capricornlevi

[capricornlevi]

the mise en place chapters are getting shorter and shorter💔💔

I'm sorry my lovely I really am trying, I'm working through some pretty crazy writers block atm but hoping to power through it soon

[capricornlevi]

nanami's lap, strong and muscular as it is, serves as the perfect pillow.

when the two of you head out for a picnic -- you bringing the blankets and glasses, nanami having picked up some baguettes, cheese and wine for you to share in the park -- it always ends the same way.

full from a delicious lunch and maybe a little wine drunk, you lie flat on your back on the picnic blanket, shoulders nestling into the soft fabric, shifting your position until your head rests cosily against the expanse of nanami's thighs.

he lets out a quiet laugh, a lovely sound, and angles himself until he knows you're comfortable.

with your head resting on his lap, looking up at the perfect features of this wonderful man, you see how they soften with adoration as he peers down at you.

he sometimes lays his hand on the top of your head, gently stroking your hair, or he'll graze his fingers across your shoulders, marvelling at the soft skin beneath his touch.

he handles you so carefully, every touch for your benefit as much as his, and he never so much as budges from the picnic blanket until he absolutely has to.

for a man that's built like a brick house, all defined muscle and pure strength, you could really drift off to sleep in this spot, resting on him.

he'd stay like that forever, he told you once, just looking at you, and happily spend the rest of eternity with you snug in his lap.

[capricornlevi]

Levi Ackerman [Attack on Titan] by TsuyaNoUchi

https://tsuyanouchi.etsy.com

[capricornlevi]

JOINTS IS PAIN

[capricornlevi]

"don't squirm."

your instructions to nanami sounds more like a scolding -- but, in your defence, he's making the task of giving him a clean shave very, very difficult.

"ken, don't make me tie you to the towel rack. you'd be stuck for hours staring at the ugly orange tiles of my ensuite bathroom, which would be a terrible way to spend your day, truly," you say with a sigh, rinsing the razor off in the sink. "a fall from glory if i ever saw one."

"i wouldn't exactly call it glory," nanami says with a half-smile, the same one he always uses to try and make you feel better. it doesn't work this time but you return it anyway. "i was knocked out for most of the shibuya fighting. missed all of the action."

he's speaking lightly, conversationally, but you can tell he's not ready to talk about it just yet. one arm in a sling, the other too bruised to lift above his shoulder, a black eye, some minor wounds -- but some of his friends didn't make it out.

you don't have to guess that he feels guilt for surviving; he told you as much that very first night, while the pain meds were wearing off. but then a new realisation dawned on him, and he collapsed in another wave of guilt, clutching at you and apologising as you held him.

he'd feel terrible for dying, for leaving you, but he feels bad for living, leaving them all in shibuya when he could have, should have, wanted to help.

you can't pretend you know what it feels like. you weren't there. all you can do right now is tell him that the guilt will melt away over time, the guilt he feels towards you and them both, and that there'll be a night sometime in the future where he'll sleep the whole eight hours through without waking in a cold sweat.

and, in the meantime, you can help him shave.

"nearly done," you say, angling the razor carefully, trying to avoid any piece of skin that still looks tender and sore. "and ....... done! beautiful," you finish with a kiss on his freshly-shaven cheek, ignoring the bitter taste of the remnants of the shaving gel, instead focusing on how the gesture puts a little brightness back into his eyes.

"beautiful?" he repeats lightheartedly, gesturing at the bruising with soft chuckle.

"beautiful," you affirm, gently cupping his cheek and angling his face so you're both looking in the bathroom mirror. he sees the reflection of you smiling, eyes full of unspeakable love, the way your entire body gravitates towards him. "beautiful always."

[capricornlevi]

hi, a lot of you need a perspective reset

the average human lifespan globally is 70+ years

taking the threshold of adulthood as 18, you are likely to spend at least 52 years as a fully grown adult

at the age of 30 you have lived less than one quarter of your adult life (12/52 years)

'middle age' is typically considered to be between 45-65

it is extremely common to switch careers, start new relationships, emigrate, go to college for the first or second time, or make other life-changing decisions in middle age

it's wild that I even have to spell it out, but older adults (60+) still have social lives and hobbies and interests.

you can still date when you get old. you can still fuck. you can still learn new skills, fashionable, be competitive. you can still gossip, you can still travel, you can still read. you can still transition. you can still come out.

young doesn't mean peaked. you're inexperienced in your 20s! you're still learning and practicing! you're developing social skills and muscle memory that will last decades!

there are a million things to do in the world, and they don't vanish overnight because an imaginary number gets too big

[capricornlevi]

every year on your wedding anniversary osamu convinces you to take your ring off and go wedding cake tasting at local bakeries while pretending that the two of you are still engaged

[capricornlevi]

seasonal allergies have struck me down in my prime

[capricornlevi]

Hate to ask because I know you probably deleted it for a reason, but I have to know how love don’t be shy ended I never got the chance to finish it back in 2022.

hello my lovely, i'm so so sorry but this doesn't ring a bell, it might be someone else you're thinking of! apologies i couldn't be of more help <3

[capricornlevi]

"nervous?"

levi's question makes you smile; you look back at him over your shoulder, admiring him in these last few moments you have alone together. in his crisp white shirt and freshly-pressed black suit pants, hair brushed out of his eyes, he looks slightly more formal than usual but still perfectly himself. your heart thrums against your ribcage but not from anxiety.

"nervous? it's a town hall wedding, levi, there's like four people out there."

your reply makes the corner of his lips quirk upwards. "not what i meant."

you spin around to face him, taking his hand in yours. it's steady, though you knew it would be, and he gives it an instinctual squeeze the moment your fingers interlock. the walls of the waiting room are plain white, old wooden chairs lined against most of them, a coffee table with dated, wrinkled magazines sits in the middle of the room; an entirely unromantic setting on the face of it, but it's just the two of you in here, so it is perfect.

you decide, with a smile on your face, to put his fears to rest.

"i'd have married you fifteen minutes ago when you were parking the car, levi. i'd have married you this morning, when you were trying to fix the coffee machine while swearing at it. i'd have married you last night while you were ironing your shirt and looking for your tie. i want to marry you now, and i'll want to marry you tomorrow, and i'd hazard a guess that i'll want to marry you every day from now."

his jaw tightens as he swallows thickly, grey eyes piercing into yours as he just drinks you in, savouring this moment, pure emotion for your eyes only.

"i'd tackle every coffee machine on the planet if it meant i could marry you now," he says, half-smiling again. "though shit like that sounds more poetic when you say it."

you laugh, but he's not finished, slightly more serious now.

"i will use every last heartbeat in my chest trying to make you smile like that, y'know. i just want you to be as happy as you can be for as long as i am lucky enough to know you."

your turn to squeeze his hands. tears prickle in the back of your eyes.

"see?" you reply, voice shakier than you expected it would be this early in the day. "who said the town hall waiting room wouldn't be romantic?"

[capricornlevi]

Whens the next chapter of mise en place coming out?? i cant wait to read the rest of it. i luv ur work

Hi lovely, thank you so much for reading! I'm really sorry that I don't have a set publication date yet but I promise I'm actively working on it, and I'll post on here when I have more solid updates! I have a pretty solid overview of the ending so I'm really really excited to share it with you guys, watch this space and I promise it won't be too long!

[capricornlevi]

I know this is a break from my regularly scheduled programming but is anyone else watching The Pitt and if so do you feel the same level of fixation I do rn

[capricornlevi]

happy international women's day my beloveds! ily ❤️

[capricornlevi]

i of course see the appeal of the stoic, tough-guy nanami but many days i find myself just gravitating towards the soft nanami, the gentle nanami, the nanami who kisses every one of your fingers before slipping your engagement ring on for you in the morning, the nanami is open with his love, the nanami who keeps a polaroid of you in his wallet, the nanami who learned a new technique for baking pastries because you tried a pastel de nata one day and loved it, the nanami who keeps his hand around your waist when you're walking through the nearby market, the nanami who gladly gives up his two-bed apartment to move into your cramped little studio since you can't bear to part with the memories just yet, the nanami who hugs you when you cry on the day it's finally time to move into the new house, the nanami who never had a pet growing up but pores over cat owner guidebooks before you pick up your new kitten together, the nanami who paints the spare bedrooms in your favourite colour, the nanami who never raises his voice at your children when they're struggling with homework or practicing the piano too late into the evening, the nanami who helps them instead of reprimanding, the nanami who tells you that you're only becoming more beautiful as the years pass, the nanami who puts your records on the turntable when he's making breakfast for the family every Sunday, the nanami who takes you to the same lovely bistro every anniversary to the point where the chefs recognise you both, the nanami who is eternally grateful to get to build this life with you.

[capricornlevi]

I’ve been binge reading miss en place and bc of the lovely way you write nanami I had a dream about my own work dilf 😭😭

AHHHHHHH THIS MAKES MY HEART SO HAPPY!!! thank you so much for reading my lovely! WORK DILFS FOR ALL 🙂‍↕️🫡❤️

[capricornlevi]

Gojo with his s/o who went missing for MONTHS, but comes backs somehow?

(Bonus: he thought that s/o was dead ;-;)

ten years previously

"Promise me you won't be too mad when I die."

Satoru furrows his brow when he hears you, tilting his head to the side to look at you funny.

You're both sprawled out on the grass, lying flat on your backs and gazing at the blue skies shining over Jujutsu Tech. Outside the school grounds, mountains line the perimeter like battlements, but you don't feel locked away. You feel at peace with everything: your choices, your circumstances, the company you've kept. The warm summer air wraps around you like an embrace.

What once seemed so alien to you, so frightening, is now your reality. It doesn't scare you as much anymore.

You're shoulder-to-shoulder with Satoru, laying about on the soft grass, not caring if your uniform gets wrinkled as you roll over to your side, propping your head against your elbow and meeting his gaze.

You've both ditched Yaga's class to hang out in the training field, and the sounds of the second-years laughing from the nearby dorms are the only noises you can hear apart from the distant chirping of birds.

That is, until Satoru objects indignantly:

"What are you talking about?"

You smile, not wanting to spoil the otherwise peaceful day. You hadn't brought it up to be negative, but it had to be said; if you don't do it now, you'll never get the courage to do so.

"You know what I mean. You are my best friend in the entire world, and you know that I am not going to last as long out there as you will -- on missions, fighting."

Somewhat irritated, Satoru reaches a hand up to flick you on the nose. You swat him away, laughing, which makes him crack a smile.

"Our last day before graduation, and you want to focus on this morbid shit?" he asks, his tone light and jokey but with an undertone of seriousness that only you ever recognise.

"Don't get me wrong, I'm not planning on giving up," you elaborate, distractedly picking a nearby daisy. You don't touch the petals, twirling it by its stem so that it spins in your fingers. "I'll give it my all for as long as I can, but I'm just saying ... don't expect me to be fighting by your side when you're one of the ninety-year-old elders."

"If I turn out like them, then I'll need you around so you can shoot me."

You make a sound that's half-scoff, half-laugh. "I'm being serious."

"So am I," he says, eyes fixed on yours. "Completely serious. You've excelled at every test. We couldn't have won the goodwill event without you. You've completed dozens of missions by now, missions that even I found tricky. What's bringing this on now?"

You shrug, still peering down at the flower in between your thumb and index finger. "Just a feeling, I guess."

"A feeling?"

You hum in the affirmative, and Satoru sighs.

"Want to know my reply, then?" he retorts, still quite serious.

Your head snaps back up at that.

Satoru sits up, cross-legged, scanning your face as though he's committing it to memory. Then, he carefully plucks the daisy from your hand and tucks it behind your ear.

"If you die, I'll be well and truly pissed."

---

The only part of that mission that Satoru really, truly recollects, the only crystal-clear memory in an otherwise blurry mess, was the feeling of Yaga's hand on his shoulder when he arrived at the gates of Jujutsu Tech.

Alone. He arrived back alone, for the first time ever. Three years after graduation and he'd never even had a close call, much less return in this state, and without you.

The whole experience felt so strange, for lack of better word. It felt like it was happening to someone else.

He had explained what had happened, the words leaving his mouth without much thought on his part. His voice sounded cold, detached, unrecognisable.

"And it took her," is how he finished speaking, he's pretty sure. Again, the details are hazy. He doesn't think that he bothered telling Yaga that he tried everything he could out there. That he pushed himself until he nearly broke. That he tried, at the end, to put himself in the curse's reach, to step into harm's way if it meant you got even five minutes more in this world.

Yaga already knows all that.

Thankfully, his former teacher doesn't waste time with empty words of condolence. He just rests a hand on Satoru's shoulder, the gesture doing more than any speech could.

It's not enough, though. Nothing ever would be.

---

Satoru prides himself on compartmentalisation. He has to do it to survive, he'll drown otherwise, and luckily, he's quite good at it. When Yuji asks him if he's ever lost someone to a curse, eyes wide with concern, he's able to wave off the boy's worries. He says yes, sadly, he's lost people, but that it's part of life, and that the only way to deal with it is to get stronger.

He doesn't sugarcoat it, but Yuji wasn't expecting him to. The boy just nods and continues his training. Satoru, meanwhile, resumes his meandering around the classroom, whistling along to some song that's been stuck in his head.

The only person you can control is yourself. Everything else just ... happens.

That's the closest thing he has to a personal philosophy, and it's a pretty foolproof one, having gotten him through some of the bleakest, emptiest years of his life.

He's done well for himself, considering. He's not as brash and impulsive as he was when he was younger. He's dedicated his life to preparing young sorcerers for the world out there, trying to keep them safe as long as he can. He lives a comfortable life and keeps himself entertained but focused, constantly motivated to keep moving forward.

Truthfully, the only time his worldview comes close to being threatened is when he sees a patch of daisies growing in the grass.

Whether out walking through the school grounds, or on a mission in the countryside, or on a faculty trip to the botanic gardens in the city, he's struck by them every so often. He tries to avert his eyes when he glimpses the tell-tale flash of yellow and white petals, but it's no use.

He doesn't break down. He doesn't even cry, not since that first night. He just feels the sensation creep up his chest, gripping his throat like a vice. It burns, sometimes, like someone's actually there choking him. When he breathes, it's more like a gasp for air.

That's why he's built that philosophy, see, because those moments, those flashes of emotion, are more painful than anything he's felt in his life. If that's even one percent of what the feeling must be like in its entirety, then it's best kept buried. To unleash it is to unravel, to be at the mercy of the world.

And the only thing he can control is himself.

---

This is the final night of a five-day-long exchange trip to Kyoto, and the students have earned some rest time. Satoru doesn't object to the girl's request, letting her leave to explore the souvenir store while Yuji and Megumi pick up their crepes from some touristy café down the street.

present day

"Gojo-sensei, can I pick up something from that store before we head back?" Nobara asks, lifting her hand to shield her eyes from the sun. "I won't be long."

Satoru hangs around as people mill past, hands in his pockets. The air is thick with heat and the smell of baked goods from nearby bakeries. Though it's well into the evening hours, the sun shows no sign of setting.

With nothing better to do, he resigns himself to people-watching. The fact that he's a head or so taller than most passers-by means he sees everything.

He spots an ageing businessman scolding his teenage son, gesturing furiously at a folded piece of paper -- a school report, maybe -- as the boy looks down at his feet while walking alongside him.

An elderly couple walking hand-in-hand.

Two friends bickering over summer holiday plans.

A group of ten or so tourists, trailing hopelessly behind their guide who is striding along the thoroughfare without looking back.

But then, suddenly, all the faces in the crowd blur into obscurity.

Noises cut off instantaneously.

He hears nothing, feels nothing.

For a moment, Satoru swears that time pauses, everyone suspended in freeze-frame while his brain tries to catch up with what he's seeing.

Who he's seeing.

You.

You're wearing sunglasses. You're dressed differently. You're a few years older than the last time he saw you, which only adds to his hope.

Even with these changes, he knows it's you. He'd know it was you even if he were surrounded by a million other faces.

His legs move before he can process anything else.

It doesn't take him long to catch up to you. As he reaches out to touch your shoulder, understandably, you jolt with surprise at the unexpected contact. Turning around to face him, you remove your headphones and relax a little when you realise that he's not a salesperson or pickpocket.

You push your sunglasses up to rest on your forehead, smiling politely.

Satoru waits. His eyes bore into yours, waiting for that sign of recognition, that epiphany to hit you when you realise that he's finally found you.

Nothing comes.

"Can I help you?" you ask, your tone amiable, if a little confused.

Satoru blinks slowly.

"What's your name?" he asks in response, though he knows it.

You respond with that same name he's had at the tip of his tongue all these years, but never let himself speak it aloud.

He doesn't give his own, suddenly unable to say that, either.

"Where did you go to school?" he queries finally, almost pleadingly.

Even more puzzled, you still try to maintain that aura of politeness. "In Tokyo. Why?" You hesitate, and he's just about to let himself breathe again before you exclaim;

"Oh! Did we have a class together?"

Satoru feels a crushing weight settle over him. Cold, unyielding dread floods his veins.

Panic.

He isn't dead, is he?

No. This can't be the afterlife, this can't be your reunion, because he can't imagine that a supposed paradise would be so cruel as to make you a stranger to him.

You, on the other hand, interpret his silence as answering your question.

"I'm so sorry, that's so rude of me!" you apologise, grimacing with embarrassment. "I really don't remember much from back then, I promise. I'm terrible with names. I'm sure you were lovely!"

Only then does Satoru notice something else: the change to your cursed energy, the way it barely registers as anything at all. It hangs over you like a rainy mist, grey and lifeless, completely different to the bright effervescence that used to follow you everywhere.

He realises a thousand things at once.

That curse, that creature that took you, didn't kill you. He's heard of this only a few times before, but what you encountered was a parasitic spirit, one that sustains its pathetic existence through the cursed energy of powerful sorcerers. They do this because of the potency of a sorcerer's energy, like an untapped well, particularly from someone as high-ranking as you were.

To achieve this, it has placed some amnesiac over you to stifle your abilities to fight back.

That ... thing, that spirit, that parasite, likely returns every so often to feed, and with it goes all memories of your life beforehand.

Satoru's first feeling upon this realisation is guilt. A strange feeling, but one he can't deny, because even though he understands what happened to you, you're none the wiser.

You're still standing there, groceries in hand, as the warm summer breeze washes over you both.

You're waiting for him to speak.

He doesn't. He can't.

"Well, it was lovely meeting you again!" you pipe up cordially, pushing your sunglasses back into place with a flick of your finger. You turn around and call out over your shoulder, "I'm sure I'll see you around!"

Satoru stays there, frozen, and makes a decision there and then.

A new philosophy. A new promise.

He is going to do whatever he can to give you back your life.

You can do whatever you want with it -- maybe you won't forgive him for not saving you, maybe you'll carry on with this existence in Kyoto, maybe you'll go back to sorcery and pretend this never happened.

But it's your choice. The least he can do is ensure you get the chance the make it.

---

"You know it doesn't always work out the way you want it to," Shoko says with more sympathy than he's ever heard from her before. She stands with her back to the stone wall, looking at him sadly. The school buildings loom behind them both, everyone inside asleep. It's so quiet out here that it feels almost unnatural, foreboding.

Satoru has spent months working on this mission, forsaking all other tasks in preparation to exorcise this curse that's robbed you of so much. Tonight, with hours before he leaves for Kyoto, he is asking Shoko his only remaining question.

He's already worked out when the spirit is likely to return to feed. He's figured out a plan to kill it. He is even certain that he can do all of this while keeping you out of further harm's way.

There's really only one question that he has left for his friend, and that is what might happen afterwards.

She's never seen something like this before, she warned him, only ever heard about it from others. It's all word of mouth, no medical texts or written histories. And it's most definitely not a given that all of your memories will return. You'll be lucky if you regain any of the cursed energy you've lost.

That's enough, he figures, to give you a fighting chance. If he was in this position, he'd want the same to be done for him.

"I know," he finally answers Shoko, watching as she exhales from her cigarette into the dark night air. "But it's not just about what I want."

"You can live with it?" she asks with a quiet concern. "With being a stranger, maybe forever?"

He doesn't have to think over his reply.

"I can live with it."

Shoko nods. She puts out her cigarette against the wall, flicks it away, and they head back inside.

---

As strong as he knows he is, Satoru is surprised yet again by the strength of that spirit, how desperately it wants to keep draining life from others.

It's a messy fight. The creature recognises him, almost gleeful at his arrival. It glances up at your apartment overhead, with you sleeping inside, completely unaware of their presence on the street below. Then, the curse looks back at Satoru with a grin that fills him with a fury that burns a hole in his chest.

He is filled with a sensation that feels alien to him, completely unfamiliar, an all-encompassing feeling that he can't attempt to put into words.

As he strikes the curse over and over and over, watching as the hits land, watching it get gravely wounded, none of it does anything to alleviate that feeling.

He kills it, eventually. It dies somewhat pitifully in a puddle of its own cursed energy, spitting out angry hisses until it grows quiet.

Nothing changes then. Satoru feels no shift in the air, no disturbance. He's shielded from civilians so he expected a degree of quietness, but he hears nothing, absolutely nothing, not even the rain falling around him.

Everything else is still.

He feels exhausted in every way. Physically, emotionally, he's spent, having unleashed not only his rage on that spirit, but every iota of pain and fear he's been slowly amassing since their first encounter, since it tore you away and left him untethered.

That feeling is not gone, though. He's not sure it ever will be. But he's identified it, and somehow, that does something to soothe him.

Then, the quietness is interrupted by the sound of a window opening a few floors above.

He glances up in time to see you shout down at him.

"Satoru!"

He closes his eyes. The sound of his own name pours down on him like sunlight.

He feels it all; the recognition in your voice, the relief.

By the time he opens his eyes again, you're down on the street in your pyjamas and slippers, throwing yourself into his arms.

He wraps them around you as tight as he can without causing you any pain, lifting you up and keeping you so close to his chest that you can hear his heart beating.

He can feel your tears seep into the fabric of his shirt and rests a hand on the back of your head, desperate to carry out any gesture to bring you comfort.

You kiss him, then. You kiss his lips, his face, his neck, you cup his face in your hands and feel him lean into the touch.

Eventually, after a perfect eternity in this embrace, you pull apart.

"Were you pissed?" you ask, laughing as you say the words, tear lines still streaking your face but your eyes bright and full of life. "Back then, you said you would be."

"Yes, but not at you," he answers with a smile, and that makes you cry again, good tears, proud tears.

It will take a while for things to get back to normal, he knows that. There's still a lot he can't control. But if he hadn't tried, if he had given up and surrendered to circumstance, you wouldn't be here in front of him, smiling, glowing, looking up at him with beautiful recognition.

That's enough for a new philosophy.

[capricornlevi]

Till death do us part? Yea no you’re not getting out of this that easily