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Coffee for 2 (Don’t be late)

Pre-Stormbringer oneshot where Hirotsu is Iceman’s mentor (inspired by @whathorselegs)

The mission had gone off without a hitch. The intel had been secured. The bodies left with the cleaning crew.

A job well done and now all that was left was to indulge himself for just a moment. But the smoke around him coiling with that of the blood stained floor didn’t give him that same sense of accomplishment.

No, something was amiss.

He stamped out the dying cigarette as he thought. It wasn’t the mission, that’s for sure. The Boss hadn’t summoned him either, none of his men had needed to be accounted for.

Except that is for his ward.

A cursory glance at his watch made him frown. In the Port Mafia you were never to be late if you could help it. Even if it was only a mere minute or two, every second mattered.

In the Port Mafia to be late was to be in trouble. And trouble was one that Port Mafia members were to cause, not the ones to be afflicted by.

Hirotsu knew that and so did his ward. He taught him everything he knew, and then some more. He lit another cigarette and hummed to himself.

So his ward had landed himself in trouble? So much for the quiet night in.

______________

“You know, it wouldn’t kill you to send me a text.”

Iceman didn’t look up from where he tucked away in the corner of the cafe. But Hirotsu spotted the flicker of amusement in his eye even from the door.

The youth of the day.

As he sat down a mug of coffee was placed before him. He thanked the waitress before she silently left, probably with the rest of the staff.

It wasn’t a building that the Port Mafia owned but it was still part of the territory.

It’s rather cosy atmosphere and the old record player spinning tunes from Hirotsu’s youth made it a place many of the Port Mafia wouldn’t wish to venture into.

It was however the perfect place for Iceman. Hirotsu would know for he showed him the place years ago.

“I had to ensure you’d come” replied Iceman pleasantly. He looked the picture of relaxed, as if this was nothing more than a simple chat.

“Perhaps” Hirotsu sipped his drink before remarking “or is it because you didn’t wish to be tracked?” His mentee closed his eye “I could never get one past you, could I?”

Hirotsu chuckled “and yet it never did stop you from trying.” He placed the mug down and rested his hands on the table. “Do you wanna know what I’ve gathered? Or will you make it easier for me and talk?”

Iceman responded by simply leaning back ever so slightly in his chair and giving him an expectant look. Really, Hirotsu couldn’t recall ever teaching him such theatrics.

“You’re in a spot of trouble or rather you will be. You’re on the fence, mulling it over and need a deciding vote.” The other great thing about this place was that it was rather old fashioned.

Thick walls as close to soundproof as one could get. And not a single security camera in sight.

“You could ask your club mates for advice but they’re all involved.” He reached for cigarette and Iceman did the same. Twin flames burst to life before them and in the smoky haze they met eye to eye.

“So you came to me.”

Iceman held his gaze steadily. His face nor his voice betraying anything as he remarked“you got all that from 2 minutes.” Yet he didn’t deny it in the slightest.

Hirotsu raised an eyebrow in question. “But what I can’t understand is why, care to enlighten me?” The mug was set down as Iceman rested his hands on the table. “It’s about the kid, the sheep kid.”

He was silent for a moment before asking “when you look at him? What do you see?”

Hirotsu considered him for a moment. “When I fought him last year, I saw a mirror. Loud, abrasive with the power and confidence to back it up. It was like looking at myself at that age.”

“What changed?”

“I spoke to him when he was imprisoned. Away from battle and prying eyes and you know what he asked of me? To light a torch where his friends were being kept.”

He could picture him now, dirty and angry as he stubbornly refused the meal in Hirotsu’s hands. Despite it being clear he hadn’t eaten anytime recently.

‘I wouldn’t if I were you. It may not bode well for your captive friends.’ It was like a switch had flipped. The anger was ever present but there was a touch of fear. Chuuya had never looked so small before now.

But they never do at first.

‘…Hey old man…’ He’d called when Hirotsu went to leave. ‘Just, turn on a light…they’re scared of the dark. I won’t fight ya, but they deserve that much.’

“I saw not a king but a kid. One who let others may have drawn their own conclusions. But lying would do him nothing here. He wouldn’t even have known if the torch was lit. But knowing fed him better than any feast.”

Hirotsu smiled, his eyes warm and fond. “If anything, I see more of you in him than me.” Iceman scoffed “I think you’re getting your memories muddled old man.”

Yet there was no bite to his words.

“Maybe, but it stands to me now it doesn’t really matter what I see in him. Because he doesn’t. If I may be so bold, I’d say he has not a clue of who he is.”

That got Iceman’s attention.

He leaned forward and his voice dropped to a soft whisper. “And what if he could?” And with that admittance it all fell into place got Hirotsu. Why Iceman needed a deciding vote and why he was here at all.

He lit his cigarette and smiled “well then I’d say he’s lucky to have such friends.” Iceman stared at him for a moment before returning the smile.

“I won’t be late next time.” Hirotsu scoffed “sure, we’ll have to see. I think you like dragging me across the city without any rhyme or reason.”

His mentee shrugged half heartedly “I learned from the best.”

Hirotsu sighed before his voice turned serious. Even without needing to speak, Iceman sobered up and looked at him expectantly.

Good to know he still knew that much.

“How many bullets do I have left on me?” Asked Hitotsu, holding it up but even without looking Iceman knew. “There’s 3” came his careful response as he Hirotsu have a silent nod.

3 shots straight to the chest. That would undoubtedly be followed by breaking their jaw on the pavement. Because that was how the Port Mafia disposed of traitors.

The gun was placed back in its usual place.

“I have nothing scheduled this week. I would hate to waste any.”

And there it was. The scolding that Iceman had all but asked for. The unsaid warning as if he didn’t know exactly what he was getting into.

But one he welcomed in a strange way. And the next time the two met for coffee, Iceman walked in right on time.

Happy first anniversary to me thinking watching that silly detective anime was a good idea. (It was indeed a good idea, I'm just a little more traumatized and iperfixated with old Japanese writers)

Why not

send me a character and i’ll list:

favorite thing about them

least favorite thing about them

favorite line

brOTP

OTP

nOTP

random headcanon

unpopular opinion

song i associate with them

favorite picture of them

Hi, I’m Ahmed from Gaza. I’m a 2nd year IT student working hard to support my family during these difficult times. I’m running a campaign to help provide food, clothing, and essential support for my family.

Your contribution will not only provide immediate relief but also bring us hope and help us survive.

Thank you for your kindness and generosity. Your support can truly save lives. Stay safe!♥️

Please,if you can, donate.If you can't, reblog or share.Even a small contribute can make the difference

Film Red spoilers(?)

The fact that Shanks adopted little baby Uta when he was only 19 is so funny because now I can just imagine him showing up on the Moby Dick, knocking out half of Whitebeard's crew with Conquerer's Haki, looking him dead in the eye and going "Hey uh what the fuck do babies eat"

I have just finished rules of wolves and i loved it (maybe later i will do a list of my favorite things in the book) but, we can talk about the final line?

"Take a message to the crow club." she said. "Tell Kaz Brekker that the Queen of Ravka has a job for him"

If this isn't a preview for a third book of the crows, I don't know what is.

Stormbringer English Manga chapter 1 translation finished!!

heres the direct link. it’s also in my link tree!

Linktree

@_reneray_ | Instagram, TikTok | Linktree

links to everything important

I hope you all enjoy!! let me know if there are any mistakes! ❤️

Just some Kuroken proof in Haikyu-bu

I apologize for what I am going to say to you, but I have to. I am Ahmed from Gaza, married with two children. We live in the shadow of war and destruction. I lost my brother, my home, and most of my relatives. We have nothing left. I ask you to help, even a little, so that we can survive and protect my children. Any amount, even a small amount, will save our lives.

Link in bio

https://gofund.me/991535b1

Ask lumni-chan a question

Please,if you can, donate.If you can't, reblog or share.

Even a small contribute can make the difference

On Christmas Day of 2018, I received a paperback copy of George Orwell's 1984. I was 12 years old.

I remember the adults - aunts and uncles, parents, grandparents, looking at me cautiously, as if they had handed me a live bomb rather than a book. "That's a very intense book, okay?" my father told me. "If you want, we can talk about it after you read it." 12-year-old me, with only a dim idea of what fascism actually was and an insatiable appetite for books, only nodded.

While my younger cousins and sister played with their new toys, I sat on the couch and read the book in one sitting. When I finished, I looked up to see the adults staring at me with a strange sort of fascination. "Do you want to talk about it?" my father asked.

"No." I shrugged and turned away.

The truth was, I had been expecting a happy ending. Winston Smith was the good guy, wasn't he? Why didn't he win? Evil governments always lost in the end, didn't they? How could Winston have been brainwashed into believing such an evil, awful dictatorship was truly great? After all, when my middle school history teachers talked about dictatorships, those of Hitler and Stalin, it was obvious that they were the worst of the worst. No one actually agreed with them, did they?

Then I remembered my fourth grade class talking about the upcoming election, laughing about how obviously stupid Trump's wall idea was, and how strange it felt to hear someone say Clinton was worse. I don't remember his reasoning, but I distinctly remember thinking it was dumb because what could be dumber than a giant wall around Mexico? I remembered my grandmother arguing against vaccinating children, and I remembered flat Earthers I had seen online. That day was the first time it clicked for me: people believe what they want to believe.

The years passed. I read 1984 again, and again, and again. I watched as Trump shut down the government for sake of a temper tantrum, as he was impeached, as he told Americans to object bleach, as he politicized a pandemic and let thousands die. I didn't know about his SA scandals. I didn't know he had called Mexicans "thieves and rapists." I just knew he could not be allowed to be president again.

Yet, when 2020 rolled around, I was only 14 years old and could not vote. I settled for watching anxiously as the votes came in - I didn't know much about Joe Biden, but he was clearly a better alternative. He actually believed the COVID-19 pandemic was real, for one. So I sighed in relief as the results came through four days later: Joe Biden had been elected president of the United States.

I kept watching. I watched as Trump incited insurrection, as terrorists stormed the Capitol. I stared in horror at the TV. How could this have happened? How were so many people so delusional?

In December 2021, for my sophomore year English class, I read 1984 again. I thought of January 6th.

My classmates thought it boring, confusing, stupid. It didn't make sense. What did it matter? Who cared whether or not we knew the significance of the character of O'Brien?

I kept watching. The summer before my junior year of high school, just before I entered a relationship with my now-partner, Roe v. Wade was overturned, and I felt a sinking pit in my stomach. Six months later, a friend of mine read 1984 for that same English class, and he loved it - we had a few intense study hall discussions about the nature of doublespeak, of totalitarianism, of a surveillance state. My partner agreed, reading it with a terrified fascination.

I kept watching. I realized I was nonbinary, and I watched in horror as the Republican Party made their creeping advances to eradicate trans rights. Idly, I reread 1984. What the right wanted did seem a lot like Oceania's government, didn't it? I wondered if I'd ever be able to marry my partner, who, despite also being trans, was still the same sex as me. If Trump ran again, he'd probably win, and then what would we do?

Then, 2024. Trump won the primaries in a landslide. I turned 18 and registered to vote. In the meantime, I skimmed Project 2025's bits about banning pornography and thought of 1984 and its carefully curated sexless society, created to achieve perfect complacency. I went off to college and voted absentee, carefully bubbling in the circle next to Vice President Kamala Harris's name. I woke up on Wednesday, November 6th to see Trump had won the presidency.

It has been one week. Again, I watch as Trump proposes a Department of Government Efficiency, which sounds euphemistically horrific. I watch as he suggests Musk to head it, a man known for being as inefficient as possible. I think of the Ministry of Truth and how its entire purpose was to disseminate lies. I watch as people celebrate, mocking me and many others who had desperately voted against a fascist, a rapist, a convicted criminal, a man who would kill us and spit on our graves if he was elected to office. I think of Parsons and duckspeak, the practice of simply spitting out the "correct" propaganda the same way a duck quacked. People really did believe what they wanted to believe, didn't they? I realize Trump won because, deep down, people hated minorities more than they loved democracy.

I hope my loved ones and I will survive another Trump presidency. I hope those in Gaza and Ukraine will survive it too, along with so many others - Jews, POC, immigrants, students, disabled, Muslims. At the very least, I hope to live long enough to watch as the bigots are forced to eat their own words and come to terms with the fact they gleefully voted in their own downfall.

At the end of the day, 1984 taught me something I could not have comprehended at age 12, 14, 15, or 16, but can understand now: democracy dies not with a bang, but with a whimper.