i’m deleting this later.
so bleach used to be one of my favorite shows / mangas and i still have love for it but it’s LARGELY unsatisfactory when it comes to ichigo’s heroes journey ,,? does that make sense? i’m not going to get too technical, but he starts as a kid who’s got issues bc he lost his mom ( tragically ) and he’s living life with this chip on his shoulder. bla bla bla inciting action , transformation & boom . . . we’re on our journey with our magical aid. the soul society arc was one of the best pieces of story i have seen from any mangaka to date and that’s just bc it’s so interesting to me. you have this outlier ( ichigo ) busting into a stagnant world and completely shaking it to its foundations BY SHEER LOVE AND WILLPOWER, and his friends follow him for the same reasons! they clash with this society, meet people, understand their motives more, their lives. they make FRIENDS and ENEMIES and uncover heinous secrets, cruelties and injustice and actually stand up and say ‘ yo wtf? ? ‘
throughout the arc we see major figureheads ‘change sides ‘ / change their minds and stand up too and it’s just really cool to see the ripple effect ichigo has on things, he’s a shaker and a mover. this arc ends with aizen’s betrayal revealed and his promise to return and destroy soul society and BAM we’re led into another amazing arc : hueco mundo. now if you pay attention THIS is a continuation where we see ichigo sort of confronting himself more but also denying himself in this arc ( he did a lot of soul searching in the first arc do not get me wrong homie jilted a 10+ year process in three days ) but in this arc we see how far he really goes for the ones he calls family ( i.e orihime getting nabbed + ichigo DYING & returning in that one fight , to him agreeing to split his soul to achieve final getsuga ) which just leads me to feel like after / during this arc we see ichigo really come alive meeting people who are like him? ikkaku? renji? ganju?? like it’s so. . . . idk ! seeing him continuing to fight for a society like their attack dog that ( albeit made some changes ! ) is still so stagnant ?? forever ? his whole arc after soul society + hueco mundo is him dealing with his depression which i actually enjoy bc at least it’s touching on ? his ptsd ? pain? loss of HALF HIS SOUL. i think this is such a powerful moment in his life? idk what i wanted done with him but then we hit the fullbring arc and it was so unsatisfactory to me bc ?? he regains his soul reaper powers ONLY because they needed him to defeat ginjo on their behalf. they didn’t pool their power into a zanpakuto BEFORE ??? it’s just,,, idk !
and anytime after that all ichigo does is fight for soul society, all side plot non canon movies , all filler eps , thousand year blood war? ichigo is not even 18 ?? and soul society once again asks him for his help, it’s just unsatisfactory to me! i miss the first arc and maybe the second one where we take more of a psychological look at ichigo , his motivations , his pains and how that makes him act around the people he loves. where do you take a character like that after he’s gotten his friend back? does he continue to change the society from the inside out? does he quit ? does he stay? that’s sort of the catch 22 with him, you CANT realistically say ichigo would give up his power and carry on as if nothing ever happened bc that’s not who he IS , he has a savior complex / survivors guilt + ptsd. he’s obsessed with making sure EVERYTHING is okay and safe because he’ll make it ok and safe but he won’t tell you whatever’s going on with him bc that’s just too much and he can handle it. i’m getting ahead of myself
tdlr; ichigo loses his mother who he loved more than anything -> ichigo pulls into himself and keeps friends who he can relate to close but not too close, not ever too close -> he meets rukia and undergoes massive change to save his family , he lets her in -> rejects the responsibility over everyone at first but then is convinced that he can’t half-ass the job , all souls need him -> his new friend who he sees himself in ( and someone who taught him the ropes ) gets kidnapped and imprisoned and sentenced to death for ‘ helping him ‘ / saving his life / doing her fucking job -> his friends who love him so much were empowered just by being around ichigo and train to help him -> they all go to get their new friend back and save them from a grim fate, fall into a world with so many personalities , backstories, motivations, rules , fuckery that they can’t help but make friends and garner allies -> he lets people in, he has motivation and a goal and a reason to push past boundaries and overcome the odds and blow people away -> he fails and gets back up and wins and fails again and carries on , who is he if he can’t save his friends even at the cost of his own well-being -> cue his friends ready to push it to the limit too bc they love him and he has to realize he can’t be self sacrificial and expect his friends to not do the same -> eventually they save rukia and bring attention to oddity of her DEATH SENTENCE -> ichigo achieves his goal but can’t help but feel anger as aizen reveals his betrayal and plan for the world at large , he lives in the world and takes it SO personally -> MORE growth for ichigo as he literally plows through enemies without really going through proper inner channels , but needs the power so he has quick meetings and sheer force of wills himself through situations -> eventually makes the ultimate sacrifice for the sake of others and his family / friends , splitting himself away from himself. he’s harshly cutting away the piece that has made him feel alive, useful , for the first time in a long long time. and his father encourages it. where does that leave him? where would that lead you? after everything ? all the adventures, adversaries, people you met? you must say goodbye bc this was never a choice for you? this was like breathing, you’d cut yourself into smaller pieces if it met you could fill the bellies of those you loved. ichigo’s arc makes me fucking crazy because it’s like a snake that eats itself, it’s never ending , and tite tried to end it? he tried to say that there ‘ is no zanpakuto spirit , you’re always fighting alone , it’s self acceptance and love that’s the answer. ‘ and he gets another power up and everything’s wrapped up ( it’s not , lots are missing / dead but hey kubo was sick so ) and ichigo married and had a kid , he could finally rest and give up reaping — like WHAT
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I got a job at a Ukrainian museum.
On the first day someone asks me if I have any Ukrainian heritage. I say I had ancestors from Odesa, but they were Jewish, so they weren’t considered Ukrainian, and they wouldn’t have considered themselves Ukrainian. My job is every day I go through boxes of Ukrainian textiles and I write a physical description, take measurements, take photographs, and upload everything into the database. I look up “Jewish” in the database and there is no result.
Some objects have no context at all, some come with handwritten notes or related documents. I look at thick hand-spun, hand-woven linen heavy with embroidery. Embroidery they say can take a year or more. I think of someone dressed for a wedding in their best clothes they made with their own hands. Some shirts were donated with photographs of the original owners dressed in them, for a dance at the Ukrainian Labour Temple, in 1935. I handle the pieces carefully, looking at how they fit the men in the photos, and how they look almost a hundred years later packed in acid-free tissue. One of the men died a few years later, in the war. He was younger than I am now. The military archive has more photographs of him with his mother, his father, his fiancé. I take care in writing the catalogue entry, breathing in the history, getting tearful.
I imagine people dressed in their best shirts at Easter, going around town in their best shirts burning the houses of Jews, in their best shirts, killing Jews. A shirt with dense embroidery all over the sleeves and chest has a note that says it is from Husiatyn. I look it up and find that it was largely a Jewish town, and Ukrainians lived in the outskirts. There is a fortress synagogue from the Renaissance period, now abandoned.
When my partner Aaron visits I take him to an event at the museum where a man shows his collection of over fifty musical instruments from Ukraine, and he plays each one. Children are seated on the floor at the front. We’re standing in a corner, the room full of Ukrainians, very aware that we look like Jews, but not sure if anyone recognizes what that looks like anymore. Aaron gets emotional over a song played on the bandura.
A note with a dress says it came from the Buchach region. I find a story of Jewish life in Buchach in the early twentieth century, preparing to flee as the Nazis take over. I cry over this.
I’m cataloguing a set of commemorative ribbons that were placed on the grave of a Ukrainian Nationalist leader, Yevhen Konovalets, after he was assassinated. The ribbons were collected and stored by another Nationalist, Andriy Melnyk, who took over leadership after Konovalets’ death. The ribbons are painted or embroidered with messages honouring the dead politician. I start to recognize the word for “leader”, the Cyrillic letters which make up the name of the colonel, the letters “OYH” which stand for Organization of Ukrainian Nationalists (OUN in English). The OUN played a big part in the Lviv pogroms in 1941, I learn. The Wikipedia article has a black and white image of a woman in her underwear, running in terror from a man and a young boy carrying a stick of wood. The woman’s face is dark, her nose may be bleeding. Her underwear is torn, her breast exposed. I’m measuring, photographing, recording the stains and loose threads in the banners that honour men who would have done this to me.
Every day I can’t stop looking at my phone, looking up the news from Gaza, tapping through Instagram stories that show what the news won’t. Half my family won’t talk to the other half, after I share an article by a scholar of Holocaust and genocide studies, who says Israel is committing a genocide. My dad makes a comment that compares Gaza to the Warsaw Ghetto. This gets him in trouble. My aunt says I must have learned this antisemitism at university, but there is no excuse for my dad.
This morning I see images from Israeli attacks in the West Bank, where they are not at war. There are naked bodies on the dusty ground. I’m not sure if they are alive. This is what I think of when I see the image from the Lviv pogrom. If what it means for Jews to be safe from oppression is to become the oppressor, I don’t want safety. I don’t want to speak about Jews as if we are one People, because I have so little in common with those in green uniforms and tanks. I am called a self-hating Jew but I think I am a self-reflecting Jew.
I don’t know how to articulate how it feels to be handling objects which remind me of Jewish traumas I inherited only from history classes and books. Textiles hold evidence of the bodies that made them and used them. I measure the waist of a skirt and notice that it is the same as my waist size. I think of clothing and textiles that were looted from Jewish homes during pogroms. I think of clothing and textiles that were looted from Palestinian homes during the ongoing Nakba. Clothes hold the shape of the body that once dressed in them. Sometimes there are tears, mends, stains. I am rummaging through personal belongings in my nitrile gloves.
I am hands-on learning about the violence caused by Ukrainian Nationalism while more than nine thousand Palestinians have been killed by the State of Israel in three weeks, not to mention all those who have been killed in the last seventy-five years of occupation, in the name of the Jewish Nation, the Jewish People — me? If we (and I am hesitant to say “we”) learned anything from the centuries of being killed, it was how to kill. This should not have been the lesson learned. Zionism wants us to feel constantly like the victims, like we need to defend ourself, like violence is necessary, inevitable. I need community that believes in freedom for all, not just our own People. I need the half of my family who believes in this necessary “self-defence” to remember our history, and not just the one that ends happily ever after with the creation of the State of Israel. Genocide should not be this controversial. We should not be okay with this.
Tomorrow I will go to work and keep cataloguing banners that honour the leader of an organization which led pogroms. I will keep checking the news, crying into my phone, coordinating with organizers about our next actions, grappling with how we can be a tiny part in ending this genocide that the world won’t acknowledge, out of guilt over the ones it ignored long ago.
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SAY "DADA" 𓆝 ⋆。𖦹°‧
ִ ࣪𖤐 featuring. gojo satoru, toji fushiguro, nanami kento x fem! reader
ִ ࣪𖤐 warnings. toji cries but he doesn't admit it bye
note. i just spent a good hour watching the "glimpse of us" parents-baby trend, it's so cute. i just had to make something family themed for the jjk men :( i'm so sorry for the lack of updates, i just finished work and boy— it was stressful.
𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔
"come on, little guy . . . say dada, da . . . da!" gojo nodded his head slowly, in his grasp stood his one year old son.
all he got in return was a loud strained laugh from the little boy, "it's okay, baby. take it slow, come on, dada . . . da . . ." the blue eyed male softly spells out the word.
"satoru, you've been trying for an hour now." you informed him, eyeing the father-son duo every now and then, "he's going to get it eventually . . ."
gojo chuckled, "i know, baby. 'm just so excited, what if he said his first words when 'm out on a mission," a sad smile etched onto his lips as he cradled the baby in his hold.
"dada!"
it took gojo a few seconds to process what his son just uttered in excitement. slowly, the corner of his lips tugged upwards in happiness — gojo cheers loudly, nuzzling his face into your son's little belly, making him craze out in pure euphoria.
"you just said your first word, good job, buddy! 'm so proud of you," gojo muffled out into the baby's tummy, "daddy's so proud of you."
gojo then faced you, "his first word is dada, i'm going to cry . . ."
to which he did, sniffling loudly — making the little boy imitate him, scrunching his face into a big frown before wailing out a loud cry. hearing your baby cry, gojo softly hushed him, patting his back, "no, no, baby. daddy's crying of happiness, not sadness, please don't cry."
"aren't you two just the cutest?" you asked, kissing the baby on his chubby cheek — calming him down almost immediately. his loud cries ceasing down under your touch.
"we are." gojo chuckled, nose raging red from sniffling mucus.
"please get rid of your snot, satoru . . ."
𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎
"come on, dada. say it." toji mutters, pulling on megumi's little cheek — gently, and the baby seemingly annoyed, swats off his father's giant fingers.
toji scoffed, "huh, wonder where y' got that attitude from."
you eyed him, "what do you mean? megumi's exactly just like you — i carry him for nine months and he ends up being a copy of you," you chuckled, ruffling megumi's hair.
the young ten month old baby crawled his way over to you, settling himself on his lap, eyeing his father sharply, "what're y'looking at, huh?"
instinctively you hit toji's bicep gently, "stop that."
"'m not doing anything . . ." toji replies back, rolling his eyes before crossing his arms, "stupid baby."
"dada!" megumi shrieks out, pointing his small finger accusingly at toji, a cute glare looming over his dark eyes, "dada!"
toji blinked once. twice. thrice, and he ended up scoffing, looking away from both you and megumi, "he said his first word, and it's me," toji mutters into his skin, clamping his palm over his lips as his elbow propped down onto the couch's hand rest.
"good job, 'gumi!" you cheered, raising the boy up in the air, kissing his cheek which made the baby erupt in small laughter.
megumi crunched his legs happily, yelling out gibberish with a mix of "dada dada!"
"that's right, dada!" you parrot happily, gently hopping with megumi in your arms. eyeing toji who had been silent, "toji, are you okay?"
he grunted, brushing his face with his hands, "do i not look okay?"
"did you cry?" you ask.
toji grunted yet again in disdain, "why would i cry because the brat said his first word?" he did.
𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎
nanami sat on the floor cross-legged with his eleven month old daughter on his lap as he scanned the newspaper. at every page, his daughter didn't miss every spot on the dull colored paper, pointing at the paper and muttering out incoherent words.
"mhm, that's terrible news, isn't it?" he replies, sipping on his coffee mug.
you emerged from behind the bedroom door, hair disheveled, "good morning," you mumble out, wiping the back of your finger over your eyes.
"dada!"
you froze and eyed your daughter, and nanami did too. his head looked down onto the young girl in amusement, his gaze softening, "your first word . . ." he whispers, carrying the baby into his strong arms.
"you just said your first word, baby!" your raspy morning voice chirped, it was as if your exhaustion had disappeared in a heap of moments and you trotted down the ground, approaching the father-daughter.
"i'm so proud of you," nanami gently placed a kiss on top of his daughter's head, cradling her small body.
you were pulled into a hug by nanami, his arm wrapped around your shoulder and he pulled you to his side — his cheek leaning on your head in content, "good morning."
"dada dada!" your daughter cheered happily, patting nanami's face with her small hands.
"mhm, i'm dada, baby." he mumbles, letting the young girl do as she likes. you cooed softly at the sight, wrapping an arm around his waist.
a good morning it is.
© CHURIPU 2024 , DO NOT COPY OR REPOST ANYWHERE
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