#someone says something that annoys me and i step forward into an invisible spotlight to go unheard of! absurd!

[bumblingest-bee]

fiddler on the roof has got me inner-monologuing tevye style. everything i think now is in the format of "on the other hand..."

[weaponizedvirtue]

The Face I Hide Behind, Pt. 1 {Peaky Blinders}

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Reader

Summary: You met Thomas Shelby as Eli Carter, your hair shorn short, your chest bound, the Royal Engineers crest proudly adorning your uniform. You find him again as discarded Marie Tillerson, a woman shamed but remembered.

Notes: I discovered recently that many woman enlisted in the world wars disguised as men. It made me wonder what being in a high-stress environment like the tunnels would be like as a woman, especially if you were trying to hide that secret from someone like Tommy. Soft Tommy, implied romance, reader can be viewed as gender fluid or female with gender norms defied.

Part two can be found here.

*

"Carter?"

You know that voice. Like the back of your own hand, you know that voice. You turn sharply and sure enough, pale blue eyes and squared shoulders stoop to meet your own.

"Shelby. Jesus, haven't seen you in awhile."

He lifts his eyebrows at that, his gaze still piercing through you like a spotlight. You’d almost forgotten how unyielding the man’s focus could be. His silence says more than he does, shouting and cursing at you even when he won’t. You rock back onto your heels, gesturing behind you with a shake of her thumb. You know what comes next, know what it looks like just before the dog bites, and your knees ache with anticipation.

“I can go. Sir. If you’d prefer.”

Thomas blinks and it cracks the smooth glass facade of his face, something of a tell that you’d always tried to drag out of him before. He considers you carefully, tapping his cigarette back against the palm of his hand before shaking his head.

“You still drink?”

It’s unexpected, though certainly not unwelcome. You nod and wonder if he even knows the half of it, then open your mouth to ask him the same question. But Thomas moves again before you can, his cigarette disappearing between his teeth with practiced precision. He turns, confident as always that you’ll follow without question, then strides back towards the outskirts of town.

“Come on then.”

*

The Garrison. He's as strategic as ever, it seems.

Your eyes rove slowly across the sign in the window as if there's some other message inside of it. You can feel Thomas's eyes watching you, but he always did know the importance of pacing. When you glance back at him, he opens the door a little wider and beckons you inside with a jerk of his head.

As you enter, you mark each and every detail down in an invisible ledger- three haggard customers, one a good deal younger than the others, four dimmed lamps, eleven tables, give or take, and a waitress sweeping in and out of view as two drunkards sling cards across their table.

It's comfortable, somehow. Lived in, loud enough to be familiar, soft enough to be ignored.

"What'll it be, Tom?"

The bartender leans forward with a smile, running a hand towel across the bar counter as you and Thomas settle behind it.

"Whiskey. And a scotch for Marie."

Your heart jolts to a stop and you turn to stare at Thomas. Normally, you'd have been annoyed at a man ordering you a drink without consulting you on your preference first. But a former sergeant major is a step above the regular smitten drunk at the bar and besides the point-

"You remembered."

"You have odd taste."

You don’t dictate that with a response, your eyes frozen on his face as you try to jumpstart your own heart.

"My name, Mr. Shelby. I didn't think you'd remember my n-"

"You were a special case. And it's Tom." His eyes flick over to you for the briefest of seconds as you open your mouth to protest, a command unto itself.

"You're in Birmingham now, not some hole in the mud. It's Tom."

"Tom. Okay."

The use of first names seems too personal somehow and for a moment, you miss the familial barking of last names and orders and swears that you had become used to on the field. There is a sealed promise of companionship in such actions and a wall of formality to hide behind in the absence of confidence. Here, you’re exposed.

The bartender returns quickly with your drinks, blessedly oblivious to your conversation, before disappearing again. You and Thomas sit in silence, sipping slowly at your glasses, and a loathsome wave of longing rolls through your gut. You’ve missed this. The comfortable camaraderie of someone you know simply inhabiting the same space.

“Thought you had family in Shere. What’re you doing in Small Heath, mm?”

You swallow, a long-stowed explanation waiting to spill from your throat. You want to admit just how poorly the past few months have gone, want to lift a mirror to Thomas’s face and ask if he thinks he’s done any better. You want to search Thomas Shelby’s pockets and pluck out a medal or two, just for penance, just for something to keep for yourself.

But it’s a flood of anger you know he doesn’t deserve and it tears out of you in cascading waves and a crashing tide to consume everything in its path. Instead, you take another slow sip of your drink and focus solely on the taste as it passes over your tongue. The torrent in your stomach slowly settles and you shrug instead, your eyes circling over the lip of your glass.

“Shere is small. People talked.”

They’d done much more than talk. They’d whispered and shouted and scowled and you’d grown tired of it quickly enough. You had stood at the base of your parent’s house and they’d spoken to you like you were a stranger, guarded and grieving as if their child hadn't really come back from the war. And there had been a moment, somewhere between your mother drawing the curtains and your father’s quiet request for you to leave, that your chest caved in on itself. Some part of you had clawed at the thought, screamed and cried and pleaded with him inside the walls of your mind. But you’d given too much of yourself to the tunnels and to a team who no longer considered you one of their one. Some part of you had wondered if it was just a consequence you should have expected.

So you’d nodded, swallowed your pain, and the next train out of town had carried you with it.

“England is plenty big enough. I can go somewhere they don’t.”

You can feel Thomas’s gaze, as pointed as it ever had been, but you can’t bring yourself to check if it’s sympathy on the man’s face or the smug understanding of a disappointed parent.

You both fall into silence again, but the quiet itches against your skin this time, a drenched blanket too heavy to remove from your shoulders.

There are things you’ve meant to say, words that demanded to be spoken, and if the universe was kind enough to lend you his company even one more time, it would have to be enough.

You frown, flinching in nervous anticipation, then down the half glass of scotch you have left. Liquid courage, they called it. Your hands clench around your elbows and you drag in one last breath before turning your body to face your former officer completely.

His chin lifts, somewhere between confidence and curiosity, and he takes a sip from his own, slow but no less invested than your own.

“I didn’t get to say goodbye to you.”

Your hands flutter forward, aimed for Thomas’s own for a fraction of a moment before the muscle memory of the past two years kicks back hard. You hesitate, swallow back the need for physical comfort, and stow your fingers flat beneath your thighs.

“I’d wanted to say goodbye, Tom.”

But you hadn’t. Hadn’t been allowed to say goodbye to anyone really.

Your last day is still hazy in your memory, another battlefield mess where time didn’t work the way it should, where every element of reality bled into the next. You remember a hissing. A warning, half forming in your mouth, and then a flash at the edge of your vision. The earth collapsing around you and someone’s hand, grabbing at your collar and yanking you forward. Dust and grit filling your lungs where the oxygen should be. There was no goddamn air. No goddamn air and the heat and the damp and the darkness crowded around you like smog.

The path leading out of the tunnels had locked shut with a boom and something large and heavy had collided with the back of your head. The surrounding torches had gone out in one quick burst, swallowing up the world in black.

A snap sounds loud and sharp inside of your ears and you startle; the Garrison slides back into place around you. Air rushes back into your lungs, spinning through your bloodstream so fast it makes your head spin. Beside you, Thomas lowers his hand from your face, his fingers slowly relaxing from where they’d clicked together.

“Hmm.” It comes out as more of a burst of air than an actual word. You blink back at him for a moment, breathing in through your nose, picturing your heart beating slower and slower until it returns to an almost normal pace. “General was there when I woke up. Said I didn’t have time for goodbyes. Said ladies shouldn't be on the field and that I was being sent home. Honorable discharge.”

It’s strange, that you can’t remember an explosion or the pulsing moments of fear in all the life or death situations you’ve faced. Yet each and every expression on your fellow soldiers’ faces as you crept from the medic’s tent would forever remain stamped on the back of your eyelids. It had been a moment you’d prayed to avoid- that the war would end with you still standing and the fury and shock and silence that came with an exposed lie would pass with no consequence.

Thomas Shelby could have remained the man across the fire. He could have stayed the companion who shared the little food he had while you were on watch, the friend who had muttered playful barbs and quiet encouragement to you after your first week in the tunnels, the confidant you trusted with all but one secret.

And you could have avoided the look of solemn judgment chiseled into his face as you pulled the car door shut behind you.

“I was angry with you.” There's pain in Thomas's voice as he speaks. His eyes glance down at his glass and he takes a long, slow draw of his whiskey.

The words burn, though you’d guessed at the fact months before. You nod, swallowing back something like a sob, and tuck your chin down sharply.

“Had the right to be. I wanted to tell you. If I’d told anyone, it would have been you. Was just… scared you’d turn me in.”

“I wouldn’t have.”

He could shatter bones with his words, you think.

A quiver of sound sits in the back of your throat and for a moment, you allow yourself to imagine what it would have been like. It still would have been difficult, to hide your true identity for the sake of being able to fight for what you believed in. But you wouldn't have been alone. Would have been protected in the way only sharing one's secrets could ensure.

And there would have been Tom, walking beside you, where before you'd taken the road alone.

You stare back at Thomas, searching for the tiniest hint of a lie, the flicker of a fuse igniting him into cinders. You wait for the rage, for the silent dismissal, but it never comes. A breath of shocked disbelief breaks from behind your teeth and you lean forward into your hands.

"Jesus, Shelby, you always did know how to render us speechless."

"It's Tom."

It's Tom. Even after her fall from grace and the bruising lack of trust she'd placed in him, it's still Tom.

Your eyes flutter back to the man and something like hope blossoms inside of your chest, warring with the shame that churns in your stomach. 

"Tom. I'm sorry."

"I know."

He does, you think. His voice is just as quiet as your own, just as soft and calculated as it used to be around the torchlight of your camp. His lips curl neatly around each word, purposeful and focused, and when he looks at you like he does, accusing and forgiving all at the same time, it feels like your cracks seal up just enough to consider yourself solid.

It’s easier after that. The two of you fall into conversation, the kind that you remember from before, where you talk of nothing and everything and the hours pass like seconds. The glasses pile up quickly enough and the walls begins to tilt just a little to the left. The glow of the lamps around you softens the ache in your bones and the room seems to shrink to the bar alone, to the two seats you occupy, and the cocksure figure of the man sitting across from you.

By the time you look around again, the bar sits almost empty, only a straggler or two hugging onto their tables or so deep into their cups that they won't recover till morning.

"It's late."

There's hesitance in your voice, an unwillingness to leave what you've missed for so long. It had been easy enough to convince yourself since your discharge that you were fine alone, happy with solitude, but the idea of losing Thomas’s company so soon is startling. 

“You got a place to stay?”

You shake your head, shrugging. You’ve been traveling long enough now that you’ve learned the alternatives to a roof over your head. There are places to go, groups you can fit yourself into if it just means a place to sleep for the night. Summer is on its way anyhow and you always did enjoy being out underneath the stars.

“Right.” Thomas slaps his hand against the counter, his expression resolute. It’s one you’ve grown used to, a look that says something is an order and not a suggestion. You don’t disobey orders. “My place then.”

The offer still isn’t one you expect and you hurry to get to your feet as Thomas adjusts his coat and heads for the door. 

“It’s not necessary, Tom.”

He slips out of the bar quickly, his gait focused, and you hurry out after him. Your feet shift unsteadily beneath you as the street tilts slightly, but you manage to slide forward to stand in front of the man. Without thinking, you drag both hands up onto Thomas’s shoulders, as much to keep you standing as it is to give him pause. You blink for a moment, admiring the scratch of wool against your palms, and a chuckle sounds in your ears. Fingers slowly pluck your own from Thomas’s jacket and his hand squeezes around your wrist.

“Come on.”

Thomas’s tone leaves no room for debate, but his stance does, and appreciation rolls slowly back to you. For all his insistence, he’ll still wait long enough for the decision to be yours.

Still, you’re afraid you’ve misunderstood. Afraid he wants more than you can give or means less than you could hope.

“By stay, you just meant-” You roll your balance onto your heels, well aware that the action could have tremendous consequences with the amount of liquor you’ve consumed over the past few hours. “-to… stay, yeah? Not…” The words escape you and heat rises into your cheeks. 

“You never were very good with words.”

Your right arm jerks upward almost by habit and you clap your left hand down across your bicep before you can stop yourself. A bark of laughter escapes from Thomas’s throat and a traitorous grin climbs onto your lips. The man’s moods are alarmingly infectious.

“I like numbers better.”

Light from the nearest streetlamp glances off of Thomas’s face as his expression softens; he takes a slow inhale from his cigarette and the tip sends a flare of orange over his cheeks that sets your skin alight.

“Respite from the storm. That’s all I’m offering, Tillerson.”

“Mmm.” You consider him carefully, wishing you had the courage to tell him that he had been just that a hundred times already. Instead, you nod, and follow him home.

*

It’s a modest flat, smaller than you can imagine Thomas Shelby normally fitting into. But that’s Thomas to a tee, carefully remaking himself to match his surroundings. And it’s quiet and warm and if that’s not reminiscent of home, you’re not sure what is.

“It’s not much. Not yet.”

“But it’s something.” You turn and smile softly back at him, grateful to even somewhere that’s warm and dry.

“Bed’s all yours. I’ll take the floor.” 

He sheds his jacket off with a shrug and his knees bend as if to drop out from beneath him. Stubborn insistence rises inside of your chest and you pat the spot on the bed beside you, shaking your head.

“Tom. How many nights have we slept beside each other?”

“This is diff-”

“It’s not.” A yawn forces its way out of your throat and you blink sleepily back at the man. “Come on, mate. It's still me.”

Thomas remains standing for a moment, his lips twisting as he watches you stretch towards the ceiling. Your hand pats the bed again and without waiting for his response, you turn over on your stomach, pressing your face into the sheets. The day’s events catch up to you suddenly, dragging you under in a wave of fatigue; it’s been too long since you’ve found yourself in a safe place and sleep beckons.

Slowly, so slowly you're not sure it isn’t a dream, a weight settles on the bed beside you. A body comes to rest at your back and with a pleased murmur, you fall asleep.

[char-lotteral]

I agree with Kishimoto never trying to use the girls. The hate they get is not fair. I used to defend Sakura back in the days because I hoped kishi would do her justice. When shippuden started I WAS SO HAPPY because I thought this was the start of something great for Sakura and the girls but NOOOOO. Every time, Sasuke showed kishi turned her brainless. If you compare Naruto's actions and Sakura's actions to sasuke, you'd see they're completely different. What's up with that weird fake love confession scene 😭? It makes her look like she was manipulating Naru. JEEZ.

Also he literally had badass Tenten and Temari with cool useful abilities and he didn't use them ?! TF ?! Thank god for modern authors who treat their characters with respect :)

okay2 you know how i am with these longass rants so click readmore and brace yourselves

The way I see it, Sakura's character development in shippuden was always one step forward, two steps back. She gets this really badass scene (like her fight with Sasori and those cool ass medical skills) but is then regressed back into a pining girl in love every time Sauce is on screen or Kishi just throws her in the background YET AGAIN.

I love Sakura's abilities actually. Her brute strength, intelligence, vast knowledge and skill as a medic nin. But what I dislike about her character is how kishi handled her feelings for Sasuke. Naruto and Sakura's obsession with Sasuke was so???? huh??? it was so damn toxic and i never once understood why both Nardo and Sak were so obsessed with him. They were a team for one year???? I mean its great that they care about him alot but Sauce's feelings were kinda valid. His freakin clan died. Id go batshit crazy against my own village too. BUT BESIDES THAT. Both Nart and Sakura's Sasuke obsession was so annoying. 80% of shippuden was literally Keeping up with the Uchihas or Naruto yelling SASUKEH. BUT what irks me so much is the fandom's double standards with both Naruto and Sakura. "Oh Sakura shouldve gotten over her Sasuke obsession" but then turn around and call Naruto's obsession cute and gush about how he's so in love with him!!

Hot take but the only reason why sasunaru is "the most developed ship with the most chemistry" is because theyre both male characters.

I guarantee you if Naruto was a girl and SHE would be the one to have this unhealthy obsession who was chasing around Sasuke, the fandom would shit on Naruto just as much. And if Sasuke were a girl, Sauce would be sidelined like the rest of the female cast and Naruto would have another male character to have a "brotherly bond" with, because thats the only bond Kishimoto is actually good at developing. Yey for male characters having all the screentime and cool assets <333

And about that confession scene, I get her intentions. I really do. I understand that she did that in order to bring him home and that she cares about him but honey, w-why?? Why lie to him about your feelings?? Supposed he DID believe her, then what? then what kishi???? huh??? Some of her fans point the blame on Sai or whatever but I personally dont see why that scene was at all necessary. Maybe to establish Naruto's feelings for her wasnt all that serious? or his maturity? idk man. That scene was such a clusterfuck.

In the end her development in The Last and in Boruto was immaculate. She had one of the best glow ups in the old gen and ironically enough, her character wasn't butchered in Boruto. She got badass scenes she was cheated from in shippuden. I also love how she's finally getting the spotlight she deserves. Unlike the other konoha 12 :,)))

Okay onto the next female character that Kishi completely wasted. My baby. My light. 🙈 AAAHHH HINATAA.

I DONT EVEN KNOW WHERE TO BEGIN OKAY2 DEEP BREATHS.

Let me just establish this real quick. Hinata's goal was to get stronger because of Naruto, her goal was never to be with Naruto. She wanted to become someone who is worthy enough to stand beside him, someone whom he can consider as an equal, as a partner. She NEVER once said "marrying Naruto-kun is my all time goal UwU" (if youre one of those weirdos who interpret her character that way, youre immediately invalid, go take a hike)

I personally dont have anything against their crushes but to the point of making their personalities revolve around these guys every time theyre onscreen is so fucking frustrating. And with the way he writes their dialogues is so.damn.cringey. Like that one scene in the war arc with Tsunade and Madara

"I mAy bE a WomAn but I aM nOt WeAAKKKK"

BAAHAHAAHHA WHAT?? Everyone else gets coolass monologues and one liners but thats the best you can come up with Kishi?????? Hilarious.

If im being honest. Hinata's character is actually kinda well written. Not well executed. Dear God no. But with the way he set her story, her personality, her chracterization. She's honestly one of the best written female characters on the show. IMO. By Kishi's standards of writing women ofc. She's hands down one of the most complex characters. Her shy personality wasnt out of the blue, it wasnt a cutesy waifu trait. Her abusive upbringing made her that way. Her trauma turned her that way. So yeah, sue her if she looked up to Naruto as an inspiration when everyone else in her family treated her like dust. Shit on her for having Naruto's love light in her dark when her own damn father wouldnt even look her in the eye and her entire clan shunned her because she was "weak." She doesnt owe her family shit so idgaf what they do with the Hyuga clan. Neji and Hanabi aren't included btw

Im not gonna deny that her role in the show was only as the love interest but tbh for a love interest, Im glad her character wasnt so one dimensional. It just pains me SO MUCHHH how fucking wasted she is. Every time she's with Naruto, they always make her into a damsel in distress. They always feel the need to turn Naruto into the heroic prince. How cute.

LIKE THAT ONE SCENE IN THE LAST WHERE SHE'S THROWN IN THE CAGE?? WHY??? LET NARUTO AND HINA FIGHT THAT FREAKING ALIEN GOD TOGETHER. QUIT WITH THE TOXIC MASCULINITY. WE GET IT. NARUTO'S STRONG. GOOD FOR HIM. NOW LETS SEE HINATA THROW HANDS AND PUT NARUTO IN THE CAGE GODAMMIT

Hnggggg dont get me started with her role in Boruto. She's as relevant as a damn houseplant in the manga. They made her into an invisible trophy wife and "the mc's mother" and we all KNOW what happens to the shounen mc's mother once mc is in need of character development :) Quit putting her in the background. Give us that scene where she won against Hanabi DESPITE being retired for years. Give us that scene where she trains Boruto. GIVE US ANY FIGHT SCENE OF HER WHERE HER POTENTIAL ISNT WASTED WTF?¿

Now if you say that Hinata didnt have development. YOURE INVALID. She came from an abusive household, the shyest girl in her class, her insecurities got in the way of her own confidence, had difficulty of standing up for herself now became a loving mother of two, has the guts to kick her husband out of the house(with whom she couldnt even keep eye contact with when she was a kid) became the strongest hyuga, most supportive wife and mother, and has given her kids the comforting childhood she never had as a kid.

She has one of the most beautiful stories in the show and if you think her personality is only Naruto-kun and big boobs, then im sorry that you cant appreciate such a heartwarming story.

And I agree, killing her would honestly make me feel more at ease than continue to see her suffer because of godawful misogynistic writers. But at least let her die in an epic fight. Please. PLEASEE. She got nerfed so bad, i feel a physical pain every time i think about it

Okay what else. I think Ino got pretty good development. Another wasted potential in shippuden but she's doing good for herself in Boruto. I dont know what Temari is up to. They basically made her into another classic angry mom who beats up her husband for comedy trope. Haha very funny and original! Im not sure with her career, im not that invested in the anime.

Tenten??

oh G O D Tenten. The dirtiest of all. Her jokes about her screentime is so mean and i hate that its true ahsjhs. She was the only female character in OG who's goal wanted to be as strong as Tsunade but what did Kishi do to her?? Sidelined. Forgotten. Irrelevant. Like every damn female on the show :D

Konan shouldnt have died. I blame plot armor. I know in my heart that Konan wouldve kicked Obito's ass if it weren't for Kishi's boomer mindset.

Tsunade had so much hype when she was introduced but died down in the war arc. Madara wiped the floor with the kages. Holy shit. Not only that, but yipee! Naruto is there to save the day AGAIN!!!!

AND UGHHHH If the female characters were given proper treatment then maybe MAYBE all the endgame couples wouldve made fucking sense????¿¿¿

I think that ends my rant. Im not sure how the female characters in Boruto are handled. Except maybe Sarada (she's pretty well executed in the manga imo). But arguably they are sooo much better handled in Boruto than how the old gen girls were. And thats because Kishi isnt anywhere near the new gen female cast. I cant formulate a solid opinion with the other new gen female cast since im not entirely invested in the anime. Not ashamed to admit that I only watch it for the sunshine moments and for Hinata :DD

[aromantic-romance-writer]

Muichiro Tokito x Fem! Student! Reader

[A KnY AU: Bounded By a Forgotten Past]

School works, why must you delay this post-

Modern and Spirit AU??? :33

I recently rewatched Studio Ghibli's "Howl's Moving Castle" and "Spirited Away" and my childhood is-

:'3

So I had this idea :DD

Enjoy!

WARNING: it's a very long read ahead!

You stare up at the tree-covered hill. Was it a hill or a mountain? It wasn't particularly tall nor short, so you weren't sure. What you were sure is that that big mound of earth was never here before.

"[Y/N]! What's the hold up?" One of your friends called as you realized they were already several meters away from you.

"Hey, this mountain or hill, has it always been here?" you eye the mound with your hands on your hips, tapping your foot. "Didn't we pass a field yesterday? And the other day before that? And the two years we've been passing here?!"

Your friend runs back to you to look at whatever you're looking and gave you a weird look. "What hill? It's the same field we walk past every day."

You snap your head back at her with a dumbfounded expression. "Do you not see this??" you give her big gestures pointing the hill.

She sighs heavily. "Whatever prank you're pulling off, it's absolutely stupid and humiliating. Come on! I don't want to miss dinner!" she grabs your arm and pull you away, you gave the hill (or mountain, but you decide to call it a hill now) one last look before struggling to keep up with your friend.

You were very good at reading expressions and can sometimes guess what people are thinking. It was helpful at times, but it was mostly annoying. You laugh bitterly as you try to erase your friend's deeply annoyed face.

As you stagger back to your group of friends, a pair of pale mint eyes were watching you in great interest. The empty eyes, for the very first time in decades, shimmered with curiousity.

° ° °

The next day, you decided to leave earlier than usual for school. You were determined to check if that suspicious hill was still there and you weren't gonna let any of your friends drag you away again.

You slip into your shoes and ran outside to take the usual path, greeting familiar faces as you run past them. You finally reach the hill and stopped running, gasping for air. You regain yourself and wipe the sweat from your forehead.

So it's still here. You knew you weren't hallucinating. You walk closer to it as you reach out your hand. You feel the prickly grass on your palm. You hear a rustle from one of its trees and quickly look where it came from.

"Maybe a bird or something..." you assure yourself. As you scanned the hill, your eyes widen in surprise. Were these stone steps here before?

They were covered in moss and some small weeds. What the hell is happening? Maybe you are hallucinating. Is it because of that bun you ate that was a day expired? But you've been doing that a lot now so why is this happening?

The stone steps seems to lead all the way to the top. You hover your hand over your eyes to dull the sunlight as you look up to the top of the hill.

Is that mist?

It's not even that early in the morning. And surely it's not tall enough to reach a cold temperature. All those trees definitely didn't do that.

"Gah, all this investigating is giving me a head ache..." you massage your temples and decided to leave this problem in the afternoon, knowing better since you still have the whole day studying. You gave the hill one last look before walking away.

The breeze swayed his black to mint gradient hair. He watches your figure getting smaller until it disappears.

How intriguing...

° ° °

"Yup. It's still here." you tell yourself as you scan the hill.

It was pretty late in the afternoon and the school day finally ended. You skipped [Fave Hobby] club and escaped cleaning duty. You barely escaped from your friends as well. No use bringing people who are blind to this.

The stone steps were still there. You stare at the steps skeptically. Are you really willing to waste your afternoon investigating this thing?

You noticed that the mist at the top have become thicker, immediately answering your question. Nervous, you take in a deep breath and took a step forward. The step was solid. You smile to yourself proudly and continued to walk up the steps. The taller you go, the thicker the trees are. The mist was also starting to form.

You soon start to feel your legs wobble in exhaustion. You must be out of shape since it's the hill isn't really too tall. The mist was thick now, but you notice that the trees are getting thinner. You must be close to something, whatever it is. If you find out there's nothing at the top, you'll freak-

Then you found a shinto shrine. The trees beyond the shrine were a different species, and immediately recognize that they're ginkgo trees. Its leaves were the colors of autumn and pretty much out of season. The fallen leaves were scattered around, but it doesn't surpass the shrine, like an invisible force field to prevent it from crossing to the normal world. It was such a peculiar sight to see yellow colored ginkgo trees in the middle of April.

What the hell.

You get closer to the dusty shrine. It was covered with cobwebs. You spot something engraved on its right side. You wipe the dust off with your hand and read the kanji.

"'Nothing'...?"

"Exactly. There's nothing."

You jump in surprise and turn around too quickly, losing your balance. Someone grabs your arm before your face meets the floor. You regain yourself and sighed in relief. You thought you were gonna have a flat nose by tonight. You swivel around to see a boy who is shockingly already a few feet from you beyond the shrine. He was staring at his hand. His face was so blank, you don't really know what he's thinking or why he's looking at his hand like that.

How could he have such a deadpan expression?

The boy looks like he is younger than you. His hair had raven locks that turned mint in the ends. He was pale and is wearing a cream colored yukata with patterns that are shaped like mists. He's barefooted and had an empty scabbard hanging from his waist.

"E-excuse me!" you call out, snapping the boy out of his thoughts. He stares at you without a response.

You felt awkward. What was he doing here?

"You should leave." the boy says a bit crossly. "Before the sun sets."

You blink a few times. Is someone younger than you telling you to leave? You wanted to coax him about changing his tone and to be more respectful, but upon realizing that the sun was starting to set, you decide to leave him be.

You hesitantly bow and quickly descend the hill. The boy watches you from behind and like always, he waits until your figure disappears. He walks towards to where you stood. The triangle headwear he wears must have fallen when he saved you from falling humiliatingly.

He picks up the hitaikakushi and ties it around his head. He stares at his hand again. His hand that was able to grab you. His hand that didn't come through you.

He sighs, feeling stupid once again. He knew very well that he could not touch humans, yet his body is automated to help someone in need. What happened earlier was different though.

Much much more different.

° ° °

It's finally the weekend, and you were cursing at yourself for deciding to go back to the mountain again. You decided with a flip coin, since you weren't really sure whether you should visit the mysterious boy or not.

"He must be a yurei or something, so why do I even bother...?" you sigh almost jokingly to yourself and shoved your hands in your pockets.

You soon find yourself at the foot of the hill. The steps were still there. The other day they weren't, you were sure. Perhaps the boy can do that? Make things appear and disappear in his territory, if he was some kind of spirit.

You notice the mist have reached the base of the hill and was much more thicker. The trees danced with the breeze, making you wonder how something that isn't really there be in sync with the world.

"You're back?"

You were snapped back to reality. You follow the familiar uninterested voice to see the same boy from yesterday, leaning against one of the trees. The shade from its leaves barely covered his face, but his pale orbs were bathed in little sunlight as if to purposely give empty eyes some light. His mint orbs shone with such a calm demeanor under the sprinkle of sunlight, you thought no one has ever looked so somber for someone so young.

Then you notice the triangular head piece he's wearing. A hitaikakushi. So he really is a yurei.

"Um, yeah, I'm back..." your voice trails off as he walked closer to you, finally fully bathed in the sun's rays.

His brows slightly furrows. "Why?"

You blink. The first time you saw him, you really didn't get a good look at his features. Seeing him now, his hair flowing through the wind while the sun acted like a spotlight, you see him clearly.

Oh my god, he looks like an absolute angel.

You gulp as you thought you were getting hazy. "I, well, uh-"

"You shouldn't be here." he turns his back to you and starts to walk up the steps, the mist seemingly following him like a servant following its master.

"Didn't you invite me?" you voiced a question even though the sight of the mist following his shadow was so fascinating to look at. "The other day there weren't stairs here..."

He stops to give you a brief look. And in that millisecond before walking away again, his eyes flickered with slight shock. You grin to yourself and followed him up the hill.

The boy admits to himself that you were right; he did 'invite' you to his home. He can't help but get curious about a human seeing him for the first time. What's more, he can touch you. Though he doesn't admit one thing.

He feels lonely.

Spirits shouldn't feel lonely. Spirits shouldn't feel anything. Spirits should go to the afterlife, yet he's still here. He remembers nothing of his past or when he was still living, not even his own name. One day, he just awoke on a tall hill with yellow ginkgo leaves surrounding him.

He tried his best to spend his days alone remembering who he was, but to no avail, and decided to give up. He assumed that because of his lost memories, he's still roaming the Earth. The only piece of memory he has is this empty scabbard, and have justified that he was a swordsman at such a young a age. Whether a professional or not, he just knows he's a swordsman.

You see him stop by the shinto shrine. You were still entranced at the sight of the cluster of ginkgo trees beyond the shrine as it danced with the wind with a grace so majestic to you.

"You came to confirm that you're not a lunatic hallucinating things, right?" he says with a flat tone in his voice. "You've seen everything that you can see, now leave."

You consider his question. "It just made things more confusing though..." you mutter to yourself.

But he heard and turns to you, expression unchanging. You catch his eye and quickly tensed under his gaze. It's not that he's intimidating - okay, he is, only because it's like he's some kind of robot. Solemn and somber and deadpan were the only words that can describe his features. It's making it hard for you to read him.

He averts his gaze, startling you just a little. "Then, you can come back whenever..." he huffed. "...just until you're not confused about this anymore."

You stare at him for a moment. His eyes were darting everywhere but you, and he was fiddling with his fingers. What's with the sudden change in reaction? Not that you were complaining. He looked so adorable this way.

You suppressed a grin. "Then I'll be back tomorrow." You almost forgot why you were here, but either way it doesn't really matter as long as you'll come back tomorrow.

You descend the hill as the boy watched you gradually getting smaller until you disappear from his sight. Just like he always have.

He pouts at himself. He shouldn't have said that. You shouldn't come back here. Convinced that it's best for him to be alone, he called himself a nincompoop under his breath. But he had a feeling that even if he hadn't said that, you'll still come back. Your eyes were straightforward about it.

° ° °

You've been visiting him for the next few days. During weekdays, you'd visit him after school. He doesn't really talk when you ask him simple questions. He didn't seem like he was annoyed by your presence though. Right before the sun sets, he would ask you to leave, and you didn't know why. You were persistent, enough to surprise the boy.

Seriously, inviting me here but then you're not conversing?

One day, he couldn't bare to ignore you for much longer. He was at his usual spot at the foot of the hill. He was patiently waiting for you as he leaned on the tree. This time, he's gonna answer your questions. Well, at least he'll try. He was as clueless as you are, as to why and how he's here.

He closes his eyes, concentrating on the breeze that was passing through him. Though a spirit, his body was reacting to the world naturally. His hair would sway in the wind, the sun would shed light on his eyes, and recently a human girl can touch him.

He opens his eyes to stare at his hand. He recalls the time he caught you before idiotically tripping. Your skin was delicatem as well as warm to the touch. For a moment, he felt alive and breathing. Breathing the same fresh air of mid-spring.

The sound of light footsteps. His gaze landed on your shadow that was increasing in size as you walked closer. Finally, his eyes met yours that shimmered in slight surprise. Your shocked look slowly turned into a warm smile.

In that millisecond of a moment, he saw someone else. A boy with the same heart-filled smile. It was only for half a second, but he saw how kind the boy's smile was. Such kindness would make anyone cry.

"Hey, are you okay?" you were sitting across him and were waving your hand in front of his face.

He finally snapped back and stared back at you. For a spirit, he was already pale. But he was paler this time. His eyes were filled with mixed emotions - so many emotions you couldn't count. But these emotions stood out the most; Shock. Disbelief. And fear.

"What's wrong?" concern growing, you inched closer to him. He turns away, a gesture for you to stop. And so you did. He blinked a few times and heaved a deep sigh before turning back to you. Once again, his eyes were empty and his expression was deadpan.

"It's nothing."

You wanted to ask again, but given his expression you decided no to pry. For a while, you stayed in your position as you continued to scan his face. His features were clearly blank again as he was staring at the ground. But there's always something more to that unchanging expression he always wears. What could he be thinking?

"Questions..." he starts in a soft whisper.

"Huh?" You tilt your head. He raised his gaze to level with yours.

"I'll try to answer questions..." His voice was much louder now. You knew what he meant and nod with your lips tugging into a small smile. He looks away and taps the grass beside him. You gladly moved to sit beside him.

You had so many questions. You wonder which you should ask first. "Ah! I don't really know your name yet. For starters, what's your name?"

He stares up at the sky for a few seconds before responding. "I don't know. I don't remember."

"Oh...did you lose your memories?"

He nods. "Then you don't remember anything from when...I mean, your past?

He nods. You frown. So either way, none of your questions will be answered then? Well maybe questions about the present, he can answer.

"Why are you here? Why am I the only one who can see you?"

He gives it a thought. "I don't know."

You sigh, frustration building up inside you. The anticipation of finally knowing what's going on faded away in a dissatisfied manner.

He sees you, and stared st the ground once more. "...but I think it's because I don't remember anything. That's why I'm here."

You can sense his effort of trying to communicate, and you appreciate it.

Maybe continuing to visit him isn't the worse idea?

"Sorry." he apologised. You knew what he meant. You visit him everyday so you can get some answers, and now that he's finally talking, you were left with absolutely nothing.

But maybe nothing isn't so bad?

° ° °

He is very confused.

That day, he couldn't answer your questions in the end. But you still visit him. What's your goal?

You would talk about how your day went and sometimes even bring snacks. You knew very well he can't eat, yet you still bring these delicious foods with you.

You're so mean.

It's not like he's complaining though. He doesn't admit it, but he starts to adore your presence more and more. He was quiet, watching you go on and on about your day. It was a refreshing sight.

Other than that, he's been getting these flashes from his past more often. They come in bits and pieces so it doesn't really add anything up. He would see his own hands holding a sword, unfamiliar faces, another him, and the most mysterious and confusing ones are the flashes of huge pillars inside a seemingly endless room all lined up. He was sure there were other people in the room as well, but this one person with long hair doesn't reveal his face.

He was certain that you would be able to set him free. Is fate finally giving him a favor and sent you here? Or is it the other way around.

"Hey so..." your voice was unsure. He's never heard that tone from you before. "...a guy asked me out on a date. I'm not sure if I should go. I told him I'll give it a thought..."

The way your hand played with your earlobe and looking at the ground embarrassingly, were you asking for his permission?

He blinks cluelessly. "A date?"

You realize and chuckle at him and yourself. "Right. You probably don't know what a date is, huh?" he nods. "It's when a girl and boy go out and do all sorts of fun alone together. They would talk and eat and stuff...but usually when it's only because they-"

"But aren't we doing that now?" he cuts you off. He almost sounded upset. You were staring at his innocent face as you felt your face getting hot. "You're already on a date with me everyday, so you shouldn't go."

"You're havung fun with me around?" the question simply slipped away, and you got redder when you realized. His eyes widened a little and somehow his cheeks were slightly dusted pink. He looks away and hummed softly.

You smile. "I guess I'll tell him no then." he seemed to slightly perk up by your response, but his gaze remains away from you.

You knew you had to tell him at some point, that dates are about when two people like each other. But you decide to let it slide for now. You were feeling too warm and fuzzy inside.

~

The sun was gonna set soon, meaning he'll tell you to leave again. But you wanted to ask him about that before you do.

"Why do you ask me to leave before sunset?" you casually asked while cleaning up.

He was staring at the setting sun. There was an unfamiliar feeling of anxiety and fear in his eyes. But there was also this strong look too. You've noticed that he seems to grip his scabbard absently whenever the sun is almost setting.

"I...don't know." the same answer to you questions, yet answered with a different tone in his voice.

You thought for a moment. Then you remember about you grandfather telling you stories from his time as a young kid. The mosters prowling at night in search for human flesh, the hunters who possess immense strength and abilities to take those monsters down, and the end and start of it all.

"You told me you were long dead..." you started. You try to search for the words, but there was no sugarcoating it. "...then you must know about the demons, right?"

Upon hearing the word, flashes of different faces printed on his mind all at once. Sharp teeth, eyes cravung for bloodlust, claws that can easily rip your heart out - they were all different people but with the same description. Finally, the last one was longer - the long haired man with no face finally has one. Intimidating six eyes were starung right at him.

He almost lost his composure if it hadn't for you. He realized he was as stiff as a board and finally relaxed once he felt your touch. You grabbed his arm with worry that he wasn't responding to your calls.

"Are you okay?" you asked.

He absently gripped your hand that was holding unto him and pulled it away, just to hug you tight. You were surprised with the action (and his strength for someone with a small build). You were really getting worried.

As you were about to say something, he spoke first. "...I want to protect you. Let me protect you."

"Protect me from what?" he only hugged you tighter. You didn't know what and why is this happening. You also don't know about his past was about. Heck, you don't know anything about him at all.

You stare at his scabbard. He was a swordsman, that's for sure. Maybe it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter if you knew who he was or what he's been through - you know him as the boy who is hugging you right now. That matters.

You slowly wrap your hands around him as you were engulfed with the last but of sunlight left. "Alright." you brush through his hair and he immediately relaxes in your arms. You don't know it, but happiness was bubbling from his chest.

° ° °

It was just another usual day. Another school day have ended and you were heading to the usual hill where he lives. Sometimes, you end up daydreaming while walking but every time you find yourself at the foot of the hill already. It's like your body was automated. Thinking back when there wasn't any magical hill yet, you just head straight home. Your mom would say to have fun with friends and go somewhere after school, but you just weren't the type to do that. You chuckle at yourself.

You realize that you've arrived and saw the boy standing straight with his fists clenched. When you met his pale eyes, you couldn't believe what you were seeing.

His eyes gleamed with hope and excitement. He wasn't trying to hide it. His deadpan expression was replaced by excitement and impatience, and you admit it was foreign to you. But it was a sight you can never forget.

"What are you doing standing there?" he breathed, barely hiding his emotions. "I have a lot to tell you."

~

"Wow! So you had a twin?"

He nods vigorously. He continues to tell you of his memories with a happy look on his face. It's been like this everyday now. You weren't the only one talking anymore. You were exchanging stories; stories of your lives, stories of the past and the present.

"I was a demon slayer too! A high-ranking one at that." he stares at you with a proud look on his features.

"Really?" you stare back at him in awe. "You're so young though! What else do you remember?"

"That's all I remember today. I'll tell you more if anything else comes up!" he says cheerfully. But soon, his expression softened as his gaze seemed to pierce through yours without him realizing. "[Y/N]...are you happy for me?"

You held your breath, completely off guard. You hadn't forgotten what he said before.

"If I get all my memories back, I might finally move on. I'll be free."

He said that just a few days after you've met. Now, it's been weeks. Of course you should be happy for him. After so many years, he's this close to finally move on from the world who couldn't see him, realize that he was still there. But then he'll be far from your reach. He'll get farther and farther until you couldn't grasp him anymore.

You smile, forcing yourself to remember what he wants. "Of course I am! You'll finally be free!"

He nods at you. Before meeting you, it bothered him that he's alone in the world. No one can see him - the whole world can't see him. And such loneliness is absolute torture for a spirit of a child. Though an elite swordsman of the past, he's still a young boy. A young boy who then meets a young girl of the present. You were cheerful, kind, and loveable. You were also a bit clumsy and a tease, but those were the qualities that made him feel alive even just for the afternoon where you spent time with him. For the first time, he didn't care if the world couldn't see him. You turned into his world already.

And for the first time, he wished he would forget.

° ° °

Tiem flew. Months passed. By now, the boy has probably remembered everything. Everything except his name. He didn't mind though.

"Hey! There's a summer festival today!" you visited him in the morning to inform him of the annual summer festival happening in your neighborhood. "I promise to bring in lots of prizes today! And maybe some food." you barely hid your cheeky grin.

"Stop teasing me with food I can't eat!" he pouts at you. You laugh and ruffle his hair, giving his heart an unusual skip. "But didn't you say that festivals are the best at night?"

You smile brightly, happy that he remembered what you said. "Mhm! That's why I'll be back before sunset."

"Watching fireworks are the best when you're with someone."

~

That day, you did visit again before sunset. You were wearing a [F/C] kimono that was decorated with flower patterns and your hair was tied in a loose bun. All he could do was stare at you as he blushed.

"S-stop staring too much..." you mumble, but he hears and apologises.

You sit beside him and told him what you saw. You showed him the prizes you won from winning games, and flaunted the delicious snacks you brought (resulting a drooling spirit).

After all that, everything finally calmed down. You were both waiting for the fireworks display to start. You were right at the entrance of the shinto shrine. Beyond it, the autumn ginkgo leaves seemed to shimmer slightly under the soft moonlight. You never stepped foot beyond this shrine because he advised not to. The way he told you, it was obvious that it was his haven. It was where he feels safe and at peace. A few days after first meeting him, he sits in the middle of the pile of leaves and stares at the sky. Now he doesn't. Does that mean he can feel at peace with just by being with you now?

"[Y/N]! Look!" he points at the sky and you follow; different colored fireworks exploded in the star filled sky. Its light reflected on your features that showed awe and happiness.

The boy next to you, however, weren't watching the dancing lights in the sky. He was watching the girl beside him who's completely absorbed in the beauty of the fireworks. He feels the same way as you, only it wasn't towards the fireworks.

It was towards you.

Then, a flash. He grabbed his head in pain. This was clearly a memory; but why does it hurt?

He sees a man - he was blind. He was wearing a black kimono with a white kimono jacket that had purple and pink mist like patterns that starts from the end of his jacket. He wore the smile like Buddha. A calm aura radiated from him. They were in a room and he seems to be lying down. The man was sitting beside him and was saying something, but he wasn't audible. Until-

"You will get your memories back...

...Muichiro."

Then he was back. The memory faded away. He was sitting beside you under the now empty sky. The fireworks display ended. You were calling out his name and was holding him. Your eyes showed nothing but concern and worry. Suddenly, he hugs you. Tears started streaming down his face as he buried his head into your chest. It was gonna stain your kimono, but you didn't care. You didn't know what was going on, and all you could do was hug back.

You stayed like that for what felt like hours. His sobs subdued into quiet sniffles. He held you tighter, as if he was afraid that if he lets go, you'll disappear.

"...Muichiro." he muffled. He looks up at you, eyes sore from crying. "M-my name..."

You widen your eyes in realization. You start combing his hair with a smile, but tears were forming in your eyes. "Muichiro...it's a nice name."

"Don't lie!" he says and breaks away from you. "Don't smile like that!"

His words broke your heart.

"Don't tell me you're happy! Because I'm not!" he yells. He stands up, staring at the ground. "I'd rather forget everything again and stay here with you!"

He was crying again. No, of course you should be happy. But you can't help your feelings. You don't want him to say that; he doesn't mean it. And if he does, you should stay strong for him. He needs to be set free. You stand and hug him tenderly. He gives in quickly and hugs you tight. You couldn't find the words. You knew you should change his mind. You don't want him to disappear while he feels like this.

A sudden breeze, then a strong wind. The ginkgo leaves were flying, circling around you. Soon, the mist joined in. He hugs you tighter, but even when he did, his grasp and warmth was gradually fading. You cupped his face in both of your hands and gave him the warmest smile despite the tears.

"Muichiro, I like you."

His eyes widened. He knew what those words meant. It wasn't a simple confession. You were telling him to go. You were telling him that it was okay and that you'll never forget him.

He smiles back. "I like you too." he holds your hands as your foreheads touched. You shut your eyes tight as the strong wind almost felt like a tornado.

Then you can't feel his warmth anymore. You can't feel his face in your hands. The wind disappeared. You open your eyes slowly.

You were standing on a field. As if the hill was never there. You stare at your hands, before falling on your knees.

As tears streamed down, you still smile. "Muichiro..." you whisper. His name meant 'nothing', but his whole existence was the opposite of that. Despite his name, you knew he lived a happy life. And hoped that his time with you was just as happy.

He was born to be happy.

[faejilly]

ashes of angels 5/6

The Circle was not nearly scared enough of trying to move against the Lightwoods and Magnus Bane. They should have known better.

@shadowhunterbingo​ square: sex club [AO3]

Revka Freeman stares out the window at the bright morning outside. They're half a world away from Idris, and she hates it, hates the waiting, hates not knowing if it worked, if it didn't, if not why.

The waiter who'd helped them out at the reception tonight is already here.

Brightfleur is not.

The waiter, Cyril, Revka thinks is his name, is uneasily leaning against the bar, trying and failing not to notice what sort of club they're using for their meeting place. Most of it's all packed away, of course, but there's no missing the "benches" scattered around, or the way the whole club circles around one central space, a bare stretch of ground with spotlights and a catwalk above it, metal anchors beneath the level of the floor underneath, the kind of metal frame one could use to hang from, or brace... "equipment".

No one's in a sex club on a warm Saturday morning. And this one has a "private party" booked tonight, just in case, so no one will have any reason to be here until they're long gone.

They'd planned this so well, so why is she so unsettled?

The waiter said Lightwood and Bane were still there when he'd left, but he wasn't entirely sure that Lightwood had actually had any of his drink yet. They hadn't heard anything from the reception, not regular gossip, nor horrified reports, so clearly the drug hadn't caught them enough by surprise that they'd succumbed in the middle of the Hall.

Shame, that. Part of why they'd picked pixie dust, after all. Easier to hide in a drink, transmits via skin on skin contact, so it'll knock both of them out of commission, because everyone knows Lightwood and Bane are... tactile.

And yet.

They hadn't heard anything from the guards in the area either, all reports quiet, so she didn't know how Lightwood and Bane had gotten out either. They'd known it was possible their targets would recognize the drug, would try and find some privacy to deal with it, but she thought they'd had all the exits covered.

Has the man still not had a sip, over two hours later?

Damn Lightwood.

They would have had better luck getting the drug into Bane, considering he was less likely to ostentatiously nurse one drink all night, but they'd all decided he'd be more likely to notice the taste. He'd probably indulged in pixie dust on purpose at some point. Revka feels her lips curl up in disgust. She can't believe Lightwood lets someone like that touch him.

Can't believe he'd married... that.

Maybe they've slipped into the servants' walkways, fucked up against a wall.

She would have thought someone would have heard that though.

If Brightfleur doesn't show up in the next fifteen minutes, they're going to have to go searching for him. And for the targets.

She puts her hands behind her back, makes herself settle so she doesn't start pacing or yelling. They don't know that anything's gone wrong. Yet.

There's the faint whoosh of an activating portal, and Cyril goes tense, clearly considering trying to dive behind the bar, just in case. Revka puts her hand on the hilt of her seraph blade, sees Del, the guard by the door, straighten up to attention.

Brightfleur steps through.

Cyril sags with relief, but Revka and Del both wait.

"In hoc signo vinces," Brightfleur says, and spreads his hands wide, the portal shivering closed behind him. Revka watches Del touch the key hanging around his neck, waiting for it the hum that will signify that it's partner is in the room again, that Brightfleur's still carrying his tracker. Del nods, and she activates both her voyance and spiritum runes; Valentine had been too fond of glamouring himself for anyone not to know that the other side could do the same right back at them.

And the Circle motto isn't nearly as hard for outsiders to learn as it used to be.

There's a hint of green around Brightfleur's fingers and flaring from inside his jacket; presumably the poison. There's a weird hint of something else all over him, an almost invisible bluish-white haze, already fading, but there's definitely no glamour, no tell-tale magical streaks left behind from shape-shifting.

She frowns at him. "You're late, did someone spot you?"

Brightfleur wrinkles his nose, tugs down on the end of his sleeves in the same officious gesture he always makes when he has to talk to her.

Revka represses the urge to roll her eyes.

"Lightwood and Bane disappeared through a locked and glamoured door. Based on the plans for the building you showed me, I believe it was the musician's gallery." He sniffs. He clearly doesn't want to think about the details of what they're doing any more than Revka does. "I didn't think I could break in without triggering the general maintenance wards."

Ah. That's probably what the shimmer was: he'd spent too long looking for a way through the door. She wonders how Bane had pulled it off, especially as incapacitated as he should have been. Damn slippery warlock.

"I was going to wait to see if I could catch them coming back out, but I thought I should be sure to remove anything they could track while I had the chance." He pats his pocket, and there was something off about the angle of his arm, something...

Revka shakes her head. They're all tired. And they aren't done yet.

"Of course." She lifts her chin, and the guard comes forward, carrying the box that had been waiting by his feet. "Give it to Del, I'll use the portal shard to send you back so you don't have it on you to be tracked. Send a text or a fire message for updates."

Brightfleur nods and turns towards Del, and there's something off again about that turn, but he's not glamoured, she'd checked, and he said the right things, in the right way...

Fuck, she needs more sleep.

Maybe Brightfleur is just annoyed at how much effort they've asked of him, for how little result.

She's annoyed by that, too. Lightwood's going to be harder to get to after this, and he got out of the public eye fast enough that they may have avoided all the consequences they'd been counting on.

He'll know he got drugged, and he'll know where, even if he doesn't know who or how. Unless she's really lucky, and he got a high enough dose in him that he and Bane suffer permanent damage? It's been known to happen.

She's not usually that lucky.

She frowns at Brightfleur, whose fingers are barely touching the lid of the box as he lifts it, overly fussy with a tiny little frown of distaste on his face.

Useless bastard.

Brightfleur's a terrible agent, doesn't care enough to be trusted to follow-through, not if it's going to be inconvenient, but he also has no black marks on his record, no complaints or commendations from the "wrong" people, and always has an invitation to everything.

She can't afford to lose him, not anymore, not after Malachi screwed up and Valentine died, not after Jonathan and the Rift, not after Penhallow deciding to make an example of the ones who'd been flushed out after everything that happened in New York.

Damn Clarissa Fairchild.

Damn whoever had hidden her so well from them.

She assumed it was Bane, and that was part of why they'd risked this, but if it hasn't worked...

She closes her eyes with a sigh. They had back-up plans, and back-ups to those, she just has to keep going.

She hears an odd choking sound, and opens her eyes to see Del falling slowly to his knees, Brightfleur cradling the box in his arms...

And Jace fucking Herondale with his seraph blade pointed at her throat.

She starts to move, her hand slipping back, and he clicks his tongue. "You poisoned my parabatai, Freeman. Just give me an excuse."

Brightfleur starts to move, but Herondale doesn't flinch, and Revka feels her eyes widen as Brightfleur pulls out a stele and traces a somnus onto Del's forehead. He steps carefully over Del's shoulders and bends over, presumably to do something to Del's hands.

She can't contain the growl in the back of her throat, doesn't even try, but then there's a prick of the blade against her neck, and she forces herself still.

Herondale sighs, as if disappointed, and Brightfleur laughs, a short sharp sound that she never would have imagined could come out of the man. "We're wrapping them all up for Alec, don't be so disappointed that you can't damage them a little first."

"Aren't you?" Herondale retorts, and Brightfleur shrugs.

"I am," someone else answers, and it's only then that Revka thinks to look over by the bar, to see Magnus fucking Bane standing next to Cyril, who's bound and gagged with red sparking magic.

"Fuck," Revka breathes, and Herondale laughs.

[anniekoh]

elsewhere on the internet: talking about racism

This set of articles has been languishing at the back of the queue for three years! 

Political Correctness Wanted Dead or Alive: A Rhetorical Witch-Hunt in the US, Russia, and Europe

Anna Szilagyi (2016, Talk Decoded)

Possibly the most common way of attacking political correctness, is to label it “tyrannical”. Covert speech strategies may also support this construction. For instance, anti-PC politicians often utilize adjectives for fear (including “afraid”, “frightened”, “scared”, “terrified”) to describe how PC affects the behavior and feelings of people. The former leader of the UK Independence Party, Nigel Farage claimed: “I think actually what’s been happening with this whole politically correct agenda is lots of decent ordinary people are losing their jobs and paying the price for us being terrified of causing offence.” Suggesting that the British are “terrified” because of political correctness, Farage urged his listeners to think of PC in terms of intimidation.

At the same time, the fearsome vocabulary provides a background for anti-PC populists to present themselves as “brave” and “courageous” “saviors” of their “victimized” societies. The next quote by Nigel Farage exemplifies this trend: “I think the people see us as actually standing up and saying what we think, not being constrained or scared by political correctness.” In a similar fashion, Geert Wilders  declared: “I will not allow anyone to shut me up.”

Why White People Freak Out When They’re Called Out About Race

Sam Adler-Bell (2015, Alternet) @SamAdlerBell

Sam Adler-Bell: How did you come to write about "white fragility"?

Robin DiAngelo: To be honest, I wanted to take it on because it’s a frustrating dynamic that I encounter a lot. I don’t have a lot of patience for it. And I wanted to put a mirror to it.

I do atypical work for a white person, which is that I lead primarily white audiences in discussions on race every day, in workshops all over the country. That has allowed me to observe very predictable patterns. And one of those patterns is this inability to tolerate any kind of challenge to our racial reality. We shut down or lash out or in whatever way possible block any reflection from taking place.

Of course, it functions as means of resistance, but I think it’s also useful to think about it as fragility, as inability to handle the stress of conversations about race and racism

Sometimes it’s strategic, a very intentional push back and rebuttal. But a lot of the time, the person simply cannot function. They regress into an emotional state that prevents anybody from moving forward.

...

RD: I think we get tired of certain terms. What I do used to be called "diversity training," then "cultural competency" and now, "anti-racism." These terms are really useful for periods of time, but then they get coopted, and people build all this baggage around them, and you have to come up with new terms or else people won’t engage.

And I think "white privilege" has reached that point. It rocked my world when I first really got it, when I came across Peggy McIntosh. It’s a really powerful start for people. But unfortunately it's been played so much now that it turns people off.

The Language of “Privilege” Doesn’t Work

Stephen Aguilar (2016, Inside Higher Ed) @stephenaguilar

I believe that “privilege” is a sterile word that does not grapple with the core of the problem. If you are white, you do not have “white” privilege. If you are male, you do not have “male” privilege. If you are straight, you do not have “straight” privilege. What you have is advantage. The language of advantage, I propose, is a much cleaner and more precise way to frame discussions about racism (or sexism, or most systems of oppression).

... does giving up a “privilege” seem incoherent? It might, because generally privileges are given and taken by someone else. They are earned, and are seldom bad things to have.

Now try shifting your language to that of advantages. Ask yourself, “What advantages do I have over that person over there?” That question is much easier to answer and yields more nuanced responses.

Kimberlé Crenshaw on intersectionality

Bim Adewunmi (2014, New Statesman) @bimadewunmi

“I wanted to come up with an everyday metaphor that anyone could use”

“Class is not new and race is not new. And we still continue to contest and talk about it, so what’s so unusual about intersectionality not being new and therefore that’s not a reason to talk about it? Intersectionality draws attention to invisibilities that exist in feminism, in anti-racism, in class politics, so obviously it takes a lot of work to consistently challenge ourselves to be attentive to aspects of power that we don’t ourselves experience.”

...

“Sometimes it feels like those in power frame themselves as being tremendously disempowered by critique. A critique of one’s voice isn’t taking it away. If the underlying assumption behind the category ‘women’ or ‘feminist’ is that we are a coalition then there have to be coalitional practices and some form of accountability.”

The Persecution of Amy Schumer: Political Correctness and Comedy

Teo Bugbee (2015, Daily Beast)

We have developed highly advanced ways of recognizing and articulating when we feel offended, but very few ways of making something productive out of our own hurt feelings.

I’ve questioned if my choice to overlook what’s hurtful in Schumer’s comedy for the sake of what’s insightful is a sign that I’m complicit in the faults of white feminism, not valuing the importance of others’ feelings on this matter enough. This argument of apathy gets used often on social media to raise awareness around issues of race, sex, gender, and other topics surrounding justice and a need for change, and it is often useful, but it can also be a blunt instrument. Where I’ve landed for the moment is that not all marginalized people feel the same way about every issue—even on social media, but especially outside it—and asking everyone to respond in the same way to the same joke takes a simplistic view that flattens the complexity of marginalized communities just as much as it does the white, cisgender mainstream.

However, if we’re going to ask audiences to keep in mind the multiplicity of responses that a person might have to a work of art before they attempt to control someone else’s opinion, then it’s only fair that comedians follow the same rule.

What’s Wrong (and Right) in Jonathan Chait’s Anti-P.C. Screed

J. Bryan Lowder (2015, Slate)

One of the main problems with the constellation of leftist ideas he bemoans is that many of the people who use them most loudly do so out of context. Concepts like “microaggressions,” “trigger warnings,” and “mansplaining” originally had specific meanings and limited uses, often within the academy. They described or were meant to address specific situations or phenomena, and more important, they were intended to function as diagnostic tools of analysis, not be used as blunt, conversation-ending instruments. Believe it or not, most of these “PC buzzwords” are actually useful from time to time:  “Straightsplaining” is a real (and very annoying) thing, and it’s often a productive way of thinking about an interaction. But it’s also not always a useful or fair way to characterize a disagreement between a queer person and a straight interlocutor. Precision is what’s needed.

Additionally, though it is impossible to say this without sounding condescending myself, a lot of the abuse of PC rhetoric comes from young college students who have not yet grasped the difference between a measuring tape and a sledgehammer. Of course, given that contemporary mainstream politics offers little for those hopeful souls who want to make truly radical change in the world, you can’t really blame them for gravitating toward a mode of critique that at least feels somewhat empowering. Here, first-year, is a framework by which you can reveal the (screwed-up) hidden structures of the world and use your newly honed textual close-reading skills to mount offenses against those structures—go for it. What works on a novel doesn’t necessary translate to a complicated, changeable human being, though, so it’s no surprise that the deployment of microaggression and cissexism and other social justice lingo can sometimes come off as strident and simplistic. It often is.

But then, so is crying that only Reason can save us from the illiberal wolves waiting in the wings of our great system, which has a “glorious” history on social justice, by the way.

Want To Help End Systemic Racism? First Step: Drop the White Guilt

Sincere Kirabo (2015, thehumanist)

The point of identifying and exposing inconsistencies within the social systems and cultural norms of the United States isn’t to make whites feel guilty, but to garner greater empathy that will inspire change. The main problem with white guilt is that it attempts to diminish the spotlight aimed at issues germane to marginalized groups and redirects the focus to a wasteful plane of apologetics and ineffective assessment.

This is why some don’t like discussing racism, as those more sensitive to these matters sometimes allow guilt to creep into their thought processes, effectively evoking pangs of discomfort. This can lead to avoidance of the primary issues altogether, as well as the manifestation of defense mechanisms, including denial, projection, intellectualization, and rationalization.

Many are acquainted with the concept of Catholic guilt. Catholic doctrine emphasizes the inherent sinfulness of all people. These accentuated notions of fault lead to varied degrees of enhanced self-loathing. I liken white guilt to Catholic guilt: both relate to a sense of inadequacy emanating from misguided notions. Though the latter is anchored in an imagined source, they both speak to feelings of remorse and internal conflict that does the individual having them no good.

Keep in mind that the call to “recognize your privilege” does not translate to “bear the blame.”

[outofinspo]

The Beer Burglar

Summary: Brooklyn 99 and The Good Place crossover in which Jake arrests Eleanor

This is my entry for the @b99fandomevents summer fic exchange.

it was written for @cheeto-anaconda hope you enjoy it :)

             The discussion of their faith was starting to get really confusing. None of the humans could understand what was going on, they were just mere (dead) mortals in the middle of a conversation that was really beyond them… and somehow, about them.

“Mmm… Okay, let’s do it.” The Judge concluded, bringing an apparent good ending to the debate.

“Yes!” Michael cheered, seeming extremely pleased.

“I don’t know why, I’m just feeling kinda funky. But there have to be strict rules. Otherwise, the results will be tainted. And I reserve the right to change my mind at any point.” The Judge continued, like she was explaining a simple game of ‘Uno’ to the clearly confused humans.

“About what?” Eleanor finally voiced what all the four were feeling.  “Would someone who’s not an eternal being please explain to me what the-”

And then it all started over. 

--

             “Excuse me, ma’am. Do you have two minutes to talk about the environment?” Jake exploited his previously used genius cover. In fact no one looked him in the eye and he passed as basically invisible.

           Jake had come up with the idea of dressing like an environment enthusiast way back, when he started dating Amy. Now, a year into their marriage, it was still his favorite disguise, it just always seemed to work. That is, of course, until an incredibly rude lady came across him.

           “Do you have two minutes to talk about the environment?” Jake asked to a random person while looking for the perp reported to be there just a few minutes ago.

           “Do you have two minutes to eat my farts?” Eleanor said, the phrase almost becoming an automatic response by now.

           It had passed around 8 months since Eleanor had gone through her near-death experience and she had basically given up on being a good person. She was basically back to her pre ‘margarita mixture related incident’ self, the only difference being her new place of living, Brooklyn.

           “Wow, that was uncalled for.” Jake muttered under his breath.

           “You’re uncalled for.” Eleanor answered quickly, making the detective direct his glaze at her.

           “Wait a minute…” Jake said.Short blonde hair, blue eyes, short, apparently drunk… “You’re the beer burglar!”

           Usually the NYPD wouldn’t use their good detectives for a case this insignificant. But the constant local stores calls about missing packs of beer and bottles of liquor were starting to get annoying, and somehow the beat cops were still unable to get the perp who was committing said crime.

           “Oh, shit.” Eleanor exclaimed, widening her eyes. Seconds later she seemed much more relaxed “Hey, she’s making a name for herself!”

           “Ma’am, I’m sorry, but I’m gonna have to take you in.” Jake said, getting a little bit annoyed by the fact that this was the biggest case he had scored that month.

           “Don’t you have to do some procedure stuff?” Eleanor remembered him, clearly enjoying her little moment in the spotlight.

           Jake rolled his eyes before starting the well know discourse.

           “You have the right to remain silent. If you do say anything… Ma’am!” Jake yelled as the woman who had commited the crime jolted down the block, managing to catch Eleanor in the middle of the second block down his previous location.

           “Man, that was quite a run.” Eleanor said, panting “Oof, how aren’t you tired?”

           “You have the right to remain silent if you do say anything what you say can be used against you in a court of law you have the right to consult with a lawyer present during any  questioning if you cannot afford a lawyer one will be appointed for you if you so desire.” Jake let all the discourse out under one breath, making no pauses. He was pretty sure he had just beaten some kind of record with the speed the speech was declared.

           “Wow, that was impressive.” Eleanor said, in fact looking surprised with the speed of the detective’s speech.

           “I know, right?” Jake said with a little smile plastered on his face, being extremely proud of himself “Now, I’m gonna have to cuff you.” he finished being brought back to reality by his surroundings. After properly capturing the perp, Jake directed her back to the police car.

 --

             “So, is that our suspect?”

            “Rosa, I’d hardly call her a suspect, she basically admitted committing the crimes when I caught her.” Jake replied to his partner in this case.

            “Cool.” Rosa nodded at Jake with a smirk on her face “How’d you like to go about the interrogation?”

           “I’ll just try something straight forward, she seems like she’s gonna confess pretty soon.”

            Jake made his way to the interrogation room, sitting in front of a seemingly really annoyed Eleanor.

            “Look, dude, I have no time for this, can you please just let me go?”

            “You spend your free time stealing beers what is it so important that you can’t miss?” Jake asked in a high pitched voice, being irritated by the atmosphere Eleanor was creating

            “Number one: I did not admit anything!” She said articulating every word with exaggeration “Number two: I have a ‘Jonas Brothers’ show tonight. I can’t miss it, they’re too cute!”

            “Fair point.” Peralta said under his breath “But no, we can’t let you go because of a concert.” he continued.

            “Can’t I just go there and come back? I swear it’ll be really fast.” Eleanor pleaded, not really planning in returning to the precinct after the show.

            “I swear it’ll be really fast, title of your sex tape.” Jake muttered to himself, not being able to stop himself.

            “What?”

            “What?” Jake responded quickly, pretending he hadn’t said anything “Ma’am that will not be an option, you’ll have to stay here for further questioning.”

            “Did you say title of your sex tape?” Eleanor asked still a bit confused “Nice one, dude! You’re funny, detective.”

            Jake had already understood, form the moment Eleanor threw that snarky remark at him on the street, that the suspect had something special to her, maybe a good sense of humor, maybe just a pleasing aura. But at that exact moment, the woman had just given the cop what he loved most: validation. He couldn’t help but soften a little.

            After a question or two, the pair completely forgot about the crime and started having a pointless conversation, noting their similarities.

            “Right? Like, who doesn’t like Taylor Swift?” Jake exclaimed, not sure how they started talking about the pop star.

            Rosa was starting to get annoyed in the other room. It had been approximately 10 minutes since Jake and Eleanor had stopped talking about the case and were just talking about a list of attractive celebrities. The cop watching the conversation had doubted Jake’s sexuality since they were in the academy, but hearing him talk about the Hemsworth brothers with the suspect had basically confirmed to her the other cop’s bisexuality. Detective Diaz knew it was time to play a little ‘good cop, bad cop’ game.

           “Jake, there’s been a new lead. We need to discuss it immediately.” Rosa called for her partner from the other part of the questioning room.

           Jake hesitantly left the room. He was having a really good time talking to Eleanor and he didn’t want to ruin it by arresting her, it seemed a little too harsh of a way to start a friendship. But the cop knew he had to do the right thing, so he made his way to talk to Rosa.

           “Dude, what the fuck are you doing?” Rosa asked harshly as soon as the other detective stepped foot in the room. “You talking about Hollywood hotties won’t get us anywhere. I just wanna be done with this case already.”

           “Ok, I’m sorry” Jake said with a little tone of irony in his voice “I’ll go back and do some actual questioning.”

           “Uh, I don’t think so.” Rosa stopped Jake as he made his way to the door “You lost your questioning privileges as soon as the words ‘fat ass’ came out of your mouth. I’m doing the work now.”            Peralta tried to stop Rosa but she had already left the room. At that point Jake could do nothing but sigh as he watched his newly built friendship get destroyed by her partner in the case.

           “All right, here’s the thing: I know you’ve got something to do and I really don’t wanna be here” Rosa started talking as soon as she entered the room “so could you maybe just give us anything useful?”

           “Wow, I really liked the other dude better.”

           “Ok, listen; my partner might be a softy…” Rosa said through her teeth.

           “Hey! I can still listen to you.” Jake said through the microphone.

           “Shut up, Jake!” Rosa yelled, growing really frustrated.

           “Ok, go on.” Jake said in a high pitched voice, failing to hide the fear in it.

           “I know Peralta might be a softy, but i won’t go easy on you,” Rosa said almost in a whisper “so maybe if you just confessed it would be easier for both of us.”

           “Look, I don’t wanna be here either, but there’s nothing I can do.” Eleanor said “I didn’t do it!” she continued over-articulating her words again.

           “You were in the place of the last crime, you ran away when approached by the police and you fit the description: short blonde hair, blue eyes.” The detective was now losing her temper at the blonde woman.

           “Dude, that’s the vaguest description ever. It could be Owen Wilson, have you considered him?” Eleanor said getting really mad “Of course i ran away when I was approached by the police, it’s reflex.” 

           “What kind of reflex is that?” Rosa asked, genuinely confused.

           “Oh, I’m sorry, like I’m the only one who runs when someone thinks they committed a crime.” Eleanor exclaimed, throwing her hands up to the air.

           “I mean, if you didn’t do anything there’s no reason to run.” Rosa answered, finally returning to herself.

           There was a moment of silence in the room; Eleanor seemed to be reasoning something to herself. Rosa sighed, she was done with that case; it was a dumb crime and there was no reason to make such a big deal about it. Most of the beverages stolen were worth less than $10, summing up all the thefts, there was an estimated amount of $200 in products. The penalty would probably be a $500 fine.

           “Rosa, could you come here real quick?” Jake called the detective from the other side of the room.

           “What?” Rosa asked dryly when she entered the ambient.

           “Looks like Jennings just brought in our guy.”

           “What is that supposed to mean?”

           “Somebody else confessed to the crime, she’s innocent.”

           Rosa looked through the glass, looking at Eleanor in shock. She was telling the true, the girl just had some real troubles with making good decisions when it came to her actions.

           “You bonded with her, go tell her she’s free.” Rosa said to Jake, too embarrassed to confess she felt a little bad for being harsh with an innocent woman

 --

             “And that’s one more point for the uniformed crew.”

           “In my defense, Ames” Jake said stubbornly to his wife “I knew she was innocent, Rosa’s the one who kept trying to get a confession out of her.”

           The couple was back at their apartment, after what had been a long day at work for both of them. They had already changed into their pyjamas and were sitting in their bed, discussing their day. Since they somehow managed to turn everything into a competition, Amy kept a scoreboard in her bedside table with the number of arrests her crew had made versus the detectives of the 99.

           “Say what you want, the point is still ours.” Amy said reaching for the scoreboard, not opened to making an exception to their rule by not marking that arrest.

           Jake rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically, faking annoyance. The truth is: he loved how Amy was proud of every single arrest her team made; it made him feel proud of her as well.

           It didn’t matter which team would win or lose the bet on the year’s arrest. What truly mattered was that they were all a family; and, by the end of the day, they all had each other.

[zarinthelwrites]

Blooming from the Mud Pt. 5 (Bleach/DGM)

Kanda draws his sword. This won’t take long.

It doesn’t.

Kanda enters through the gate alone, ignoring the groans and whimpers behind them. They’re alive, he doesn’t know why they’re complaining. Well. As alive as anyone is, in this strange place beyond the living world.

The first thing he sees are the dogs. They run up to him, lick the blood off his skin. Someone has fed them, brushed them, bathed them. They smell better than he does.

Beyond the dogs are four people, arrayed around the dusty courtyard.

Yumichika stands with his weapon sheathed, hair moving in an invisible breeze generated by his own core of power.

Beside him, Ikkaku has his sword leaned over his shoulder. He is watching Kanda with a slight smirk. His power is heavier than Yumichika’s, weighting down the swirling dust so that he stands in an inverted spotlight of his own making.

To his left stands a little girl, who looks younger than Kanda. Her hair is pale pink, cheeks stained in permanent blush. She is pouting, arms crossed against her chest. A pink katana hangs from her belt, longer than her legs so that it drags on the ground behind her. The bloodlust pours out of her in palpable waves, so much that it makes Kanda feel as if she is the closest thing to an Akuma he has yet found, or a Noah like Tyki Mikk, content to wear the vestige of human skin.

“Ken-chan!” She chirps, tugging on Kenpachi Zaraki’s sleeve. “He looks like fun~”

Kenpachi Zaraki is wearing a ragged white overcoat over the normal shinigami uniform, with white bandages wrapped around his midriff. His hair stands in stiff peaks all over his skull, with each peak capped by a tiny bell that all jingle in the breeze. An eyepatch covers his right eye, edged in gold. Three straps hold it in place, two running through his hair and one connecting to the collar he wears around his throat. His sword is completely covered in bandages. If Kanda felt the force of his soul all at once he would have been driven to his knees, but Kanda had been sensing him since he entered through the gate into the Seireitei, each step of his feet drawing him closer to this man soaked in death.

Kanda looks at them and smiles.

“Who’s first?”

“Me!” Says the girl, bouncing up and down on her toes. “Pick me, pick me!”

Kenpachi tilts his head back and laughs, harsh and grating.

“No, Yachiru,” He says, “I like him. We’ll do this... the proper way.” He laughs again as Yachiru giggles.

Then he steps forward so that he stands directly in front of Kanda. This close he towers above Kanda, six and a half feet tall at the very least. Kanda grimaces. He doesn’t hate tall people as much as he hates being short.

“What is your name,” says Kenpachi.

“Kanda.”

“Only that?”

Kanda hesitates. No one knows him here. He could lose that name forever, never hear it again.

“I have another name,” he says. “I’ll tell you after I defeat you.”

“That’s the spirit,” says Kenpachi, face still split in an eerie grin. “So. The challenge.”

He flings open his hands, baring his naked chest.

“Prove to me that your soul longs for blood,” he declares. “Show me your will, Kanda!”

“Only that?” echoes Kanda, unsheathing his sword. If this is the challenge, then it’s likely that Kenpachi’s skin will be far harder than flesh and blood could hope to be. It’s only natural, here in this place where flesh is but a memory of the soul. For something of this magnitude, the bare bones of his Second Illusion are nowhere near strong enough to bother with. No, Kenpachi asked for his soul.

Kanda closes his eyes. He can hear his heart beat more easily this way.

Ba-dum

He has no curse of burning life to draw upon

Ba-dum

No foreign Innocence to drive him onward

Ba-dum

He has nothing but the lotus flowers

Ba-dum

And Allen

Ba-dum

What had he said, when Allen had granted him his dearest wish?

Kanda opens his eyes. This sword may be new but his soul...he has been listing to those whispers far before his final death. Has he not died, over and over again?

“Breathe easily, Kurayami,” he whispers. “First Dream; Rising Towards the Heavens.”

He only realizes he’s moved once Kenpachi’s blood spurts in his face. He licks his lips, tasting it.

“Welcome to the 11th Division, Kanda,” says Kenpachi. “We’ll fight once you’re healed back up.”

“Wait,” says Kanda. He’s swaying on his feet, his ankle screaming while his single slash has reopened the wounds in his arm and chest. He sheathes his sword and flings his arms out, showing his papery skin and caved in stomach.

“It’s only fair,” he says. He is no longer condemned to the life of an Exorcist, irreplaceable and fighting against inescapable odds. He can fight the way he only dreamed of. “Blood for blood.”

“Blood for blood,” Kenpachi echoes, and smiles. Then he draws his blade. It grates against the sheathe on its way out, the metal screaming and shaking. The edge itself is ragged, old blood still remaining along its edge. That is not a blade that cuts once, it is a blade that will cut a thousand times.

“Are you prepared?” Kenpachi asks.

Kanda nods. Behind Kenpachi, Ikkaku is holding the dogs back as they growl, trying to run to him.

It slides through him like a jittering bonesaw.

He doesn’t know if it’s the pain or the blood loss that sends him to oblivion.

Kanda wakes up to Fishbone licking his face.

“Get off of me, you dumb dog,” He grumbles, trying to bat at the dog.

“Eeek!” A voice shrieks close to him. “Please don’t move, sir officer! You’re still not completely recovered!”

“I’m fine,” says Kanda. He shoves himself into an upright position in the bed, looking down at himself. His chest is completely swathed in bandages, and so is his left arm. His ankle has been splinted, and then wrapped to the point where it looked more like a ball than a part of his body.

“Oh?” A different feminine voice interrupts his mental catalogue of his wounds. “Yamada, didn’t I ask you to bring me here the moment the patient woke up?”

“Captain Unohana!” The voice shrieked, reaching an even higher pitch. “I swear, he just woke up as you arrived! You have miraculous timing, Captain!”

Another Captain?

Kanda turns to face the door, still petting Fishbone and Lizard. The woman has a peaceful smile framed by her dark hair, which is parted into two but twined together below her chin.

“Trying to leave so soon?” She asks him, smiling. Kanda is immediately pinned down by the force of her power, which feels like all his terrors and shadowy nightmares given weight and presence.

“..no,” Kanda forces out, trying to talk through the sudden onslaught. “I was simply looking at my injuries.”

“An infected chest would, three deep slashes down your back, one long gash down your left arm, a slice across your face, a broken ankle, and the massive hole in your lower abdomen where Captain Zaraki struck you.” She summarizes his injuries with that serene smile still firmly pasted on her face. “Traces of starvation and malnutrition inhibiting proper reiatsu growth and development. Severe dehydration. Need I go on?”

It sounded much worse than it was when she said it like that.

“Where am I?” Kanda asks instead of answering her.

“This is the headquarters of the 4th Division,” Unohana answers. She beams. “We are neighbors with the 11th Division, which is likely the only reason you survived.”

“You were only unconscious for three days!” The pipsqueak pipes up. “We thought that you’d be unconscious for weeks!”

“The 11th Division always recruits...hardy members,” says Unohana, lips curling upward in what should be a smile. “You seem to have earned your seat, at least. However, you being awake merely means that the timetable until your release back into the 11th division will happen sooner than was anticipated. I will be...most displeased if you engage in strenuous activities while under my roof.”

Kanda leans back against the pillows, annoyed but largely resigned. The main issue he had with being on bedrest was that it reminded him of being old and dying from his stupid body betraying him piece by piece, but the circumstances-- and the expectation of a full recovery-- were enough for him to be more willing to wait for approval before wandering off. Come to think of it, he hadn’t died from his own body after all! Since beansprout had burned the house down.

“Yamada,” the Captain continues. “Keep a close eye on him, hmm?”

“Me? I mean, Yes Captain!” The pipsqueak drops into a bow so low his head hits the floor. “I’ll do my best!”

Captain Unohana flows out of the room as quietly as she appeared.

Kanda waits an extra five minutes before making eye contact with the pipsqueak.

“I’m bored,” he informs him.

The pipsqueak jumped a solid three feet in the air, his chin length hair standing straight up. Then he hit his fist against his palm as his mouth dropped open in a particularly vacant expression. “Ah.” He says. “The scary guy said that would happen. He left you something!” He bolts out of the room.

Kanda stares after the pipsqueak blankly. This guy is way too much fun to mess with.

Yamada ran back after just a couple seconds, his hands over flowing with carefully bundled stacks.. Of paper.

“Is that...” Kanda trails off. He could already read the first one. Barely.

Mission Report: Hollow Extermination in Sector 8 of District 25, East

I KiLleD AlL oF tHEm! WitH mY ManLy Hands of StEel! I Feasted on.....

“I am going to kill him--”