phone.

Thinks as he is shrouded in the darkness under the comforter he bought on the way home, couch cushions trying to slip as his hulking frame turns.

He thinks he should buy you coffee as an apology for his asshole behavior.

And maybe, just maybe, he won't choke on his pride as he asks you for help.

#bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #katsuki x reader #tw suicidal thoughts #tw suicidal themes #kitten writes 🖤🐈‍⬛🖋️

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dadvans · 2 months

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missing language.

if livejournal posts were still real. this would be it.

i started learning japanese when i was 11 years old, around early summer 2000, from my aunt from okinawa. she would practice with me in the gazebo when she and my uncle would come to visit for family reunions in the midwest, and would continue to buy me tapes, movies, CDs to start learning the language.

my school district was one of the lowest in the country growing up. we had a prestigious japanese immersion charter school, and after a disastrous middle school year, i ended up applying and being accepted. grades four to twelve. each year we were in different (sometimes abandoned or condemned) buildings up until halfway through my freshman year. despite occupying abandoned churches and gymnasiums, we had the highest test scores, and most exclusive college acceptance rates in oregon. it was either that good or that bad. we all hated each other the way family hates each other.

i won my division three years running for the oregon japanese speech contest through my ninth grade year.

i moved to japan two days after my sixteenth birthday. the year and a half that followed was not easy. i had a host family for a period of time that constantly kicked me out, starved me, and found other families for me to live with. i had another family where the host dad tried to molest me twice by taking me to remote locations. when i became fluent, really fluent, around the 6 to 8 month mark (long after i passed the JLPT 3 at the time, which is now closer to JLPT 2), after months of isolating myself in the computers at class to speak english to abroad friends for an hour a day, i told my japanese school friends, and they were horrified. they stepped up in ways i never knew. it wasn't usual for someone to be so forthcoming, and yet they all recognized it as an extreme circumstance, invited me into their inner circle. my home room teachers took notice and would take me out for lunch. my host family situation was codename ONI BABA, and even another family that eventually took me in would refer to her as such, when i asked if i could borrow her koto for a public concert (yeah, the one instrument it turns out i'm a prodigy at is okoto. Played my first concert at a local Obon festival within a week of starting. Talk to me about how Hana Kage is a fucking bitch. this version of 回転木馬 was what i was performing after a year. if you can find my old livejournal account, i guarantee there is a really terrible version recorded on my motorola razr still live).

by the time i was seventeen i was allowed to be on payroll to act as a translator for a month-long "jan-term" project with my mom in japan, where we took about 13 students across the main land. back at my american school i was writing all my essays in japanese, in the style i had been taught in japan (it was WILD to relearn how to rewrite english essays when living abroad-- that shit does NOT translate sometimes).

i went to college. i was immediately accepted into the higher ed programs my school provided. they were working toward offering a major, but only had a minor present. i signed on for level 300 with 8 other students.

the professor hated me. that is the nicest word for it. she would have typos on her quizzes. she would make fun of my hokkaido accent. but the worst part was when i was sexually assaulted by one of the other 8 students in the class, went to her during office hours to request that she not pair me with that student out of fear, and then she proceeded to exclusively pair me with that student on projects.

i was also learning i had a learning disability, but the student union health center refused to directly prescribe me medication for my disability, or refer my outwards--what happened instead was i was put on a prescription that had not been recommended outside of extreme epilepsy (carbamezapine), and when i expressed my fear that it was resurfacing suicidal tendencies, the doctor in charge doubled the dosage and encourage me to kill myself.

it was an ordeal. it was an ordeal that i documented. it was an ordeal that by spring 2008, i was accused of cheating on a test i got less than 30% on because i was so fucking out of it by a woman who would only partner me with a man who had sexually abused me. and when i confronted her about it on tape, with a medical transcript of what i had endured for the past year, i have a recording of her saying, "I don't need a piece of paper to tell me that you have problems."

Anyway, she went on sabbatical to adopt a kid the next year. Idiot sex pest remained in my classes, but god, he really sucked. I had to leave through most of my 400-level classes because I was working a lot. Most of my classes were essentially unpaid labor where we were translating books and providing subtitles for movies that were ready for American distribution. Half of my classmates my second year were born in Japan and spoke Japanese better than English but were able to cop out a foreign language credit, and they were honestly my favorite friends in the class, even if that's a steep fucking grading curve. Asshole teacher appeared once my spring semester, but knowing she took the year off, I actually completed my minor degree my sophomore year in early 2009.

And then I never really spoke Japanese again.

And it's hard. Whenever I'm introduced to media, I'm like, god, I forgot that. I remember that. I knew that, once upon a time. I remember conversations in English that weren't in English. And I remember when I was in my senior year of High School, I would be speaking Japanese and forget that I was speaking Japanese, that sometimes no one else except my teacher or friend who were equally fluent understood too. I miss that feeling. I feel shame, sometimes, at letting it go. I know I still have the pronunciation and local dialect, but it's hard to be reminded of how much I forgot.

When I started learning first, very close to when I was still fluent, Indonesian, and more recently, French, my backup language in my head has always been Japanese instead of English. My wife used to tell me I had a Japanese accent when I would try to speak French (fun fact: one of my friends in Japan was learning French and spoke zero English, and only then did I understand the horror of French phonetics), and it took me literally over a month of quietly practicing my R's in my car when I would get home from work for her to be like, oh you sound like a regular Anglo (read: white boy trying so hard and yet).

Whenever I get back into the mindset of becoming fluent in French (mandatory!), and restart the journey from where I left off these past years, I ache something fierce and weird for my Japanese. It is, surface level, a sense of failure. I couldn't hold onto you, I wouldn't have known how to try. There were obstacles. There were so many bad memories. And yet, sometimes I will be in bed with my wife, and she will be watching a Japanese show, and I will be like, "Did he really say that?" and she will say, "Oh God, I forgot that you knew Japanese."

Some things are bone deep and will probably never go away. I guess I'm still in mourning for the language that I lost as I continue to learn a new language. I want to be better, I know I can be better this time! And yet, I'm afraid that every step forward, I'll lose what I have of my second language identity. I have already lost so much.

#misc.#personal #all sketches wish to be real

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geminiwritten · 1 year

Text

dr. dreamy ; bones

fandom: star trek

pairing: bones x reader

summary: it’s been a while since you’ve been laid, and it’s starting to affect your mood so jim offers his help before quickly realising that you’re still hung up on a mysterious ‘mr. dreamy’ from your academy days... but he soon finds out that the man you’ve been in love with for the past five years is, in fact, the enterprise’s best doctor

notes: did somebody say hyper-fixation? also, if you haven’t noticed already, i have a favourite formula... i wrote this while sick, so apologies if its crap, but let me know what you think!

warnings: swearing and horny

word count: 4173

The turbolift halts when it reaches the deck on which the upper-most access to the warp core is located. Your steps are sluggish, and the lace on your left boot is about five strides from falling untied, but you don’t really care to fix it even as you feel your boot go lax. Your heel begins to slip in and out of place just as you reach the door to one of the larger maintenance rooms.

“What’s got your knickers in a twist?” Scotty asks as soon as he sees you.

You shrug, “just tired.”

“Too tired to remember where you’re s’pposed to be?” he stops you from picking up the spare pair of gloves from the bench, “first aid trainin’?”

A vague memory fights its way to the front of your mind, and you recall being ordered by Jim to attend the annual first aid training course that at least two crew members from each division were required to attend.

“Why me?” you sigh, “why can’t you be the first aid officer, or-or Ayden?” The young brunette lieutenant who was half-concealed behind a large metal tank pokes his head out.

“Because,” Scotty says, dismissing Ayden with a wave of his hand, “the capt’n requested you specifically, and I know he’s a bit of bastard sometimes but he’s still our capt’n.”

“He just wants me to suffer because he has to,” you grumble.

He chuckles as he grips your shoulders and physically turns you back toward the door, “I doubt you’ll be sufferin’ much, lassie, I heard the CMO himself is runnin’ this one.”

Your feet forget their steps and you stumble before catching yourself on the doorjamb. “W-Why is Bones running it? Isn’t he busy? He never does this kind of thing,” you say as you turn back to face Scotty.

He shrugs, “capt’n’s orders, I guess. Now go before you’re late.”

You drag your feet out the door, down the corridor, and into the lift once again, all the while muttering about all the ways you intend on getting back at Jim.

You met Jim on your second day at Starfleet Academy and were almost immediately joined at the hip, being one of the only women on campus who was immune to the man’s charm. Well, not entirely immune at first, but you’ve definitely built it up over the years. It took a whole twelve months before you met his other other half, the doctor, and no matter how many years you spend with that man, you will never be immune to Leonard McCoy. From the moment you met him, you knew you were doomed, though you still tried desperately to deny it and got pretty good at controlling your body’s reactions to him. Your thoughts, however, not so much.

For almost two whole years, you managed to keep your crush under wraps, even though it was quite literally crushing you. It was one drunken night when you finally confessed to Jim, not quite revealing the identity of the man you were in love with but giving him enough information that he actually comforted you. That was when you realised it was a lost cause, and you were condemned to pine after this man for all eternity, because even James Tiberius Kirk couldn’t make a joke about your heartache. He did, however, affectionately nickname this mysterious man ‘Mr. Dreamy’ and continue to ask you about him and allow you to vent. It was nice to not have to bottle it all up, but it felt strange talking to one of your best friends about the other without him even knowing that it was the other best friend that you were talking about. Your conscience certainly took a guilty blow every time you’d end up in tears in Jim’s arms, or have to quickly change the conversation because Leonard was approaching. Jim never questioned it though, nor did he push the topic when you stopped bringing it up once aboard the Enterprise, leaving him to assume that Mr. Dreamy was left behind at the academy.

“You’re late,” Jim says as you fall into the chair beside him.

“You’re ugly,” you retort.

The large conference room is devoid of the oversized table that usually sits at its center, instead there are only two smaller tables piled high with medical equipment surrounded by a number of limbless, humanoid dummies. You and Jim are sitting in the front row of the audience chairs, whereas most of the crew attending had opted for further back.

“That’s no way to speak to your captain,” he chuckles, “what’s got your panties in a knot?”

“My panties are neither yours nor Scotty’s business,” you snap, though as soon as the words leave your lips you know you’ve given away exactly the reason why they are in a proverbial knot.

You’ve been aboard the USS Enterprise for almost two years, which means it’s been two years and one month – give or take a day – since you’ve been laid, and holy shit are you frustrated. It isn’t that you have an aversion to sex, or are practicing abstinence, in fact, you have a very healthy enjoyment for the act. It just so happens that you can’t seem to want anyone other than the one man you can’t have, because who fucking knows what would happen if you went down that route after five long years of friendship.

Jim’s laughter turns into a childish giggle, “has it been a while?”

You roll your eyes, “yes, Jim, it’s been a while.”

“How long?”

You turn in your chair to face the curious man, “that is also none of your business.”

“You know,” he glances around the room, “I know for a fact that there are many lovely lieutenants aboard this ship who would be more than willing to scratch that itch for you.”

“Shut up,” you hiss, “and no. Do you know how complicated it can get when you sleep with someone you’re stuck on a spaceship with for five years?”

“I do, actually,” he replies, “I know very well, but that doesn’t mean we should have to ignore one of our most primal needs.”

“Primal needs,” you roll your eyes again, “I appreciate the concern, but I’ll be fine. Three more years won’t kill me.”

He gasps, “it’s been three years?”

You roll your eyes again so hard you’re sure you saw your brain, “Jim, you know very well it hasn’t been three years.”

“Wait, so you haven’t slept with any since… since we-”

“Nope,” you say, stopping him from finish that sentence.

Yep, you had sex with Jim Kirk, but in your defense, who hasn’t? It was a drunken night, one week from embarking on the Enterprise’s five-year journey, and you were both a little lonely and incredibly horny. It wasn’t half bad either, if only a little strange sleeping with one of your best friends while you were in love with the other.

“Holy shit, Y/N, I didn’t-”

“Of course you didn’t know, Jim,” you sigh, turning back to the front of the room, “besides it’s not like I haven’t had… options, I’m just not interested.”

He frowns, “don’t tell me you’re still hung up on Mr. Dreamy.”

You purse your lips to keep from laughing, not out of mirth but something more along the lines of grim amusement, and your silence is enough of an answer for Jim.

“Hey,” he places a hand on your arm, “you know, I wouldn’t object if you wanted me to… help you out again. Believe me it was no chore, I mean-”

“Jim!” you snap, “shut up before somebody hears you.”

His cheeky grin only grows wider, “come on, you think anyone on this ship would be surprised to find out we’ve slept together?”

Before you can reply, the sound of someone clearing their throat catches your attention, and you both snap toward the front of the room to find the doctor himself staring at you. His frown is harsher than usual, and his hair a little mussed, which only fills your inappropriate mind with a thousand different fantasies of the messy-haired doctor in your bed.

“Well,” Jim sighs, “maybe one person.”

You glance around to the find majority of the room watching you while the rest of them do anything they can to not witness this situation unfold.

“Sorry, Bones,” Jim says, “you can begin now.”

“Well, thank you, Jim,” the doctor replies sarcastically before turning his attention to the room, “now that our captain has given his blessing, let’s get started.”

Jim settles back in his chair, though his demeanor is less relaxed and a little more anxious than before. You keep your eyes trained on the holographic slides behind Leonard as he talks about first aid basics and what different codes and acronyms mean. You try your hardest not to look at him, but all you can think about is how much you want to jump his bones. His voice is still a little raspy from sleep, and you start to fantasize about how delicious his Southern drawl would sound whispered against your neck.

Your almost halfway through a dangerously vivid daydream when Jim nudges you. “Are you okay?” he asks, and only then do you realise that the rest of crew had begun packing away their chairs to make room on the floor.

You nod and stand, dragging your chair to the side while Jim retrieves one of the rubbery dummies from the front of the room. Everyone pairs off, and you sit on the opposite side of the dummy to Jim while he uses his PADD to pull up some notes.

“Now,” Bones says, “we’re going to practice a variety of different cardiopulmonary resuscitation techniques. The concept is the same, it just depends on the anatomy of the patient.”

Jim hands you the PADD and you start flipping through all the different diagrams of different species’ anatomies, each illustration pointing out the location of the body’s heart, lungs, and esophagus.

“How the hell does he remember all these?” you wonder aloud.

Jim chuckles, “why do you think he’s so grumpy all the time?”

You get up on your knees for a better angle at the dummy and place your hands over where the heart would be on a human.

“I have to ask,” he says before you can start practicing compressions, “how do you even know if Mr. Dreamy is still single? Why wait for him?”

“It’s not like I still think I have a chance with him,” you reply, “it’s just… complicated.”

“How could it be complicated? I know you’ve got your excuses, but if you’re so in love with this guy, what’s to lose if you just ask him out?”

You can’t help but glance over your shoulder at the doctor. He’s kneeling beside another pair and helping them with their hand placement.

“It just is,” you say, before starting CPR on your own dummy.

“Well,” Jim says, “my offer still stands, because who knows how long before you’re grumpier than the good doctor over there.”

You sit back on your heels and gesture for him to take his turn, deciding not to acknowledge his proposal. After taking turns on three different methods of CPR, the doctor appears beside you.

“Do you need any help?” he asks as he kneels on the floor, and you want to say yes but you know he’s only referring to the dummy.

“You underestimate us, Bones,” Jim replies, “we’re top of the class.”

“Sure you are,” Bones rolls his eyes, “show me then.”

Jim sits back and gestures for you to do the honors.

You turn to the doctor, and the butterflies in your stomach erupt into a frenzy. “J-Just human?” you ask, cursing yourself for stuttering.

He nods and you lean over the dummy, placing your hands over where the sternum would be and starting a rhythmic pulse of compressions.

“Harder,” he says, which almost makes your hands slip off the dummy entirely. “Don’t be scared to break a rib, I’m sure they’d prefer a broken bone over death.”

You take a deep breath to compose yourself and put a little more force into the compressions. After counting to thirty, you tip the head of the dummy back, pinch its rubbery nose, and act as if you’re blowing into its mouth without actually putting your lips on it. Then you return to performing compressions.

“Good girl,” the doctor praises, and your sure your heart stops just as your breath does. Your hands slip and you have to catch yourself on the floor to keep from faceplanting.

You sit back and stare at Bones’ arms as he rolls his sleeves up and positions himself over the dummy.

“Make sure you interlock your fingers,” he says, “and keep your arms extended, that way you won’t lose stability.”

You want to listen, but you can’t stop staring at his bare arms as he performs perfect CPR on the doll in front of you. His skin is tanned and taught across his strong muscles, honed from years of practicing to have the steadiest and most skilled hands in all of Starfleet. His hands, oh god, you’ve had countless dreams about them tangling in your hair and touching every inch of your body.

You shift a little to try and relieve the pressure building between your thighs.

“Jim,” Bones says, “your turn.”

You look up to find Jim staring at you, his brows furrowed and a question on his lips as he slowly moves to take over from the doctor. Once satisfied with Jim’s technique, Bones leaves to help another pair and you quickly start flipping through the PADD to find the next diagram.

“Y/N,” Jim says, his tone suddenly serious.

You glance up, your cheeks hot, “Captain.”

He stares at you, his blue eyes trapping you and stopping you from looking away no matter how much you want to.

“Holy shit,” you can practically see the lightbulb flash above his head, “holy shit, I can’t believe I didn’t notice! I mean, it’s so obvious, and- how the hell did I not realise? Holy shit.”

“Jim-”

“It’s Bones!” he exclaims, earning startled glances from the people surrounding you.

“Jim, please-”

“No, no, no, you’re not lying your way out of this one,” he says, “I can’t believe you wouldn’t tell me that Mr. Dreamy- or should I say Doctor Dreamy is Bones.”

You sink onto your bum and cross your legs on front of you, leaning your elbows on your knees as you hide your face in your hands. “Jim, please don’t say anything,” you plead, “he can’t know, no one can know.”

“The way you look at him, the way you’ve always looked at him,” he goes on, though his voice is significantly lower, “I can’t believe I didn’t notice.”

Before you can say another word, Bones calls the room’s attention. Behind him, the holographic slides have changed to new points of information, and everyone falls silent to listen to the doctor’s speech.

You can see Jim squirming from the corner of your eye as you try to listen to the rest of the seminar, but it’s almost impossible to hear anything over the beating of your own heart. Heat washes over you in waves, ensuring your cheeks remain a bright shade of red and making your uniform feel itchy and tight. It feels like an eternity before Bones announces a break for lunch.

You grab Jim before he can move and begin dragging him out of the room, down the corridor, and into one of the smaller, vacant conference rooms.

He’s already giggling as you flop into one of the chairs, “you’re in love with Bones.”

You sigh, “yep.”

“And have been for five years?”

“Yep.”

“Why wouldn’t you tell me?”

“Because it’s stupid,” you reply, “and when I first met him, he was still getting over the divorce. Every time we’d drink together, he’d end up ranting about his ex and either make himself angry or upset. We all became such good friends, and before I knew it… I just didn’t want to ruin the friendship.”

“Ruin the friendship?” he repeats, “what are we? Teenagers in some old, soapy television drama?”

You shrug, “yes, I’m in love with him, but I’d rather have him in my life even just as a friend than not at all.”

“What makes you think he wouldn’t want to be with you?”

“Have you seen the women who hit on him?” you scoff, “and the women he’s been with? I could never-”

“Hey,” he interrupts you and pinches your chin between his thumb and forefinger, “none of that. You’re gorgeous, and Bones would be an idiot not to agree.”

“Okay,” you swat his hand away, “say we did go out, but it didn’t go well, and then I’ve lost one of my closest friends and made it incredibly awkward for you. Not to mention being stuck on this damn ship with him for another three years.”

Jim huffs, his eyes boring into his own shoes. It looks as if he’s having his own argument in his head, his posture rigid and his lips set into a hard line.

“Jim, just promise-”

“Sorry to interrupt,” a red-shirted lieutenant pokes their head through the door, “but I actually have this room booked in five minutes.”

“Oh,” you stand and grab Jim’s arm, “sorry.”

You pull your captain into the corridor and begin back toward the big conference room.

“Y/N, just hear me out.”

You turn abruptly and push Jim against the wall with a hand on his chest, “no, Jim, you hear me out. You know how I feel, and you know how long I’ve felt like this, so don’t you dare try and tell me what I should do. Just because you now know it’s Leonard doesn’t change anything.”

“Okay,” he raises his hands in surrender, “okay, I’ll shut up, I’m sorry.”

You release him slowly and he lowers his hands.

“I have to admit though,” he smirks, “he’d be an excellent lay.”

“Jim!” you exclaim, your hands balling into fists at your side.

He chuckles and looks down the corridor, his grin disappearing the instant his eyes land on the doctor. You frown and follow his gaze before quickly taking two steps back from your captain.

Jim clears his throat, “Bones-”

“We’re starting again,” the doctor says, before turning sharply and walking back into the conference room.

Neither of you say another word as you reenter the room and take a seat in the front row once again. Leonard avoids looking your way for the rest of the afternoon, and though you can’t help but worry about what you’ve done wrong, it also allows you to stare at him unashamedly. You let your thoughts run wild, imagining his hands pinning your wrists down, his body on top of yours, and his mouth everywhere as he slowly unties that knot below your stomach that’s been twisting tighter and tighter for five years.

Eventually he calls the day to an end, and everyone thanks him before shuffling out of the room, everyone but Jim.

“Dinner?” you ask.

He takes a deep breath before standing, “I’ll be there soon, you go ahead.”

Your heart thuds nervously, but you stop yourself from questioning him any further and turn toward the door. You’re the last out aside from Jim, and you can hear him address his friend just as you step into the corridor. The last of the crew shuffle into the lift. “Are you coming?” one asks.

You fight with your good conscience before shaking your head, “no, you go.”

The doors of the lift ease shut, and you turn several times on the spot, asking yourself whether you’re a sneaky person before giving in and pressing yourself against the conference room’s door.

“Bones,” you hear Jim’s voice, “just listen to me.”

“I don’t really feel like listening to you right now, Jim,” the doctor bites back.

You frown and press your ear against the door.

“Please, let me explain.”

“Explain what exactly?” Bones asks, his tone harsh, “the part where you slept with girl I love, or the part where you lied to me so that I didn’t?”

You smack your hand over your mouth to keep from gasping… or screaming.

“I didn’t lie to you, Bones, I just-”

“You told me she was in love with some other guy, and that I couldn’t ask her out because it would only make things awkward.”

“I didn’t lie to you, I-I just didn’t know that-” Jim sighs loudly, “Bones, I am sorry, we were both drunk and it didn’t mean anything, it was just-”

“Just sex?” Bones snaps, “that’s all it ever is with you, Jim, you never think about anyone else.”

“I know, it was stupid, but I never lied to you,” Jim says, “she really was- is in love with someone, but she never told me who it was. I just- I assumed it was some guy back at the academy, and I should have realised-”

“Realised what, Jim?”

You can only imagine the two of them squaring up to each other, and you try desperately not to let the picture of an infuriated Leonard turn you on.

“The guy she was- is in love with, she never told me who it was, we just called him by some stupid nickname, she’s loved him for years, but I never-”

“Are you trying to torture me?” Bones interrupts again, “spit it out, damnit!”

“It’s you!” Jim exclaims.

Your heart lurches, threatening to break through your ribcage and burst right out of your chest.

“She’s in love with you, has been for years.”

The silence is heavy, and you have to hold your breath to stay quiet.

“What are you playing, Jim?”

“Nothing, I’m telling you the truth,” their voices are no longer raised, “and I am sorry, Bones. I shouldn’t have slept with her, drunk or not.”

Another beat of silence passes.

“I didn’t realise you were still in love with her,” the captain says quietly, and you have lean against the door before your knees give way.

Bones sighs, “course I am.”

“Then tell her.”

“Tell her?”

You startle at the sound of footsteps approaching, jumping back from the door when it slides open.

Jim smirks, “I didn’t take you for the spying type.”

You don’t have a chance to reply before he pulls you into the room and drags you toward the doctor. He smiles at both of you, pats Bones on the shoulder, and leaves.

“Hi,” you murmur.

“Hi.”

Staring up at him, you soften instantly under his hazel gaze. You can feel the warmth from his body, you’re standing so close, and you’re positive your cheeks are burning red.

“I’m sorry,” he sighs, running a hand through his hair, “Jim’s just-”

You’re not sure if it’s the fact that you’re touch starved or just overwhelmed by what you’d just heard, but you surge up onto your toes and press your lips against his. He catches your waist and presses your body against his, tilting his head to allow your mouths better access to each other as his tongue slides past your lips. You can’t help the little whimper that travels up your throat, which only urges Leonard on. He turns your bodies and sits you on the table, knocking half of the equipment on it to the floor. Your legs part and he settles between them, pressing into you enough to make you shudder.

“I love you,” he says between open mouthed kisses, “by the way.”

You giggle against his lips, “I love you too.”

His hands stroke your jaw before travelling gently down your neck and chest and stopping to cup your breasts. He groans, and you sigh, before his hands continue down to your hips and he holds you in place to grind against you.

You gasp, his name falling from your lips like a prayer, “Len.”

Your hook the fingers of your right hand in the band of his pants while your left travels up under his shirt. His skin is so hot and so soft, you can feel the appreciation for him pooling in your panties.

“Oh, my God,” a voice exclaims, and you jump apart, “that was quick!”

Leonard looks over his shoulder but keeps his body facing you, concealing the bulge in his pants. “Damnit, Jim!”

The captain giggles, his grin so broad you’re worried he might get stuck like that, “this is a public space.”

At the same time, you and Leonard shout, “get out!”

He continues laughing as he leaves, and only then does Leonard disentangle himself from you and march toward the door to lock it. When he turns back, you can’t help but giggle at the delicious sight of him.

“Want some help with that?” you ask, nodding toward his crotch.

He’s back on you in less than a second, claiming your neck with a heavenly bite. “Thought you’d never ask,” he whispers against your skin.

END.

#leonard mccoy #bones #star trek #leonard mccoy x reader #bones x reader #imagine #oneshot #one shot #karl urban #chris pine #jim kirk #captain kirk #spock

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schismusic · 1 month

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Joy Division, or: how I learned to stop worrying and love New Order, too

Spring is weird as hell because one time you have this glaring sun that powers you up like being plugged into a wall outlet, then not five minutes later clouds begin to gather and you feel like you're going to die if anything goes south. So the most obvious combination to represent two sides of this same coin, emotional and meteorological, is Joy Division and New Order.

Sometimes you need Transmission or Shadowplay for the sunny days — impassioned jolts, sparks flying everywhere. Sometimes The Perfect Kiss hits harder on a cloudy afternoon, coming back home and in need of that extra push to not fall asleep in the train. It's surprising to realize the versatility displayed by both bands, or the same band in two different iterations according to whomever you ask. Peter Hook says, as late as 1993, that the laziest member of New Order is Ian Curtis. Or again this other person, in the comments under the Atmosphere official video on YouTube, who went to see New Order (Hooky-less New Order, which might be a relevant distinction) at the O2 Arena a couple of years ago and they gave an encore, says "Those of us who stayed got the privilege of watching Joy Division perform three of their songs". Interesting outlook on the matter. I personally saw Peter Hook and the Light play both Joy Division records and, I'm pretty sure, an encore comprised of just Love Will Tear Us Apart at the Arti Vive Festival in Soliera, back when it was still free to attend some of the events. I remember being pretty mad that Hooky had stopped to take pics with basically everyone and then left exactly as I was approaching. In retrospect I don't exactly blame the man, it was like midnight anyway. I remember nothing of the back trip home.

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My first contact with Joy Division happened when I was thirteen and very much in my prog era. I was in Rome staying at an aunt of mine's place for my fourteenth birthday and she told me I could get a CD, since I had gotten some money saved up over time. Some Facebook page dedicated to Pink Floyd I'd liked (yeah, Facebook at age thirteen — I literally just wanted to play a fucking Flash game, back when Facebook allowed them, and I ended up getting to be terminally online. Crazy how things turn out) used to share a lot of memes and fanart relating to the Unknown Pleasures album cover, and me being a massive Pink Floyd head at the time I thought "I mean, if these guys are pushing this band so hard, that's gotta mean something". The album cover was pretty striking, admittedly: a far cry from the paisley ass paintings that I had grown to accept as the gold standard for the music I liked, but its simplicity struck a chord closer to The Dark Side of the Moon, or perhaps The Wall. Those were records I liked a lot, probably called them "the best records ever made" to more than one person, not like they aren't but that's a very bold statement to make when your listening experience consists exactly of

Madonna's Confessions on a Dance Floor when I was six;

Daft Punk's complete discography (minus Random Access Memories, which wasn't out yet) when I was twelve;

Pink Floyd's complete discography, courtesy of a CD collection coming out with some Italian newspaper, that same year;

a couple random classic rock records recommended to me by older friends and relatives usually well into their fifties or sixties at the time, random people on Internet forums — which, for clarification, I did not actively attend, preferring to just lurk from time to time — and the OndaRock "milestones" page.

So browsing through the surprisingly expansive CDs section of this electronics shop in Rome, and being mesmerized by a vinyl rack in the days when Music on Vinyl was the final frontier of pretending you could re-analogue the digital ("you mean to tell me these are like CDs, but bigger? Whoever designed these truly lived in the future"), I came across that very same album art that had stricken me so hard. I had listened to the first seconds of the album on YouTube, but that weird drum sound — so echoey, so distant, ultimately not particularly powerful, meaning it didn't really sound like Bonzo: it sounded more like my own band, which at the time didn't even exist yet — I didn't really know what to make of. This store I was in had one of those preview listening machines that would scan the barcode on the CDs and give you a small snippet of the song. I pull the CD up to the scanner, the scanner lights up green, I put on the headphones and the solo from this comes up:

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Clearly they had to be kidding me. I had come to know, sneaking into infinitely many rehearsals with the band from my mother's town, what it sounded like when someone tried to play lead without something else filling up the arrangement (even though I didn't really know all that, or at least lacked the vocabulary to properly express it) and, for Christ's sake, didn't these guys notice rehearsing? It sounded empty, weirdly so, and it wasn't my thing, I thought. I put that CD away and picked up a band I knew I'd like — Genesis, specifically. So Nursery Cryme became the first CD I've ever paid with my own money, the very day I turned fourteen. Not a bad pickup. I remember being very impressed with the fast blurring lead guitar on The Musical Box and digging the sweet pastoral atmospheres of For Absent Friends and Harlequin. I still think of that record more often than one would probably assume looking at this blog, or my most played on Spotify. At the time, that was the best move I could take, really: why beat my head against a record that, as your average prog nerd ballbreaker, simply wasn't speaking to me?

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Then all of a sudden in August of the same year my friend's dad hands me a 16 gigabyte USB drive, full of random music from all eras of rock. A lot of it remains inscrutable to me for a really long time, most notably Tom Waits (see related post), but I spent the whole month reading random folder names, seeing if something catches my eyes, and at one point I come across the Mars Volta. Open the folder up, read the names of their first three records, and my first thought is "Christ, these guys look incomprehensible. I'm about to have some fun". Long story short: I end up having a lot of fun, the Mars Volta turns into my favourite band at the time and finding out that they had previously been called At the Drive-In makes me gain some measure of respect for punk rockers: if they tried hard enough, I must've thought, they could prog as hard as anyone. In the meantime the ghost of Joy Division remains at the back of my head. I feel like I'm missing something, for the first time in my life: it's not them, it's me. Too bad that same realization didn't occur to me when it came to the people in my life until much, much later, but that's being fourteen for you I suppose. Early King Crimson and the Mars Volta were the pinnacle of violence to me, and not even the very few Metallica songs I'd downloaded just to see what would happen scratched that itch. It felt a bit too cauterized for some reason (I would later find out I had been looking in the wrong direction the whole time: the Black Album "sucked", according to my favourite metalhead of the time, who somehow catalyzed my interest from the very second I saw him in the school's courtyard. Hard to imagine why I would imprint on people like puppies do, but what the fuck, not like I've ever outgrown that anyway, I've just gotten better at managing it). But I felt there was more than violence to this, or different forms of violence. When Christmas came around and my relatives tried to get me presents, my mother asked if there was anything specific I was interested in, and I basically told her "look, if they can get me some CDs off of this list, I'm golden". It had some bangers on it, namely Noctourniquet by the Mars Volta — it's one of their best and I will die on this hill, be warned — and The Downward Spiral, which might as well warrant its own post in an ideal world. But the best of them all I think came from a random purchase, once again with the little money I had lying around at the time.

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Closer appears to be, right away, a bit more concrete, and if there's something inexperienced music fans like is a pretty packaging that conjures a strong emotional response before they've even played the record. Compare a color-inverted graph of pulsar emissions to a literal funerary monument. Opening up the booklet I was shocked to see that Genesis was used as a negative point of comparison (bad omen, I thought) by people close to the band, and I came across much more detailed information about Ian Curtis's untimely demise — at that time, something far too removed from my experience to be faced with the delicacy and attention it deserves. Atrocity Exhibition hits like a ten-ton truck, a reference which at the time I wouldn't have been able to make for obvious reasons, and Isolation exposes all the nerve tissue under the skin. Passover comes in and strips everything even barer, and then A Means to an End turns… danceable, for some reason? Big emotional moment with The Eternal and Decades, which I thought actually took them closer to my usual tastes. And yet at the same time I kept looking at Colony, Heart and Soul and Twenty Four Hours as the most compelling cuts. Geometric assault sounding like sheet metal if it were music; rhythmically driven emptiness that serves as a minimal backdrop for depressed poetry, and finally a rocking ebb-and-flow that would probably inform a lot of my interest in GY!BE-like post-rock in the coming years. Very interesting to think that the same guys who'd done Unknown Pleasures could think of this. To this day, when asked, I still do think that Closer is the best Joy Division record, but what does it even mean when the records are exactly two, compilations notwithstanding?

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It was around this time that it came to my attention that both Joy Division and another band called New Order had a record called Substance out, both published by the same recording company, both coming out within a year of each other. Looking it up, it turns out it's fully intentional, because New Order is simply Joy Division minus Ian Curtis. It would turn out to be a tad bit more complex than that. Anyway, I look New Order up and kind of have to do a double-take. Synthpop? In my Joy Division? More likely than you'd think, considering Isolation exists. But yeah, that sort of seals it — I wouldn't care about this New Order for a million years. Until all of a sudden a couple of years later David Sylvian bursts like a comet in my face, which of course leads me straight to Japan, the same year as I'd come across Berlin-era Bowie, and you can probably guess where this is going, right?

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Well, you'd be wrong. I still don't check out New Order. There's a whole new world open to me — vaporwave and therefore R Plus Seven come to my attention, which leads me to dissect that record like an alien tool of unclear purposes. This of course leads me onto an ambient tangent, taking me back to my Tim Hecker listens of that same year, which has the effect of renewing my interest in "pure" electronic music and the then-rising post-dubstep movement. The sheer experience of sound, the dazzling modernity and innovation, is what's in at the time. I have no time for nostalgia-pandering dimwits: the future awaits. Then all that jazz from the first Godflesh post hits, then God pulls the funniest gag in the history of viral infections to my memory, and I have some time to actually look back, a bit less prejudiced. As it turns out, synthpop is not the devil, as some of you might have surmised by now, and as I relisten to Blue Monday I realized I have never listened to either of the Substance record. I do know some, most perhaps?, of the tracks on the Joy Division one, and I do think the New Order one has the more striking cover art — not to mention I knew, by this time, that this was the one to give Metal Gear Solid 2: Substance its name, and that Your Silent Face soundtracked one of the most memorable moments in Nicolas Winding Refn's Bronson. As the ultimate Hideo Kojima stan, I couldn't let this slide, so I pop the record on and get hit with this:

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Way to go, guys. Holy shit. I knew that Ceremony was a Joy Division cut before they could record it, but what the hell — Bernard got it, too. It wasn't a matter of singing ability with songs like these, it's just getting it, finding the right energy. They had that right energy. And then it hit me just as many times these dudes have made Blue Monday over and over again before actually getting it right, and everytime I look into it it's funnier and funnier to realize just how many different attempts it took them to finally be Kraftwerk, but augmented — with the stellar results we all know. Everything's Gone Green, 5 8 6, Temptation potentially, all lead up to this one moment in the history of dance music where somehow three dudes and a girl hailing from Manchester managed to out-gay the Pet Shop Boys (by their own admission, apparently), to shake the whole world's collective booty, to do whatever it is they were supposed to do in this last comparison that would ideally make the previous one a bit less obnoxious but whatever, it's 3am as usual, you know how it goes by now don't you? But then after Blue Monday the record keeps going, and thank god it does, because it's banger after banger. How do these guys keep doing it?

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So I spend some time with that record, then it fades down, then it comes back up last month, when the weather calls for it and its parent company. Which is when I find myself watching the Control movie for the first time, surprisingly enough seeing as I already enjoyed the work of Anton Corbijn as a photographer. Looking at all that, it is revealed to me that Joy Division never really having died is not a bug, it's a feature. Everyone is gasping, I get it, but please pick your jaws up and check this out: the band has never learned how to play their respective instruments. One might go so far as to argue they play their own stuff their own way, and that's basically it. Nothing could be further from the truth. These guys jammed, a lot; that's how Joy Division wrote songs, that's how New Order wrote songs, even going as far as having Bernard Sumner fucked up on acid so he could find the chorus to Temptation or the whole band bombed out of their minds on X in Ibiza clubs to write, basically, the entirety of Technique — and even then, not really, there's a couple jangly tracks that the X would most likely render unlistenable but what do I really know? Point being: it might now have been sparked by a music teacher or instructor, it might not have been the product of a process comparable to that within Television, which led them to organically seek out better, more "by the book" musicianship, but New Order were incredibly familiar with their instruments, had formed an element of comfort and understanding that counterbalanced the alien-ness to music terminology.

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Peter Hook recently uploaded a Yamaha-sponsored video to his Instagram, which I am pretty sure has a say in running, where he jams on a Yamaha bass and, you know, it sounds like Hooky alright, but it's never a discernible bassline until he kicks into the A major strumming that opens Love Will Tear Us Apart. Before that, he just strolls around the neck, leisurely strumming away at power chords imbued with that thick chorus and reverb combo he became renowned for. I would never, in my wildest dreams, have imagined I'd find myself thinking "okay, awesome, stop talking — I want to hear you jam a bit more" referring to one of the musicians who were part of possibly two of the craziest storiest in the history of contemporary rock'n'roll, also notorious for playing the rockstar whilst carrying the minimum possible baggage of technical knowledge he could. Once again, this is nowhere near a knock to the man — quite the opposite. Ian Curtis asked "persistence, well, what does it matter?", and Hooky (and, of course, the other members of New Order) found a way to constructively answer that question. Moments before Coil, but a bit later than Israel Regardie, they said "persistence is all" and built a brand on finding a way to consistently sound like splendid, eternal, golden children: "like crystal", impassionate, tightly-knit performers with the purity of a child's heart. Ian Curtis had, in certain ways (at least artistically), the purity of a child in his heart, which some might even argue was a distinguishing feature of most of his literary idols — if you think about it, William Burroughs could be your dirty-minded classmate who walked in on his parents sharing an intimate moment in the bedroom (had his parents been gay men, the metaphor would probably fly better, but that most definitely wasn't the case). So the heart of Joy Division remains untouched, if a bit more naked. Heroes of post-punk, sons of the silent age, you can sleep soundly tonight.

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#schismusic #music #musica #long form content #schism writing #joy division #new order #post punk #new wave #Youtube

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ninjadeathblade · 3 months

Text

Febuwhump Day Four: Obedience

Warnings: Violence, Pong Krell, it's set during the war on Umbara, injury, death

Word count: 1,823

Author's notes: It took me ages to decide on this and a while to write it. But I haven't written for a more mainstream fandom in ages so here! Take some Umbara angst! (Also, sorry if some of the terminology is incorrect, I focused more on getting the dialogue correct) (btw, you can go find the prompt list at @febuwhump)

“Sir, we've been keeping this pace for twelve hours now,” Kix pointed out to Rex. “The men are getting worn down. We should rest.”

The captain quickened his pace slightly, enough to catch up to Pong Krell.

Kix strained to overhear their conversation.

“General Krell, the top of this ridge will make a good place for the men to make camp,” Rex said.

“The men don't need rest,” General Krell replied. “They need the resolve to complete the task at hand.”

“But sir-”

“CT-7567, are you reading me?”

Kix bit back a protest at the use of his brother's designation.

They had names, all of them.

And even though Kix didn't like General Skywalker's less than cautious plans, at least he would respect that and try to learn their names.

To their general, they weren't all the same.

“Excuse me, sir?” Rex questioned.

“I asked you a question, CT-7567. Do you understand the need to adhere to my strategy?” General Krell asked.

“Sir, the terrain is extremely hostile,” Rex reasoned. “Despite the difficulty of the conditions, the battalion is making good time. These men just need a little break.”

The general rounded on Rex, holding out an accusatory finger. “Captain, do I need to remind you of this battalion’s strategic mission in conquering this planet? Look back. See those platoons?”

Kix looked back at the weary brothers that trudged along behind him.

Already so much fewer than had boarded carrier ships to begin with.

“Their mission is to take this city and take it swiftly.” Kix looked back over as the jedi spoke again. “Time and rest are luxuries the Republic cannot afford.”

What?

More men would die if they didn't rest, was the general insane?

“We are the key to this invasion. The other battalion's are counting on our support. If we fail, everyone fails. Do you understand this?”

The general rose his voice. “Do all of you understand this? Now move on!”

Rex merely looked back at his brothers before wearily tilting his head in the direction of the seemingly tireless Besalisk.

Kix stared at the mist-covered floor as they trudged onwards.

He wished that this battle would be over.

~•~

Kix dragged another soldier into relative safety, thankful for the cover fire provided by Rex, Jesse and Dogma.

He removed the younger clone's bucket. “You're going to be okay buddy. This will ease the pain.”

The clone let out another pained groan as he treated them.

The firefight they'd ended up in was horrendous.

General Krell spoke to General Kenobi about something while the clones fought for their lives.

If it were General Skywalker, then he'd be fighting right alongside his men.

“Incoming, incoming!”

Kix flattened himself to the ground as another explosive blast went off nearby.

They fought their way out once the general was done with his call.

~•~

Rex stood in front of all of them. “Alright, listen up. We'll assemble the squads into two divisions. We'll move straight up this gorge towards the airbase at the far side.”

“The casualties are going to be high,” Kix protested.

“Is Krell trying to get us killed?” Tup added beside him.

“You know, I wasn't sure that Krell was crazy before,” Jesse said. “But now I'm positive.”

Fives spoke up. “We had to retreat from the capital because the general pushed a flawed strategy. Now this?”

Hardcase didn't seem to understand the fuss. “I don't know. Could be fun.”

Fun?!

They'd already lost dozens if not hundreds of men, how could any of this be fun?!

“Well, I for one agree with the general's plan,” Dogma argued. “We're running out of time, and this is the best option.”

“No recon?” Jesse asked. “No air support?” He banged his bucket against the side of his tattooed head. “We don't know what we're up against. They have weapons we've never seen before.”

Rex tried to calm the situation back down again. “A few of General Skywalker's plans seemed reckless too, but they worked.”

“Yeah, but General Skywalker is usually leading his men up in the front,” Fives pointed out. “Not bringing up the rear like General Krell. A full-forward assault would leave us too exposed.”

The men around them all murmured to one another, seemingly agreeing with the ARC Trooper.

“We have to look at other options”

“It's going to be a meat-grinder down there.”

How was Fives the one seeing reason here?

Reckless Fives who had always gotten into trouble, who Kix remembers being brought to their battalion by Rex.

Fives who seemed to be his most often patient aside from Hardcase.

Fives, who had quietened down and started being more rational after he lost Echo.

Fives who had locked himself into a medical cupboard one time so he could cry in secret. When Kix hadn't the heart to tell him that he'd heard the younger clone's cries and that was the real reason he was in the medical bay so late.

Fives, who had never been Kix's favourite, but always seemed to have a plan.

How was his captain not seeing reason but Fives was?

Rex and Dogma looked around.

“Fives.”

Kix sighed as Fives followed their captain.

He couldn't hear their discussion but he could tell it was growing more heated as disagreement built between them.

Jesse turned around, shooting him a slightly worried smile. “You know, we'll probably be okay.”

Probably.

It would be a miracle to get through this while obeying General Krell’s orders.

~•~

Kix whirled around as something burrowed out of the ground.

A trooper beside him let out a quiet curse. “Oh skrag.”

The creature- no, machine - must have been huge, metal limbs clicking as ominous blue light filtered from between segments of its body.

One massive blue window took up the thing's face, shining bright in the dark surroundings.

It erupted into chaos as practically everyone started firing their blasters.

Nothing worked but whatever the thing was definitely had enough fire of its own.

The men made a retreat back to the cover of the trees behind them, trying to escape the mechanical monstrosity heading for them.

Kix watched as a couple of the ATs blew up.

“It's head is ray-shieled, we need rocket launchers!”

Some of his brothers were shouting.

Kix could hardly hear it.

All he could think of was to save as many men as possible.

He darted between troops, checking for pulses or breathing and then rooting through his supplies for something- anything that might help in the slightest.

Kix darted over to a rocket-carrier after the insectoid machine crawled off of him.

“Take it, take it,” the injured man wheezed to another trooper.

“I got him,” Kix yelled over the surrounding hurricane of noise, trying not to wince at the yell made when he dragged the injured clone to safety.

Rex ran nearby him, signalling to whoever had picked up the rocket launcher. “Go. Go, go, go! Keep moving, keep moving!”

Kix did as much as he could.

It didn't matter.

He duly noted that the machine screeched and its rounds of fire went everywhere as a rocket did manage to hit its face.

“Everyone regroup, now! Take cover!” Rex ordered.

“Move it! Move it!”

Kix reluctantly tailed them, looking back at the scattered bodies behind them.

“We're safe for the moment. They'll be coming around any second,” Fives breathed heavily.

Kix made a mental note to check him later.

“Bring up the launchers,” Rex instructed. “Spread detonators along that corridor. Trap them into the bottleneck. We're going to blow these things sky high.”

Kix crouched in preparation, chest rising and falling quickly as his vode goaded the machines towards them and Rex detonated the set up explosives.

They took a mere moment to celebrate their meagre success.

~•~

Kix rushed forward, firing volleys as two insectoid animals hovered over a body. “Hey! Still hungry? Chew on that!”

One of them went down with his blaster shots, Rex killing off the other one. “Everyone, keep moving.”

Kix trained his gun on the animal, wary that it might be faking its death.

“Hey, Kix, leave it.”

He slowly lowered his weapon before tailing his brothers.

~•~

Two more large tanks, sending off volleys at them already.

Kix and Rex helped move a wounded soldier to cover.

“Keep the wounded as quiet as possible,” Rex instructed.

Kix nodded, keeping an ear out as he tended to his most recent patient.

“Alright, you heard the general. Let's go.”

“You can't be serious,” Jesse complained.

“I used to think General Krell was reckless, but now I'm beginning to think he just hates clones,” Fives spat.

“The captain is right. Now let's move out,” Dogma replied.

Fives spoke to Rex. “We can't take them on. We need to find another way.”

“You got any ideas?” Rex questioned.

Ah, Kix recognised that tone.

Rex was tired and stressed and he was beginning to break.

All of them were at their limits but as the commanding officer amongst them, he wasn't allowed to show that.

Rex was playing the role he had to play so that no one else would become demoralised.

Kix assumed Fives shook his head.

“Then this is it.”

The captain sprinted out of cover.

“Okay, let's do it,” Hardcase said, as if they had any other choice.

If General Skywalker were here then they wouldn’t have to follow such idiotic orders.

~•~

Kix looked back and forth between a tank and the trooper he'd been trying to help, dismay striking through him as they'd been struck by a bolt of fire.

One of the tank's feet raised, ready to crush him.

Kix jumped back just in time before quickly darting in to help the clone who hadn't dodged, dragging them. “Help me with the wounded!”

Fives and Rex sprinted over to him.

“We’ve got to get these guys out of here,” Kix called.

Fives moved past him to provide covering fire while Rex helped him move the trooper to safety.

Kix began to walk back towards the battle when a hand clamped down into his shoulder. “Forget it. We have to leave them.”

Kix whirled around, pointing to the battlefield while he addressed his captain. “We can't just leave them, sir!”

Rex shook his head. “You don't have a choice. That's an order.” The captain began to walk away.

“You sound like General Krell,” Kix accused.

Rex halted before turning back to him. “Look, Kix, it's more important to save yourself right now. If we survive, you can patch up the wounded later.”

“We're… We're finished,” Tup sighed.

Kix barely heard the rest of the conversation.

He was a medic, his job was to help those who were wounded.

He understood that he couldn't help everyone but the fact Rex had ordered him?

That hurt.

He wanted to leave this planet, and never see it again.

But if he was going to leave it, it would be with his brothers.

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gallifreyanhotfive · 6 months

Text

"Theta Sigma," Analysis

Okay, vague background. Theta Sigma was the name the Doctor used when he attended the Academy on Gallifrey.

Theta and Sigma are both Greek letters and have some pretty intense symbolism in my opinion.

Uppercase theta was often used in Latin funerary inscriptions. Romans would often set up the funerary monument while the person was still alive, but if the person died beforehand, their names would be marked with an uppercase theta. Ennius, an ancient Roman author, is believed to have called Theta a "letter much unluckier than the others."

Sources from different Greek periods have interpreted theta as a sign of death. Classical Athens literally used uppercase theta as an abbreviation for Thanatos, the Greek God of Death. Isidore of Seville interpreted theta as one of the five mystic Greek letters, applied by judges to those who are given the death penalty. It is found on potsherds that ancient Athenians would use when voting on the death penalty.

Theta is also found in many forms of symbolism like many Greek letters, but I am using the above interpretation in my analysis.

Sigma, meanwhile, was held in high importance, appearing in architecture and coins. The word "sigma" is probably derived from the word "sig-jo" or "I hiss." Hissing is typically used by animals as a warning to predators. They hiss when they feel uncomfortable or frightened.

However, I'm sure people are more familiar with sigma in terms of mathematics. Uppercase sigma as the operator for summation, and lowercase as standard deviation of some population or probability distribution. It has also been used as a symbol for a ton of other fields from physics, chemistry, and biology to linguistics, accounting, and macroeconomics (but those meanings are more obscure in my opinion and will therefore be excluded from my analysis).

In any case, whenever I see Theta Sigma written out on audiobook cover (like in The Trial of the Valeyard) or in that stone River carved it into (in The Pandorica Opens), it is always the uppercase form. For that reason:

Theta: an unlucky letter; associated with death; a brand for criminals facing the death penalty

Sigma: hissing (a technique used by animals when frightened to ward off predators); an operator for summation

Considering all of this, it is an interesting name for the Doctor to go by in his youth. If the uppercase Theta was used to symbolize death in Latin funerary inscriptions and was used in Athens to vote on and brand those awaiting execution, the "Theta" part of the name seems to indicate that they are, well, associated with death and potentially awaiting execution.

But where did he get this name? Who started calling him it? Given the recent season, could it be possible that he was given that label by the Division? Considering what the CIA had Vansell up to in his youth (I'm not sure how the Division and the CIA relate to each other, but there probably is some link), I'm willing to bet that that name was given to him because of the foreknowledge of what the Doctor would do in the future or perhaps knowledge of what he's already done in the past.

And Sigma, can't forget that. The hissing a scared animal does to frighten off predators. The operator for summation. Could that represent, perhaps, some deep, core fear of the Division and of those who hurt the Doctor in their youth? Fear that they can't even remember because of the mind wipes? A summation of all the fear the Doctor has felt from those who experimented on them and hurt them and killed them, and that fear continues even to that day since his nickname itself is a brand marking him for execution at some point in his timeline (Two to Three anyone? Six's trial? Rassilon was ready to have Twelve killed once he was no longer in the controlled environment of the Confession Dial and still refusing to tell him what he wanted to know).

And what exactly would someone do if they were constantly being chased by death itself, if they were afraid of something but could not remember precisely why?

They would run away, and they would never, never stop.

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innytoes · 3 months

Note

33 for callexie (caleb/alex/willie)? ;D

Willie had the perfect plan, okay? It didn't matter that maybe he'd taken one too many Benadryl. He was sure Tomorrow Willie would absolutely agree with his flawless decision making skills.

Like that time he painted his entire kitchen red. Like sure, the next day he'd been kind of confused, but then a week later he tripped while holding a bowl of tomato soup and you couldn't even see the stains! Benadryl Willie was brilliant.

So of course he wouldn't regret crawling across the fire escape, jimmying open the window of his very cute neighbours' place, and all but throwing himself and his laptop (very important!) through.

"Oh hey, you're having dinner, perfect!" Willie beamed at the surprised faces. The lights were all off, except for some candles on the table, which was perfect. That would mean they could see his presentation all the better.

Alex looked positively angelic in the candlelight, his eyes wide and his hair like liquid gold. The shadows made Caleb's jaw look even more perfect, and his eyes seemed to be sparkling with amusement. Probably amusement, right? Willie was a funny guy. Which was point seven!

Focus.

"Anyway, you can keep eating while you listen," he said, dragging over one of the bar stools from the kitchen to their table. He propped the laptop on top, flipping it open so they could see the first slide.

"Anyway here is my Powerpoint on why you should date me," he started, jabbing the button. The first slide wooshed away with a fun sound effect. "Number one, I am very pretty. Case in point." He clicked again, and some shirtless selfies appeared.

"What the hell is happening," Alex whispered.

"Point one b, I also have very pretty and pettable hair. And abs. Unless I just ate pizza or something." The next slide showed off both. "And a cute butt." He hadn't been able to take a proper picture of that, but he turned a little so they could see his butt anyway. "See?"

"Let him finish, darling, he obviously put work into this," Caleb whispered back.

"Thank you," Willie said, before clearing his throat. "Point Two. You both keep inviting me over to dinner and smiling at me and when we bump into each other in the hall we can talk like forever and we just seem to click and vibe.'

The last slide with his abs disappeared, replaced by one that said VIBES in comic sans. Because that was supposed to be the most easy to read font out there. Or something.

"Number three, I am an excellent boyfriend. I will remember your birthday and get you flowers except I won't because I know Alex is allergic but I'm learning how to make origami flowers except don't tell Alex that it's a surprise for his birthday which by the way is July 19th," he rambled. He clicked the button again, because he was pretty sure there were more reasons he was a good boyfriend.

"Oh, right! I make a mean breakfast in bed and also I totally believe in fair division of labour meaning I will do the dishes because I know Caleb secretly hates them because they make his hands wrinkly but also you can't just put wine glasses in the dishwasher."

"You're absolutely right," Caleb agreed.

"Don't encourage him!" Alex hissed.

"Point... um..." He clicked the power point again. "Five. Right. I am amazing in bed. Ten out of ten ex boyfriends agree. Or they would if I had ten. I have four. They're all great, except for Joey Keaton, but I never slept with him anyway because we were both twelve and he dumped me because I wouldn't give him my shiny Charizard Pokemon card."

A picture of his shiny Pokemon Card, which he still owned (suck it Joey!) popped up on the screen.

"You skipped point four," Alex pointed out, and Willie blinked. He went back a slide. Then forward again. Then back.

"Okay point four is your eyes are very pretty and I want to kiss you," he said resolutely. "Anyway point six! If you date me you will always have a tie breaker. If you can't pick a restaurant? TIE BREAKER! Not sure what movie to watch? Tie breaker! Also you need like three people to play Twister which is also very important. Point seven is I'm very funny and eight is... oh that's a picture of the raccoon who comes by the dumpster sometimes to see if there's pizza. We're friends. He can vouch for me. Point nine is I'm great in bed and also very cute."

Was it just him or was the room getting all spinny? He swayed a little, and Caleb caught his arm.

"You're strong," he said, smiling. "That's not a point, though. I mean it's a point on why I wanna date you, but I didn't get to that PowerPoint yet."

"Why don't you sit down," Caleb said, gently settling him down in his chair. Alex looked even prettier from across the table.

"You're even prettier from this angle," he told Alex.

"I- thank you?" Alex said. "Are you okay?"

"Peachy!" Willie said. Oh man, this food smelled so good. He took a bite. "I'm not done though. I still have to get to point twenty four, which is super important. I give really good hugs. You like hugs don't you?"

"Willie, did you take something?" Caleb asked gently. His hand was on Willie's back and it was warm and he leaned into it. That was nice. He was kind of cold. And shivering a little. Haha.

"No, I don't do that anymore, I have a real job now," he said. "And an apartment. And I can buy my own food and clothes and treats for Throckmorton - that's the raccoon by the way, I'll introduce you if you want."

"Did you ingest any substances?" Caleb tried again.

"I took some Benadryl," Willie said. "And some of this pasta. It's really good, have you tried it? Anyway, point... point ten. I'm a good cook. I know how to make eggs like five different ways, and that's not even including French Toast!"

"How about you come lie down on the couch for a moment?" Caleb asked.

"I feel like you’re not taking this PowerPoint presentation about why you should date me very seriously," Willie pouted. He'd worked very, very hard on it.

"How about we go sit on the couch to look at the rest, huh?" Alex said. Alex was so smart. "I'll carry your laptop, okay?"

They sat down on the couch, and Alex put the laptop on the coffee table. Willie nodded, ready to go back to his presentation, but then Caleb wrapped a blanket around his shoulders and kept his arm there, and Alex gently brushed the hair off his forehead - and rested it there for a moment, which was nice. He leaned into the touch.

"You're burning up," Alex said.

"Yeah, I'm hot, that was like point one, do I have to start over?" Willie asked. He tried to reach his laptop with his foot. He hadn't bothered to put on shoes, so his fun socks were showing. "Oh, I didn't even include that on the PowerPoint. I have lots of cool socks. See, these are of cats in space."

"They're very nice," Alex agreed, gently tipping him over into Caleb. "Why don't you tell us all about your socks? How many pairs do you have?"

"Well, I have the cats in space, and dogs in space, and raccoon socks, and skateboards, and little hotdogs, and..." Slowly, his brain started to shut down, but that was okay, because Caleb was warm and comfy, and Alex was holding his hand, and he was pretty sure the sock argument was winning them over more than point twelve (I give great head!) and thirteen (I'm great at keeping plants alive! Look at my spider plant!).

And okay, when he woke up twelve hours later feeling like death, on a couch that was more comfortable than his own bed, with two very handsome and very doting neighbours willing to feed him soup and nurse him back to health, he had to admit that maybe Benadryl Willie had been right about something.

Because he did leave that apartment with two boyfriends.

#julie and the phantoms #calebxalexxwillie #fanfic #caleb was 100% here for it until he realised Willie was Not Okay #poor Alex was just so confused because he does like Willie and they HAD had some talks about maybe seeing if he was interested #once they start dating they make sure to help Willie find a better cold medication though #I wrote a thing #yes of course they go over the powerpoint while willie is zonked out #Caleb trying not to laugh because Willie's head is in his lap #Alex is a mix of horrified and intrigued because there are more shirtless selfies further on

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ackerfics · 1 year

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shall we hold hands and head home? — an anthology ft. levi ackerman and eren

mission title: how i met your father (wc: 6.1k) | masterlist

You have a problem.

“Eren, let’s review for the entrance examination!” you call from the living room, straightening your posture after putting a couple of books you borrowed from the library you’re working in (you got the job) on the coffee table.

Almost immediately, you hear a door slam shut. Specifically, the door to Eren’s room.

You sigh, putting your hands on your hips. “Eren, this is the fifth time you’re doing this now.” He doesn’t answer from behind his bedroom door. “Eren.” Again, there’s only silence. You purse your lips as you narrow your eyes at his door.

This has been going on for three days now and there are only less than five days to prepare for Eleutheria Private Academy’s entrance examination. The day after Eren moves in, you visit the nearby bank for a withdrawal . The documents you received alongside the money contain the application forms, appointments for the examinations, and the test itself. The moment you read the first question, you instantly question whether this academy is right in the head for asking about how many hectares of land George owned or how many kilometers James trekked in five minutes with the proper direction. The questions are truly for the geniuses of this generation. It baffles you that at Eren’s age, you never had the proper education to solve or comprehend any of these. This is why you should try your hand at teaching Eren how to be a proper student. But that’s not as fruitful as you think when he’s scurrying away every time you say the word study .

It’s like he’s a kitten. A terrified kitten. And this terrified kitten is peeking through the crack between his door right now. Green eyes narrow at you. You can’t even see it but you know he’s pouting.

“Eren, you have to prepare for the exam,” you coax. The crack between his door and the frame decreases and decreases by the second. You have no choice but to bribe him. You have enough money to spare anyway. Everything you received from your organization has led to this moment. “I’m going to buy you the limited edition Super Spies blanket and a Merry Meal of two cheeseburgers from the local fast food restaurant.” The crack becomes an open door. Eren is now looking at you like you’re responsible for the positions of the constellations in the sky.

“Pinky promise?” he asks, lifting his pinky in the air.

You smile. “Pinky promise.” He runs to you and loops your fingers together. You seal it with a gentle kiss on his thumb, something that has him beaming. “You have to make sure you have to do the end of your bargain.”

Eren nods, that adorable determined look plastered on his face.

“Now, let’s start with Mathematics.”

At the subject, Eren looks like he’s about to shit himself.

Eren doesn’t like studying.

It triggers nightmares. It gives him chills and he freezes. When the scientists finished their experiments on him, they subjected him to rigorous examinations to maintain the maximum brain power needed for his abilities to occur. Every day for almost twelve hours, Eren was studying in a lab like a newly-bought pet in training. No matter how much he cried or had a tantrum, the scientists never batted an eyelash, including that bespectacled man who took part in his existence. After he escaped, he didn’t touch a single book in the orphanage, except for the times the old bat of a caretaker forced him to do so to appeal to the couples wanting to adopt him, which was quite a challenge because he would fight against it and it would lead to him getting a lashing or not getting adopted in the end.

The marks on his back start itching as he listens to you drone about the basic operations of Mathematics. Addition and subtraction he can solve with ease. But multiplication and division? He might as well listen in on the other applicants’ thoughts while answering the exam. Now, you’re moving on to more complicated parts of Math. Eren’s left eye twitches when he sees shapes and bigger numbers jumbled in the problems.

He sniffles at the one-hour mark.

“Eren?” you ask him in the middle of formulating a problem for him to answer.

His bottom lip wobbles in distress. “I can’t do this anymore!”

You gawk at him, your head bouncing between him, the wall clock, and the pile of books on the coffee table. You sigh, the sound encompassing all the incoming exhaustion leading up to the examination. “Eren, you promised, right?”

Eren looks up at you. “But this is hard, Mama!”

“I know it’s hard but you have to study to pass this test.”

“What if I just read—”

You slightly narrow your eyes at him. “Are you planning on cheating?”

Eren purses his lips shut. That’s a mistake; an act of desperation. He almost revealed his powerful weapon. He stays silent as you huff.

I already have the list of answers from this exam thanks to Hange, maybe I should just let Eren memorize them , he hears from your mind.

Eren’s face morphs into a childish wonder. That’s right, you’re an awesome spy like the main character of the show he loves watching when you’re off running errands or doing what spies do. Maybe you infiltrated a secret base with top-notch security, specifically the hidden vaults of the academy he’s about to enter and suffer from, just to get the test papers and the answers. You’re so cool. Eren keeps on staring at your side profile until you have no choice but to glance at him from the corner of your eye. The both of you regard each other, one gaze filled with admiration while the other is painted in confusion.

Then, he comes up with this brilliant idea. “I don’t want to study anymore,” he whines. He makes sure to take glances at you in an attempt to gauge your reaction. When you give him a blank stare, Eren keeps on lamenting his fate. “This is so so hard! I don’t think I’m going to pass!”

He hears a sigh. That catches his attention. “I suppose I have no choice but to do this. Eren, I hope you have room for more than one promise. You mustn’t tell anyone about this.” You fix him a stern stare, your pointer finger wagging in front of him. Eren prevents a grin from surfacing on his face. “What I’m about to do is something against my morals but since we have no time, we’re going to take a shortcut.” You take out an envelope with a stamp that says do not touch . Eren wants to touch it. His eyes brighten at the document. “This,” you wave the envelope in the air, “is an important piece of paper and it has all the answers to your future. All you have to do is to memorize every single letter in here, Eren, and then we’ll be on our merry way. Do you understand?”

“Yes!” It’s not even a second and he immediately answers. He vibrates in his seat as you raise an eyebrow at him. Maybe he shouldn’t have answered that quickly. Oh, well.

“Here you go.”

Eren takes the envelope from your hands and stares at it. All he has to do is to memorize the answers. That should be easy enough.

It’s the day of the exam and Eren doesn’t remember anything from that blessed envelope.

His eyes are shaking in nervousness. His forehead is breaking into a cold sweat. His hands are trembling to the point that he can’t hold the pencil properly. All your efforts of making him look presentable as possible went in vain when Eren looks like he was about to combust and launch himself from the window of the examination room. It’s on the fourth floor of a large Victorian building. His shaggy hair is messier than usual with all the scratching he did just to lessen this funny feeling in his stomach that’s stirring the breakfast you made earlier in the morning. Eren clutches his tummy with a scrunched face. It’s alright that he feels this way because the other applicants look way worse than him. Others are murmuring prayers under their breath, something along the lines of asking a woman named Ymir for guidance (who is that?), while some are already apologizing to their parents.

Eren doesn’t want to apologize yet. He has to finish this test first.

“D-Do you want some ointment?” A timid voice comes from beside Eren.

He turns to the voice and sees a blond boy handing him a tin of aromatic salve. “What?” Eren dumbly asks.

The boy lifts the tin. “Ointment.” At Eren’s intense gaze, he looks down at the long desk connecting their two seats. He starts fiddling with the tin container. It doesn’t help that Eren looks angry when he’s nervous. “M-My Dad gave this to me before I entered the building. He said that it helped my older siblings when they took their exams, too. He told me to open it when I feel too o-overwhelmed with the exam.” He pronounces the big word carefully and tentatively. “Y-You look like you need it.”

Eren tilts his head, regarding the tin container as if it’s an unknown flying object in his favorite show. It’s a mystery waiting to be solved. He watches as the blond boy twists the cap and almost immediately, Eren gets a whiff of something minty, fruity, and soothing all at the same time. His shoulders relax and he inhales a good portion of the air surrounding them. How can this measly item make all the butterflies in his tummy vanish? Maybe he should tell you to buy something similar, one with a container filled with stickers of his favorite cartoon characters. Eren doesn’t realize it but he’s starting to lean closer to the blond boy’s side, his nose adorably twitching the more he nears the tin container of ointment.

“Here,” the blond boy pushes it to his face.

Eren backs away when a cooling glob touches the tip of his nose.

The boy jumps as well, panicking that he probably scared off his possibly new friend. “I-I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to do that!”

Still, Eren looks at him with his tiny hands over his nose. His eyes narrow at the questionable thing that shines underneath the streaming lights of the examination venue. It’s shiny though, he gives it that.

“I’m sorry!” the boy continues to plead.

Eren glances away from the now teary-eyed boy. Great, he made someone cry. Now, if you catch any wind of this, he’s the one crying while going home. He’s never seen you mad. Frustrated, yes, but never angry that has him tucking his tail between his legs. And seeing as he never wants you to be mad at him, Eren tries to stop this boy’s tears by reaching out his hand, palm up, all the while still not looking at him straight in the eye. “The ointment.” Eren pouts. “Can I have some?”

The blond boy sniffles, his blue eyes glistening with tears. “A-Are you sure?”

Eren nods, almost a huff coming out of his mouth.

The boy wipes the tears from his face and flashes him a brilliant smile. It makes Eren squint. It’s too bright. Not as bright as your smile, though. You have the most beautiful smile in his little mind and he doesn’t squint at the sight of it. In fact, he basks in every fiber of your being. The boy says something and it brings Eren back to reality. “You have to apply it near your nose so that the scent can stay until the exam is over.” The blond boy takes a good dollop of the ointment and smears it on Eren’s hand.

Eren follows his instructions and even makes an invisible mustache around his mouth. “I’m going to tell Mama to buy this,” he says, determined to make you buy this.

“I’m glad you like it!”

“Eren.”

“Huh?”

“Eren. That’s my name. What’s yours?” Eren peeks through his eyelashes.

The boy beams. “Armin. My name’s Armin.”

A small hand waits for another. “Wanna be my friend, Armin?”

Now, the lone palm has someone intertwining with it in a handshake. “Yeah! I hope we pass this together, Eren! That way we can be classmates.”

Eren doesn’t expect to have a friend for this exam. But one thing’s for sure, he’s thankful that he was directed to this seat because Armin knows all the answers to the questions. At least that’s what he thinks. After seeing the test papers, Eren wants to go home the next minute. He knows all the answers to this but the nervousness plaguing him minutes before the start of the exam flicks the memorized letters out of his head. So, he tries reading everyone’s mind all at once. It gives him a headache but still, he perseveres. He strains himself but all he can hear is a jumbled mess of children crying in their heads. Until Armin starts mentally narrating his calculations. Visibly, Eren brightens in his seat and vigorously writes on the test paper, the lead of his mechanical pencil a pleasant sound to his ears.

Wait for a second, there’s no 10 in the choices! Armin thinks out loud.

Oh. Now, Eren’s in trouble.

Maybe praying to this girl named Ymir can help him survive this.

He wants to go home and bury himself in cuddles with you. But just like how you have a mission, he has a mission, too. Eren shuts down his mind-reading abilities and starts writing from his memory. It’s a steady flow onward.

You have your hands entwined underneath your chin as you sit in one of the chairs of the ‘waiting room’. With how this area of the academy is constructed, you’d think it belongs to a hospital. The chairs line up the hallway and you’re one of the parents who are praying to some unknown deity just to have your kid pass the exam. You know Eren can do this. Aside from making him memorize the answer sheet, you tutored him in between breaks of memorization just to jog his intellectual and technical reasoning. You still don’t have the heart to break free from your morals of straying from the path of shortcuts. It’s how you achieved where you are right now. You hope Eren took note of that philosophy while you two were studying.

The bell rings, signaling the end of a five-hour exam.

Children crying fills the silence of the waiting room. The doors to consecutive rooms burst open to small pitter-patters of shoes leading the owners to their parents. What the hell? Surely Eren didn’t cry inside his examination room.

You stand from your chair and crane your neck to find that shaggy head of brown hair. After a couple of minutes, you see Eren walking behind a group of rowdy children pushing each other. He doesn’t hold that usual annoyed expression he has when you two go out to the business district. Instead, Eren has his head down, his appearance looking more disgruntled than earlier. Did he battle something in there? You can’t help but think. Like he can feel your gaze, he slowly looks up from the patterned floor. The expression on his face upon seeing you sends a flurry of dopamine inside your body and the next thing you know, a small body clutches your leg in the tightest hug a little kid can achieve. “How was it, Eren?” You gently pull him from your leg before lifting him in the air so that you can carry him in your arms. It baffles you that at six years old, Eren can still be carried like this. He really is too small for his age.

Eren nuzzles himself into the crook of your neck and you catch a familiar scent of an ointment you smell in passing whenever you are with Mike in the headquarters. The big bear of a man briefly mentioned that it’s the rage in the continent after it was patented by someone working in the business district of Liberio, the zone of Eldian people residing in the heart of Marley. “I finished it, Mama.”

Pride settles in your chest. Your hand runs through his hair, fixing the unruly strands popping in different directions. “That’s great, Eren. You’re so amazing like that spy character you very much like.”

He giggles. “I am, aren’t I?”

“Yes, you are.”

From across the hallway, you spot a head of blonde hair done in an elaborate bun, and an expensive dress adorning her figure. She is greeted by a boy sharing the same features as her. Blue eyes that are as beautiful as the sky, are the features only the Tyburs wear with dignity. Suddenly, the little boy points in your direction, the girl following his finger to you and Eren. You look down at Eren who swivels his head from your neck. “Did you make a friend, Eren?” you ask, still staring at the child in your arms. You try not to psychoanalyze the actions of Willy Tybur’s children. Hange once told you that you can be intense when you’re observing someone. Better lay low for now. With the way Eren kicks his legs in the air, you conclude that he did make a friend before the exam started.

Eren and the little boy exchange waves at each other before the former looks at you with stars in his eyes. “Yeah! His name is Armin. He’s the one who let me use this ointment. Do I smell nice, Mama?”

You heed his question and playfully inhale the area where he’s ticklish the most, right behind his ear. His giggles are a manifestation of seraphs; it makes you smile. “You do, Eren. How about we buy some of that ointment to help you in the future?”

He beams at your suggestion, nodding like a bobblehead charm.

“Okay then.”

Armin A. Tybur. The youngest in the Tybur family and the reason why it’s highly encouraged for you to put a child in this year’s academy admissions. According to the file given to you, Armin is a six-year-old prodigy who is expected to sweep the academy off its feet. Despite having no appearances in public, the maids and tutors working in the Tybur estate mentioned that the little boy started learning how to read when he was only two years old. He even wowed his family by expressing highly advanced emotional intelligence when normal people couldn’t even begin to understand emotions as adults. The Tyburs already placed their bets that the boy won’t have friends while attending an institution that’s open to the general public (in other words, those who have money and wits).

Yet here’s your child befriending such a genius recluse on the day of the examination no less. Eren can be the key to understanding more of the Tyburs than you originally thought. At first, you planned to be closer to the Tyburs by being a part of the parent organizations but with this opportunity in your arms, you’re presented with something that puts Eren on a much more purposeful path.

“How about some ice cream on the way home, Eren?” you propose.

“Really?!”

“Really.”

“I want the new flavors, Mama!”

“Anything you want, Eren.”

The mail always comes at seven in the morning.

You open them at nine after your morning routine has settled you in a fresher mindset and a new set of clothes.

On the table a week after the examinations is a plate of breakfast, a glass of juice, a cup of caffeinated tea, and the mail that has been delivered hours before. Eren is happily gobbling spoonfuls of chocolate chip waffles into his mouth as if it’s his last day on Earth and you’re occasionally taking sips of your preferred flavor of tea as your eyes trail on the envelopes with various stamps. You recognize a few of them containing codes that only the Wings of Freedom formulated for any undetected letter sending but your eyes unconsciously move to an intricate piece of scented paper with a wax candle for a seal.

The seal says Eleutheria Private Academy in elegant, cursive letters.

Your breath hitches. The result of the entrance exam is here. You take a quick peek at the little boy oblivious to today’s mail. You try calming yourself down — taking a deep breath while closing your eyes. It’s such a waste to open such an expensive letter but you hardly care now that it carries the fate of your mission. It doesn’t even crinkle at your hold. The seal pops off from the paper and the scent of something floral drifts inside the dining room.

Eren now stares at you. “What’s that, Mama?”

You internally cringe. “The result, Eren.”

The boy gulps down his waffles.

You’re acting as if you’re the one who took the exam. You gingerly take the folded letter from the envelope. The floral theme of this piece of paper mocks you. You faintly hear Eren jump down from his seat in front of you, his small footsteps nearing you until he’s leaning on your knees. “Are you ready, Eren?” He nods at your question with wobbly lips. You nod back before opening the letter.

“Good day!

We are so happy to inform you that your child, Eren Jaeger, passed the written—”

“Oh, my God!” you shriek. “You passed!”

Your mission is still on the go.

Without thinking twice about it, you lift Eren in the air like that cartoon he previously watched, the one where the monkey presents the lion cub to all of the savannahs to see and marvel. You’re the monkey and Eren’s your lion cub. The pride you felt during the entrance examination doesn’t compare to the pride you feel right now. It’s all-encompassing. You can take on any villain right now. The rush inside your veins pushes you to plant kisses all over Eren’s face, his giggles coloring the dining area with the most vibrant hues and shades known to humanity. It’s contagious and it has you laughing along with him. You dance with him in this imaginary tune, your journey leading you to the couch inside the living room. The laughter coming from the two of you dies down a couple of minutes later.

“Did I do good, Mama?” Eren asks you against your chest.

You happily hum, hugging him close to your heart. “You did very well , Eren.”

Eren giggles, nuzzling more into you.

As he relishes in your warmth, you finish reading the letter in your hands.

“The second phase of the admissions is a mandatory family interview. Both parents must attend with the applicant. Absolutely no exceptions. Failure to meet this condition will amount to immediate termination of the application.”

Fuck.

Eren flinches in your hold.

“Why?!” you whine. “Why do they need both parents?!” It’s unbecoming of you to whine.

Eren lifts himself from you. “But I don’t have a Papa!”

“That’s the problem — there is no Papa.”

Where will you find someone who will stand in as your husband?

Levi finds himself in a predicament.

Once a dweller of the ‘Underground City’, the most dangerous place in the continent, it’s befuddling to know that he never leaves any traces of himself after a kill. This is why, as an assassin, nobody has ever uncovered his tracks except for the type of wounds he inflicted on his targets. When one sees holes in the chest right above the heart, that’s the work of Midnight. After his tenth kill he realizes that murdering people undetected runs in the family, only this time, he has an edge compared to his uncle who is literally called The Ripper in Marley and her neighboring cities. Levi kills people who are threats to the government or threats to the clients who hire his services even if those who hire him aren’t ideal citizens, to begin with. He doesn’t even like the lifeless eyes staring at him when he digs his stiletto knives into their chests. He does this to purge humanity of the miasma plaguing its core.

If he wants to continue this gig of his, he has to prove to the government that he’s not a spy. Because right now, he stares from the window of his other job in the City Hall. An Eldian employee of thirty years of age is being dragged by the authorities for being an unmarried man. The man’s screams are piercing and the whispers that follow are ruthless. This is what Marley does to Eldians who reach the age of thirty with no house or family to come home to. They think that by being married under their laws, one pledges their life to the cause and vision of the nation, that there’s no reason for them to betray Marley. Levi thinks it’s bullshit.

“Poor man,” a coworker whispers. “Well, it can’t be helped. It’s better to be wary instead of letting them run around here.”

“You’re absolutely right.”

Marleyans.

Levi rolls his eyes and goes back to his desk in one of the large offices.

“Levi!” An irrelevant human being calls for him.

“What?”

The man leans over his divider. “You’re still unmarried, right, and you’re what thirty-five?”

“Twenty-nine.”

“Yeesh, you look older,” the man grimaces. “Better hurry up and find a dame or else you’re the next coworker to be tortured by the Military Police.”

You don’t have to say that again . Levi rolls the sleeves of his button-up to his elbows and starts typing whatever document their manager ordered him to do. On better days, Levi would have stabbed that stingy manager in the chest but seeing as he poses this law-abiding citizen with a penchant for tea and hand sanitizers, he chooses to type whatever shit this is. The man continues droning about whoever he finds attractive these days and who he’s planning on marrying but Levi doesn’t listen one bit.

On second thought, maybe finding someone to pose as his wife would be the best solution. Then again, it’s also a win-win situation when this country hunts down all the bachelors and bachelorettes they have their sights on. Preferably, he wants someone who can comply with whatever condition he throws on the table or someone who’s not that noticeable for his coworkers to suspect. Before he can prevent his mouth from opening, he says the stupidest thing he ever said in his lifetime.

“I’m actually married.”

“What?! For real?”

“I heard that! Dom, you owe me fifty bucks!”

“God damn it!”

Now, Levi starts digging his grave for the sake of his other, more important career and life.

This is all he can think about until he’s on his night job.

Bodies surround him in this presidential suite booked by one of the mafia leaders working on the surface. Someone gurgles their blood, clearly alive despite the wounds, and Levi throws his stiletto knife right in the middle of his forehead without looking. It hits its target and the gurgling dies down. Hours before, this suite is bouncing with sound waves of a random Bossanova song. Women are sitting on every bastard’s lap and money is thrown everywhere without care. Now, the women are safely escorted out but not before Levi pushes a specific nerve to make them forget what happened on this night. The bastards create this painting on the suite’s floor, another one of Midnight’s masterpieces. It’s an elaborate abstract one entailing the dirty deeds of humanity — the perfect shade of red splattered on a dark canvas, with no light for days on end.

Levi sighs, his head tilting to the ceiling. He realizes that there are rips on his black suit. Great, he should visit the tailor shop by his apartment first thing in the morning. For now, it’s another sleepless night of never regretting where he is right now. He’ll put the wife-hunting on tomorrow as well.

The grandfather clock of the suit rings through the room.

Midnight welcomes another day and it’s tomorrow already.

“I fucking hate the world.”

“ Midnight ?”

“Yes?”

“ I have a client for you. ”

“...”

“ He goes by the name Lobov and he wants a man named Erwin Smith dead .”

The line goes dead. The dealer is always like this — cutting to the chase, considering no questions. He dials another number as soon as the call is dropped.

“Farlan, I need you to look into someone.”

“Sure, go ahead.”

“Erwin Smith.”

Keyboard clacks reverberate from the other side of the call.

“Hmm. Are you sure he’s a real person?”

“Why would I ask for you to look into him when he’s not?”

“Okay, okay, geez.” Another round of keyboard clacking. “Wow, his files are locked in the database.”

“Who are the people in his close circle?”

Farlan whistles. “Are you going through the “ getting close to subordinates to take down someone” route? Damn, okay.” It takes him a minute. “I found something. Belladonna.”

“What?”

“Someone named Belladonna is his closest ally. Get close to her and you’ll be closer to your target.”

“Belladonna, huh?”

“She’s a spy of Eldia, Levi. Be careful.”

One would think you’re too excited to put Eren in this private academy. With his application still in processing, you’re already taking him to the tailor shop to have his uniform fitted. You’re one pretentious, confident mother who fully trusts her son to further explore his academic prowess in a place full of prodigies and children of those who treat money like passing interests.

“Your son is an adorable one, madam,” the owner of the tailor shop gushes as she takes Eren’s measurement. The little boy is trying so hard to make himself taller by standing on his tippy toes.

You chuckle, leaning on the countertop and watching your son do the most ridiculous faces. “He is. He’s so excited to go to this school that he can’t wait to have his uniform already.”

“Eleutheria Private Academy, huh?” The tailor stands up to write down the measurements on a piece of paper that has the design of the uniform, a detailed piece with the insignia and all. “That’s one fancy school. Your son must be a genius.”

I wouldn’t say that , you silently laugh. You don’t notice Eren swivel his head toward you with a scandalized look on his face. As you open your mouth to retort something practiced, you feel a chill down your spine, your blood running cold in your veins. You inhale a sharp breath, the weight of the gun lodged in the thigh strap beneath your skirt creates this foreboding urge inside you to shoot someone. The door doesn’t ring but a person is walking in front of you, sliding past your senses in a completely predatory-like way, as if they’re a creature of the night. You turn to the person standing beside you, waiting for the tailor to accommodate him in the store. What the fuck?

Levi Ackerman .

A man nearing his thirties and has yet to be married. He’s one of the people on the list of probable marriage partners Hange gave you the night before. His file is too empty for him to be called a citizen of Marley. The only things you know about him are that he’s unmarried, an Eldian, and that he works for the City Hall under the Taxes Department. Oh, and he has no historical background. The more you stare at him in the corner of your eyes, the more he seems suspicious. How did someone like him get past the strict security of Marley? Is he a person of importance behind that office worker facade? You narrow your eyes at his appearance. Black hair neatly styled on his head, a three-piece suit with no creases, muscles straining against the material of his clothes — he’s actually attractive. There’s not a single flaw found in him. His side profile is otherworldly and makes him appear like a sculpture made by the finest artist of the century. He puts all the muses for the perfectly-proportioned man to shame.

Silver irises meet yours.

Your face burns now that you’re caught staring at this man.

“Is there something you need from me?” His voice is blunt and takes no shit. It’s almost intimidating the way he trails his eyes from the top of your head down to the toes of your shoes. “I don’t appreciate the staring.”

You fix your panicking mental state. “No, I just found you handsome, that’s why.”

His eyes widen a little. He fully turns to you. God, did the deities take time in making him? “You find me attractive?” He’s not even skeptical. You nod at his question because it’s the truth. “So—”

“Mama!”

Oh, yeah. Eren.

The man you’re talking to is the one Eren saw when he held your hand for the first time. This future of yours that he got a glimpse of is within a golden hour, lights down low and slow songs serenading the kitchen of a much cozier home. Sizzles coming from a frying pan brought the scent of a multitude of savory smells that had Eren wishing he could have a taste of the food being prepared in this vision of his. The two of you are not alone though. The black-haired man staring at you right now also stared at you in his vision, eyes softer and riddled with an overflowing efflux of love and adoration that remained superior to the present. The man was holding you close to him as you were humming along to the tune of one love song, his more muscular build swaying you to the melody. And Eren was sitting on his shoulders, looking over to watch you stir vegetables and meat, his tiny hands holding Levi's ears in a tight yet harmless grip. It was a picture-perfect family worthy of being placed in a museum.

There’s no doubt about it — Eren has to put you two together so that the future will be met.

Shit, she has a kid? Did Belladonna marry someone? How will I go about this situation now? But she’s the one Erwin Smith trusts the most. Fuck. This is the kind of thing that exposes me as an assassin. I can’t exactly terminate her now.

Eren gasps. This man is dangerous. An assassin and he’s after you? Not on Eren’s watch. But the vision didn’t show any sign of this behavior at all.

He grasps your leg tighter, his viridian eyes glaring at the man that’s supposed to be his father. He doesn’t know if he should trust this man that easily yet.

Fathers are cursed anyway.

“ I’m your father, Eren, so do as I say! Stay still and let me inject this so you could be the one who saves us all! ”

Eren shakes his head free of that memory. This is no time to dwell in the past. You’re the one who saved him from that path and you’re happy with this man in your future.

“Oh, Eren, are you finished with letting the kind lady take your measurements?” You lean down and pat his head, something that he nuzzles into. It never fails to make him feel warm. So cute , he reads your thoughts.

“Yeah!” he cheers. He loses his smile and looks up at the angry-looking man staring down at him with furrowed brows. Eren uses his so-called cuteness to hide the fact that he just read something life-threatening from this man’s mind. He tilts his head to ask, “Who’s this, Mama?”

You don’t answer the question. Instead, you turn your head to the man standing in front of you with his hands inside his pockets, expectantly waiting for him to say his name. “I believe he hasn’t introduced himself to us yet, Eren.”

“My apologies. My name is Levi.”

“Okay, Mister Levi.” Eren emerges from behind your skirt. The way he stares at Eren can be adorable but you recognize that look anywhere. It’s the same one he had when he was wiping his face from tears as he was memorizing the answer key to Eleutheria’s entrance exam. You saw it when he was trying to imitate the fighting scenes in his favorite shows. During the times Eren is trying to make himself stronger and older than he is, he has that look on his face. Your first meeting with him was there. When you saw him for the first time, it was blazing, and right now, his eyes hold the summer sun. Levi doesn’t even have time to respond because Eren opens his mouth to say, “Be my Papa!”

Maybe having this man as his new father will be the key to preventing you from getting killed, all the while becoming the best son there is. After all, Levi looked so bewitched and besotted with you in the future. Eren will make everything come true.

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