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bookwyrminspiration · 2 years ago

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Signed up for drac daily but don’t understand what’s happening can you give a short explanation of the plot/who the characters are so I’m caught up

sorry

No need to apologize, I'm happy to help! Welcome to the book club, however long your stay may be :). I know you asked for a short summary but also there's been a fair amount of things that happened so I'm doing my best!

My explanation ended up being about 800 words, so I'm putting it under a cut! But it's all in one place and shorter than reading all the entries. I think I touched on the important things that get us to where we are today, so I hope that helps! If there's anything else you need/want explained or any of this is confusing, just let me know and I'll try to clear it up :)

So the story starts with Jonathan Harker, who is a lawyer/solicitor kind of person, who is going to visit Dracula in his castle to do some business with him because Dracula's buying a house in London. When he first arrives the locals are a little off and begging him not to go. Jonathan ignores this and goes to the castle; he and Dracula get along at first, but he starts to discover things aren't as they seem and Dracula has trapped him there, though it's unclear why. Dracula pretends to be normal, but as time passes while Jonathan is stuck in the castle more and more strange things start to happen, like Dracula crawling on the walls and the three beautiful women enchanting him from a forbidden part of the castle.

He's stuck for like a month or two there and frequently talks of his fiance, Mina, who I'll get to in a moment. He forces Jonathan to write letters to people saying he's staying longer and that he's fine. Dracula has also bought his house in London, leaves to go there, and now that Jonathan's alone he escapes and we don't hear from him for a while.

The story then switches to Mina Murray (his fiance) and Lucy Westerna (young woman with blossoming love life). They're friends and staying with each other going about life, Mina worrying about Jonathan and Lucy's love life starting. In one day, Lucy gets three proposals. One from Dr. Jack Seward, who is a doctor at an insane asylum, one from Quincy Morris, who is a cowboy, and one from Arthur, who is a Lord's son. She says yes to Arthur.

Seward goes on with his life documenting working with a specific patient in the asylum who has a fascination with consuming life (he eats spiders, birds, things like that). This patient's name is Renfield and he's connected to Dracula in some way

At this time, we also get a bit of story from the Captain of a ship, the Demeter, a ship transporting boxes of dirt. Dracula's on this ship. In the Captain's brief updates all the crew start to mysteriously vanish as days go by until there's only him left, and then in a newspaper report as the ship drifts into a harbor a few days later he's also dead. This is how Dracula gets to London and he escapes the ship as a dog

The part of the story with this host of characters takes a turn for the worst when Lucy's sleepwalking worsens and she starts appearing sick. There are wounds on her throat and she's often pale and out of breath. Mina looks after her the best she can, but at this point it's discovered that Jonathan's okay! He's recovering someplace from his ordeal, and so Mina goes to him at once. The lovers are reunited and get married, but that leaves Lucy without anyone to look after her.

She gets worse and worse until Seward, a doctor, is called to see her because Arthur (her now fiance) is worried. Seward decides that he's gonna need some help, so he calls in Dr. Van Helsing, who has been described as the character who knows he's in Dracula. He's got multiple PhDs and seems to suspect vampires from the beginning, but doesn't say the word for a while.

This starts a period of time where Lucy slowly and agonizingly declines in health for reasons no one can really tell, requiring multiple blood transfusions to keep her alive. People stay with her through the night to watch her, because when they leave her she's always worse in the mornings. They cover her room in wild garlic flowers, too, but her well-meaning mother (who is one shock away from death) sometimes messes with them.

Despite everyone's efforts and transfusions, Lucy dies. So does her mother when a wolf (controlled by Dracula) jumps through the window and shocks her. There's a funeral for both of them and everyone grieves, but the strange thing is Lucy doesn't look dead. She looks more alive than she did when she was dying.

At this point in time Mina and Jonathan have reunited and are back to their lives, Mina looking after Jonathan whose had a lapse in memory of the whole Dracula thing because he thinks he made it all up. But when they were first reunited he gave her his journal of the trip, and now she finally reads it and sees everything he's written about Dracula.

Since Van Helsing is suspicious of Lucy's situation, he's read through her own diary from before she died of the horrors she went through and saw Mina was mentioned with the sleepwalking things, so he reaches out to her and they connect and share information, both confirming with the other that Dracula is a monster and that he's in London.

At the same time, reports have started of children going missing and reappearing with wounds on their neck, and so Seward and Van Helsing (who finally clued Seward into what's happening) are watching her grave because she's Undead.

That's where we're up to now! Of course this isn't every detail of the story, but it's a general overview with enough detail you can kinda familiarize yourself with the characters. Again, I hope this helps but if there's anything else I can do just let me know!

#dracula daily #quil's queries #nonsie #the beginning of the book focused a lot on jonathan #but now we're kinda jumping between a lot of people now that everyone's in one place #i hope if you stick with the book club you enjoy it! and if not that you find something else you enjoy

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goatbi · 3 years ago

Text

Coping

Listen. Uryu had been without healthy coping mechanisms before, and he could deal without them again. That's what he told himself at least, that he could, in fact, deal. Even if it was one of his main coping mechanisms that was essentially completely cut off form him, he could deal with it. Uryu could.

He told himself that time and time again in the Quincy army, staring down the barrel of death and pretending it was all fine. It was, it had to be. He couldn't show a sign of faltering, not when two essentially omniscient people were watching his every move nigh constantly.

Uryu just had to preserve through it.

Of course, they saw through it. Not the Quincy, of course, he was careful, took no risks. No, it was them, Inoue, Kurosaki, Sado, they saw right through him. They had long along learned his signs, back when this whole thing had started, when Uryu had finally told them, since he despised being alone, too used to it in his actual childhood. They knew his signs, and could watch from the sidelines as he shifted, started to slowly but surely fall apart.

Perhaps that was how they knew. Perhaps that's why his betrayal wasn't so cut and dry, wasn't so obvious to them, why they were so sure that he was still on the side of good. Maybe they just had too much faith in him, that he didn't even have in himself.

Of course, finally, Yhwach was defeated. Finally, finally, he was free, away from it all, could go home and-

Well, no, of course not, because he was very promptly arrested. Luckily, by Abarai, who could distract and fuck with the due process well enough to stall and find a way to transfer his custody to somebody in the world of the living so he could be tried there, so he wasn't summarily executed for his crimes.

It was likely he would have been without Abarai.

This sucked, a lot, however, since Abarai didn't know. Not that Uryu minded him knowing, but this was less than ideal circumstances, and if Uryu regressed now, he wouldn't get out of it until Inoue, or Kurosaki, or Sado got here and took him home. He didn't want to face trail regressed, if it ended up going to hell.

So he continued to resist, and, eventually, they found a loophole that allowed Kurosaki to take custody of him. Uryu was, of course, banned from the Soul Society for a couple hundred years, but, to be honest, that probably wouldn't stick for longer than forty max, and Uryu trusted Kurosaki and Kuchiki to make enough of a fuss to get it lifted much faster. Especially since it was very obvious that it was a plot to get some of the captains onto Kyoraku's good side, since he had set up a death match between two of his captains. Kurotsuchi and Soi Fon where the main ones calling for his death, really, but it was very easy to image that they would get him out of it sooner rather than later.

He had Kurosaki on his side after all.

And they took him home. Back to the World of the Living, and each step weighed heavier. Uryu hadn't been given a change of clothes, stuck in the Quincy uniform this entire time, and he hated it. He was so tired of it, tired of it all, but there was so much more pressing matters.

Of course, they had prepared for this. They had seen the signs, and it would be so much easier, when bouncing home while they figured out how to save him from his fate of soul destruction, but still. They knew him well enough.

They took him to Hime's home. Yasu's was further away, and, while they all kept some of his little stuff, Hime had the most of it. Ichi's home was pretty much out of the question most of the time anyways, since his family was there and all, and Hime's was closest to Uryu's apartment.

So they headed there. He could tell, and he tried to fight the impending regression, despite how heavy it weight on his mind. He didn't want to put more on them without explaining himself, letting them isolate him away, and maybe even completely drop him as a friend, because god, that would be completely justified.

He'd been so evil to them, and it hurt them so bad.

What could he do to atone for this but suffer the same pain of being left behind?

Hime took him into the house, and lead him to the couch, and he wanted to resist, he was getting his boots on her carpet, but she just tugged his hand carefully, looking back at him with liquid love burning in her eyes, and Uryu followed obediently behind her, because he didn't want to argue further and make things worse for any of them.

Ichi disappeared into Hime's bedroom, probably to his little stuff kept in her closet, and Yasu settled in front of him, taking one foot in hand to begin unlacing his boots. Uryu wanted to protest, but Yasu just looked up at him with a smile, and Uryu fell silent, closing his eyes, sniffling.

God, it felt so stupid to resist it, but he had to explain, he had to, he-

"It's okay." Hime settled a hand on his back, and he looked up at her with blurry eyes, as she traced a hand along his back. "It's alright, honey, it's okay. We don't mind."

"It'll be better anyways." Ichi said, emerging from Hime's room with a blanket and pajamas draped over one arm, a Quincy plushie and a light blue pacifier in his hand. "I'm willing to bet you haven't taken a moment the entire time you were gone."

Uryu sniffled softly, trying to breath, trying to calm himself down before he shattered completely, they didn't need to take his emotions on them, didn't need to deal with his nonsense, but Yasu was setting his boots aside, then taking Uryu's hands in his own, tracing circles onto the back of them with his thumbs.

"It's okay." he rumbled at him, and Uryu broke, shrinking in on himself and shaking, sniffling softly, trying not to sob.

"Oh, honey..." Hime shifted, carefully wrapping her arms around him and he shook, hiding his face in her shoulder, trying to suck down his sobs without breaking entirely. It wasn't exactly working, but he didn't want to break yet. Instead, Hime just rocked him, as Yasu got up and wandered into the kitchen. Ichi set his blanket and pajamas onto the arm of the couch, the plushie and the pacifier on the coffee table, then urged the two of them to stand.

"Don't think you'd be up for a bath tonight." He mused quietly, as Uryu pulled away, and Hime handed him the pacifier carefully from the coffee table, letting him plop it quickly into his mouth, the comfort helping just a bit. "But getting you out of these will help, hm?" Ichi smiled at him, a rare soft one, and Uryu almost broke again, feeling so undeserving of that smile after everything, but Ichi just unbuttoned his overcoat carefully. God he hated buttons so much, and shed the coat quickly, flicking it from his hand to the floor.

It got a laugh from Hime, who picked it up and tossed it over the boots, not bothering to fold it, and honestly Uryu wanted to burn the entire ensemble, but that was a thought for later. Now, Ichi carefully unbuttoned his shirt, helping him change into the pajamas that Hime had made him. They were soft, perfect, the same fabric as the blanket Hime has also made him, which he settled into on the couch, wrapping himself up in it.

The little Quincy plushie made him smile despite everything, because he remembered when he got it. One of the better days, a happy day in his head space, settled on the floor of Hime's home with a small coloring book, when Ichi presented him the rather messily made doll. Uryu had loved it on sight, and then even more when Ichi had explained he found a plush that was close to what he wanted, and then had modified it himself, through a lot of trial and error, to make a small Quincy archer for Uryu.

Ichi had found himself with a lap full of Uryu for almost the rest of the night, and neither of them really complained. It was still the plush that Uryu was most attached to, out of all of them.

Ichi settled with him on the couch as Hime gathered the Quincy Uniform and set it aside so Uryu, once he was big again, could decide what to do with it. Yasu came around the couch with a plate of carrot sticks, something Uryu loved in his headspace, but now, for some reason, seeing them made him sniffle, tears burning in his eyes.

They were concerned, for just a moment, before the quiet sobs broke out, as Uryu felt the dam of all that emotion he had to deal with the entire time, all that pent up nonsense, finally broke free, finally rushed past his defenses, and he couldn't stop himself.

It felt like they were too kind to him, even now. He had done so much, and he couldn't understand how they could just look past it now.

He tried to apologize, but the words stumbled and slurred in his mouth, and he stopped trying. That would be another thing for big Uryu, when he could handle it. For now, he just curled into Ichi's chest, with his arms wrapped tight around Uryu's shaking body, and sobbed quietly.

There wasn't much they could do, as he settled there, but wait it out, the emotional wall that Uryu had refused to let himself feel all coming out at once.

His tears ran dry, but his sobs did not stop, as Ichi hummed, rocking him slowly, and Hime got up to get him water, for him to drink when the sobs trickled down to hiccuping whimpers, and Yasu had to coax him to even take a sip, still too upset to really think about it.

Yasu was also the one to coax him into eating a few of the carrot sticks, before Uryu turned away and refused even Yasu's attempts. He was tired, so so tired, and they figured it would be the best thing for them all at this point.

Usually they had a system for these things, which of them got to cuddle Uryu when, but Uryu didn't want just one of them. Call him selfish, but he was tired, and he wanted all of his caregivers with him, no regrets about that. Uryu wanted to soak up as much love as he could before things crashed around him when he woke up the next day.

They might shatter tomorrow, after all, when he got big again, and apologized and dealt with everything with his betrayal. If this was his last day with them, he wanted it to last, and be worth it all.

So they all curled up on Hime's bed, which was not big enough for all four of them, but they made it work, surrounding Uryu on all sides, and finally, peacefully, he could drift off to sleep, finally able to relax after so long.

#uryu ishida #bleach #agere #feelings in various ways #yes im projecting leave me alone #if you don't like the fact that this is agere then don't #read it #that's why im cutting it so high #so you see the tags and know

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akaluan · 4 years ago

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Accidental Marriage for Kisuke and Erich (please let Erich be a werewolf, or a weresomething) or soulmates for Kaito and Tatsuki.

(Erich as were-lynx // added rand-genned second trope: Bodyguard Falls In Love With Client)

(In this AU, Quincy aren’t the only werebeasts, it’s a common and normalized thing throughout the population, as is magic which replaces spiritual powers.)

“So I have good news and I have bad news, which do you want first?”

Erich rumbles a protest and rolls over, shoving his muzzle beneath one of his pillows and laying his ears flat against his head; it is far too early for how awake Urahara sounds, which means the man probably hasn’t gone to sleep yet.

Which means he’s going to have to run interference all day, because a sleep-deprived Urahara is a terror to everyone around him, and he really doesn’t need any more people out for Urahara’s blood.

(Not that Urahara seemed to care at all, the bastard.)

(Urahara had spent the first month and a half of the contract trying to lose him in every conceivable way possible.)

(Still, he’s lasted longer than any other bodyguard the Shihoin had hired for the man, so… he supposes he should be proud.)

A hand settles on his head, fingers sinking into his fur and scratching just so at the base of one ear; it’s an indulgence he hasn’t allowed himself in a long time and he takes a deep breath, a purr rumbling in his chest as he savors Urahara’s scent—

(Wait.)

(Urahara’s scent?)

Erich snaps from his half-asleep daze and twists around, seizing Urahara’s arm in his mouth and clamping down, teeth millimeters from breaking the man’s skin.

Urahara freezes, eyes wide and lips parted, and murmurs, “Uh… good kitty? Nice ki— ow! Sorry! Sorry!”

Erich heaves a sigh and lets go of the man’s arm in favor of scanning the room he’s in; it’s Urahara’s room, though why the hell he was sleeping in the man’s bed he… has no idea. He doesn’t think they did anything the previous night—

(Surely he’d remember, wouldn’t he?)

—so him being here on his day off is… strange.

(Damnit, whatever happened, he hopes he didn’t give any indication of his growing crush on the man!)

“Maa, so now that you’re awake, good news or bad news first?” Urahara asks as he straightens up and rubs absently at the red marks on his arm that Erich’s teeth left behind.

Erich gives him an exasperated look at the question, then closes his eyes and concentrates, pulling his body out of his true lynx form and into a more humanoid form so he can actually answer. “Knowing what you consider ‘good’ and ‘bad’, I’m not sure I want to hear either,” he says as soon as the change settles.

Urahara chuckles awkwardly and rubs at the back of his head, then says, “Ah, well… good news, you make an adorable lynx?” When Erich just scowls at him, ears flattening against his head and lips curling back to display his canines, Urahara raises his hands in defense and babbles, “I mean, that wasn’t what I meant to say! Er, a-anyway! Good news! The symposium has agreed that you can come along!”

“And what, exactly, is the ‘bad news’ that goes along with this,” Erich asks warily, not trusting Urahara’s news in the slightest; the symposium the man is talking about is famous for being invitation-only, and ‘bodyguard’ has never been one of their invitation criteria. If the Shihoin had to bribe someone to get him in, they’re almost certainly going to hold that over his head until he can pay them back somehow.

(Though he wouldn’t be surprised in the slightest by it; he’s the first bodyguard in years who’s lasted more than six months with Urahara.)

(It’s no surprise that they’d want… insurance… against him suddenly quitting.)

“W-eeellll…” Urahara hesitates a moment, then flashes Erich a bright mask of a smile and says, “Remember those forms we had to sign a while back that I said not to worry about at all because it was just for a pretense and the Shihoin would take care of everything to make sure nothing untoward happened?”

The breath catches in Erich’s throat as his eyes go wide, knowing exactly what forms Urahara is talking about; the forms had been vague as to their purpose but the terms had been reasonable enough, just another contract amongst all the other contracts he’d needed to fill out during his time as Urahara’s bodyguard. He’d thought nothing of it at the time, especially when nothing had seemed to change about, well, anything.

(He should have known better.)

(It’s the Shihoin, after all!)

“What. Happened,” Erich forces out as soon as he untangles his thoughts enough to speak.

Urahara bites his lip and looks away, shoulders hunching in just like every time something uncomfortable comes up. It makes Urahara look smaller, more vulnerable, even though Erich knows it’s a lie.

(He still wants to reach out.)

(Still wants to pull the man into his arms and hold him close and reassure him that everything will be alright—)

Erich desperately shoves his emotions aside and clasps his hands together to keep himself from acting on his desires; Urahara is his charge and he cannot afford to let his emotions interfere. One day this contract will be up and then he’ll have to find a new contract, a new employer, and if that puts him at odds with Urahara and the Shihoin then he’ll have no choice in the matter.

(Emotions, he learned long ago, are more trouble than they’re worth.)

“Urahara, explain,” Erich prompts when the man remains silent, wondering exactly what’s happened to make the normally talkative man clam up.

“You’re uh… you’re listed as my husband now, so the symposium will allow you to come with me,” Urahara mumbles, still not meeting Erich’s gaze.

Erich freezes, claws digging into his skin as his hands tighten around each other, but the pain doesn’t miraculously wake him up from what has to be a nightmare. “Pardon?” he asks faintly, hoping desperately that he heard wrong.

Urahara swallows and repeats, “The Shihoin set up an arrangement a while back to make us look engaged in order to lessen scrutiny on you for uh… being around so much, but someone uh… someone… actually filed it. We’re married now. It’s fine, though! I’m… I asked Yoruichi to look into it so I’m sure it’ll be fixed soon! But until then, on paper we’re married, so you can get into places you otherwise couldn’t.”

(‘It’s fine, though’?)

(His own growing fondness of the man aside, Urahara barely tolerates him most days, and now it’s ‘fine’ that they’re listed as married?)

(There’s a catch here and he’s not looking forward to discovering it.)

“I’m surprised you’re going along with this,” Erich says as he leans forward a bit, scenting the air in an attempt to get a clearer understanding of Urahara’s state; all he smells is nervousness-caution-anxiety though, and that he could piece together just from the man’s body language. “You’ve been trying for months to get rid of me, and now you’re fine with me tagging along?”

“Maa, well… you’re… not as bad as some of the other bodyguards the Shihoin have foisted on me,” Urahara says with a grimace and a small shrug. “At least you listen to me instead of just trying to order me around.” He pauses and eyes Erich in consideration, one hand half-raising as if to reach out before he clearly thinks better of it and drops it back to his side. “Though you being a werelynx probably explains how you managed to keep up with me all the times I tried to dodge you.”

Erich hums, unwilling to confirm Urahara’s guess even if it is somewhat accurate; he has been utilizing on his lynx side when the moon isn’t full, but that’s not the only thing letting him keep up with the man. He’s always had a good sense of who a person is and how they will react, and that, more than anything else, has let him figure Urahara’s habits out with a minimum of issue.

But if Urahara wants to think it’s because he can enhance his senses while the moon is down, the man is welcome to his assumptions.

(It won’t help Urahara anyway.)

(He already knows the man’s habits.)

Urahara watches him for a moment, then cautiously asks, “Rerugen-san…?”

“There’s nothing we can do about it for now,” Erich says with a touch of resignation, eyes closing as one paw-like hand rises to rub at the side of his muzzle. “Get me registered for that symposium as well, and give me the paper you’re submitting. I might as well do my best to pretend knowledge of your field so I’m not entirely out of place.” He casts a despairing look down at his furred arms, ears flattening in annoyance as he adds, “Not like I’m going anywhere until moonset anyway.”

(Usually he’s tucked away somewhere private well before moonrise.)

(He’s spent his life keeping his were-form secret for exactly the sort of edge it let him have over Urahara.)

(He’s not about to discard that just because one person found out.)

“Ah… alright then,” Urahara agrees, tone bemused and gaze calculating. “I’ll get you a copy to read. If you have any questions let me know.”

Erich gives Urahara a sharp nod, internally hoping against hope that he won’t need to ask the man anything. As much as he’s come to like Urahara, he’s not unobservant; Urahara doesn’t do explanations, not willingly at least, and when he does explain things, he does a poor job of it. Not on purpose, Erich suspects, just… Urahara is a genius and rarely pauses to consider that no one else around him is.

(He’ll be better off looking things up online, he suspects.)

(Well… so long as Urahara doesn’t notice.)

(Otherwise the man will pout at him.)

(…why does he like Urahara again…?)

(Ugh, emotions are such a nuisance…)

#erich/kisuke #bleach #bleach/tanya #tanya the evil #this one is probably going to get continued at some point #i really like the premise i have #ah well #also i'll probably do another post with the kaito/tatsuki prompt as well #it should be fun too #Anonymous #replies

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cheshiresense · 5 years ago

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Oh, can I ask for Ichigo in a Witcher AU (if you've watched the show ? Medieval Fantasy Generic AU if you haven't...)

I’m afraid the only thing I know about the Witcher is that the main character is this really strong antisocial grumpy dude that nobody likes, who goes around killing monsters for money, and one day he saves a guy who becomes like his PR manager/best friend or something. That’s it. So I’ll have to go with a generic medieval fantasy AU instead.

1. Ichigo is a mercenary, a monster-killer-for-hire (which is the only bit of the Witcher I can incorporate lmao). But yeah, he’s a mercenary, trained by his family, who have been hermits in like the Forest of Menos or something since before Ichigo was born because the Kingdom of Seireitei exiled them ages ago for dabbling in dangerous magic. Oh, normal magic is fine, the healing chants that their clerics learn, the potions and elixirs that their druids make, the purifying prayers their priests all know to defend the kingdom from ghosts and demons.

But the Shibas had always been a little too curious for their own good, more interested in pushing the boundaries of magic than being afraid of it, and even before their exile, they’d been fairly well-known for their summoning magic, which already made them powerful, one of the biggest noble families of the kingdom with a specialized branch of magic passed down through their line. But then they discovered elemental magic, and even worse, they refused to hand over their research and knowledge to concerned parties who would’ve been able to monitor its usage more responsibly. That was the last straw, as far as the church and the other nobility and the government were concerned. Some wanted that magic for themselves, others wanted to erase all traces of it. Most of the Shibas were hunted down and killed, the rest scattered, and summoning magic was banned in their wake. Elemental magic left with them, not a single page of notes left behind in their wake, a final fuck-you to the kingdom they’d once served so faithfully.

Decades down the road, the Shiba name is barely remembered and never spoken of. Ichigo’s left home after deciding the hermit life really wasn’t for him and he’d like to see more of the world. He knows his history, knows to stay out of Seireitei, so he makes his living by wandering the lands around his ancestral kingdom. Mercenaries like him can find work so long as there are monsters, and there are monsters everywhere, and Ichigo is good at his job, especially with his family’s magics at his disposal. There was a reason Seireitei drove the Shibas to death and ruin the same way they annihilated the Quincy kingdom in the east, too scared of the exorcist warriors they trained to tolerate their existence. Fear has always been a powerful motivator.

2. Meanwhile, back in Seireitei, a huge fuss is kicked up when one of the Kuchikis’ youngest up and coming officers ends up freezing the entire sparring yard one day at the Academy after snapping under the stress of constant bullying for coming from lowborn roots. She collapses immediately after, but there’s no taking back all the frozen trees and grass and buildings in the vicinity. Incorporating ice magic into her blade definitely counts as elemental magic, one thing leads to another, and by the time she wakes up, she’s been locked up in a cell somewhere because half the kingdom wants to know how she did it so they can do it too while the other half wants her dead. Everyone agrees that they can’t risk her falling into the wrong hands or under the wrong influence. Weeks later, when her execution seems imminent, her brother-in-law and head of house manages to sneak her out of the prison and back to the Kuchiki estate, where he then practically throws her at a portal gate already open and waiting for her.

“You cannot remain here,” Byakuya tells her, cold and aloof like he doesn’t care at all, but the grip he has on her shoulders is almost bruising. “Seireitei is not kind to those who are too different.” He shoves a bag into her arms. “This is all I can do for you. This portal will take you to the outer edge of Rukongai. Do not use ice magic. Do not come back. If you are found within Seireitei after tonight, I will not save you again. Do you understand?”

Rukia wants to cry and rage and beg Byakuya to make this all go away, she’s actually still not entirely sure what she did wrong, accidental magical outbursts don’t happen every day but they’re pretty common in students just beginning their magical studies. What did it matter if she froze a few things? She didn’t even hurt anyone! Was ice magic really so terrible? She’d never even heard of anyone using it before.

But she also promised herself that she wouldn’t do anything to dishonour the Kuchiki name after Byakuya was kind enough to continue looking after her just because he’d loved her sister.

So she swallows down her protests and takes the supplies, and they both pretend she doesn’t have tears leaking out of the corners of her eyes.

“Will I see you again?” She can’t help asking.

Byakuya’s face looks carved from stone. “I sincerely hope not.” And then he pushes her through the gate.

Rukia staggers out somewhere on the outskirts of Rukongai, the surrounding expanse of land that lies between Seireitei and the other kingdoms. The portal snaps shut behind her, and then she really is well and truly alone. It isn’t as if she’s never been in Rukongai before, she and her sister were born here after all, but she’d never been here, so far out, so much closer to the rest of the world than Seireitei.

So she does what she’s wanted to do for weeks but wouldn’t let herself when there were guards watching - she spends the next ten minutes or so huddled on the ground sobbing her eyes out, because now she has no family, no home, and no idea where to go from here. She’s no stranger to survival - at the very least, she knows how to barter and trade, look out for pickpockets and navigate towns without standing out too badly, which is actually more than she can say for a lot of highborn kids, but she’s also completely alone, and she wasn’t even out of the Academy yet. If she stumbles on monsters, which is more likely the farther away she is from Seireitei, she’s probably going to end up very dead.

Eventually, she stops, scrubs her face clean, and digs through her pack to see what Byakuya had given her. Money, clothes, a bit of food and water under preservation spells, a map of Rukongai, a couple daggers, and some healing salve and bandages. It’s better than she expected, less than she hoped for, but anything less than a magic wand to turn back time is less than she hoped for.

In the end, all she can do is shoulder her pack and begin trudging her way towards the nearest town. Whining about the unfairness of it all isn’t going to help her, and night will fall soon. The last thing she wants is to be caught out in the middle of nowhere when the sun goes down.

3. Of course, it’s just Rukia’s luck when two weeks later, trouble runs into her. One moment, she’s counting coins in the room of another inn (she’s already running low, with no real job prospects in sight), the next, there’s shouting and screaming from outside, and in the distance, a lone wolf’s howl splits the night.

In the room next to hers, Ichigo’s eyes snap open. Oh good, his meal ticket has arrived.

By the time Rukia’s good sense is overridden by the desire to figure out what is going on, someone - from the room beside hers - has already leapt out the window, more shouting and screaming and running footsteps have stampeded through the streets below, angry snarls has followed, and Rukia bursts outside with a dagger clutched tight in her hand just in time to see a cloaked figure whirl around the fangs and claws of a beast, a werewolf, a blade of silver in his hand, and Rukia barely even sees the rise and fall of it before the werewolf has lost both arms. It barely has time to howl in agony as it collapses to the ground, and then orange light sparks at the stranger’s fingertips, and a moment later, the werewolf has burst into flames.

Rukia gawks like an idiot because she’s definitely never seen a spell like that before, and more than that, the stranger made the whole fight look easy. Against a werewolf.

The street is silent once the werewolf dies. No one else is around, and the stranger simply straightens and turns. It takes her a few seconds to realize he’s leaving.

It takes her less than that to run after him.

If this man knows fire magic, surely he would know something about ice magic too? But, more than that, he is strong. If she can be half as strong as him, then maybe, maybe, even if she can never go home again, she might at least be able to make something of herself.

4. Ichigo would like it to be known that he had not agreed to this. But this stupid, ridiculously weak girl won’t stop following him around, and the one time he’d shaken her and left her behind in between towns, his conscience had forced him to double-back when he’d heard from someone in the next town that there’d been a pack of wargs roaming the surrounding hills. Of course, because either his luck was shit or the girl’s luck was shit, he’d arrived just in time to prevent her death-by-warg.

She really was useless with those daggers.

“So teach me how to be better then!” The girl demands, a humiliated flush high in her cheeks but a stubborn tilt to her chin. She looks scruffy and tired, and Ichigo has no idea what she’s doing on her own because it’s pretty fucking clear she’s not used to nomadic life. But she seems to want to get stronger, and everybody has to start somewhere, so Ichigo supposes he can’t begrudge her ambitions, whatever they might be.

Still, “I don’t do anything for free,” Ichigo tells her, even though that’s not strictly true considering he’s already saved her life for free.

The girl glares at him because they both know full well she barely has enough money for meals and a roof over her head these days, but then she offers, “Teach me, and once I get strong enough, I’ll become a mercenary too. Then, I’ll give you a portion of my pay for however long it takes me to clear my debt.”

Ichigo stares dubiously at her, at her dirty but expensive clothes, at her daggers that would probably cost Ichigo half a year’s worth of bounties, at delicate hands unused to the wilderness. But he also takes in the way she crosses her arms and scowls back with a desperate sort of defiance and steel in her spine, and in the end, he heaves a sigh.

“You better keep your word,” He warns her. “Or I’ll take your head myself.”

The girl brightens. Ichigo already regrets everything.

But from that point on, he gains a travelling companion/pseudo-apprentice. Her name is Rukia - no last name - but it becomes pretty clear why when he starts her magic studies by telling her to show him what she already knows. It’s all basic stuff, and she’s not even that good at it, but then she also haltingly admits to an uncontrolled burst of ice magic, and Ichigo gets a pretty good idea why she’s wandering around like a ruffian.

After that, he tells her of Seireitei’s glorious history, specifically the parts the kingdom has swept under the rug, and the consequences of using elemental magic even outside of Seireitei. Not illegal, but not wise to flaunt either.

“But you know it too!” Rukia points out. “Fire is elemental magic, isn’t it?”

Ichigo grunts an affirmative. “Yeah, and I either make sure nobody’s around, or if they ask, I show them some matches and pretend they just didn’t see it.”

And then, fed-up with talking, he shoves her into the river at their feet. She screeches the whole way in and the whole way back up. “ICHIGO!”

Ichigo smiles meanly. “If you want to learn elemental magic, you need a better foundation first. Let’s start with meditation.”

If she gets good enough one day to even halfway succeed in murdering him the way her furious black glare tells him she wants to, he’ll consider these lessons worth it.

5. And basically I just want these two to become badass mercenaries together. Ichigo was totally fine and prepared to spend the rest of his life alone, with maybe the occasional trip home to visit family. But then Rukia barrelled into his life and refused to leave, and as he gets to know her and vice-versa, he supposes there are (significantly) worse people in the world. She’s a quick learner, and she doesn’t complain, she works hard, and their somewhat antagonistic relationship smooths out with time, enough that eventually it becomes second nature to look for her first. And even after Ichigo deems her good enough to strike off on her own, all she does is remind him of her debt to him and refuse to leave. He feels like that’s going to become a theme in their lives.

Their little group probably expands over time. They bump into a Quincy exorcist, one of the last of a lost kingdom. Ishida is even pricklier than Ichigo but he can shoot a target blind and he takes to following them too after the three of them lay waste to a cave full of vampires with a combination of elemental magic and fancy arrows. Apparently, the scholar in him just can’t leave a completely unknown branch of magic alone.

They pick up more people - Kisuke and Yoruichi, two survivors of a caravan train that had been travelling from Seireitei to Las Noches (”Shihouin,” Rukia whispers to Ichigo the moment she lays eyes on Yoruichi’s eyes and hair and skin) that had been overrun by nightwraiths. For apparent nobles, they don’t seem to be in any haste to return to their kingdom or call for better aid than three suspicious mercenaries. In fact, Yoruichi seems overjoyed to cut her hair and purchase a concealment tattoo for her eyes from Ichigo and basically take to monster-hunting with the enthusiasm of a child let out to play for the first time. Kisuke didn’t even look like nobility to begin with and won’t stop pestering Ichigo about his magic the moment he spots him making a campfire without flint.

They get Mizuiro, a bard who smiles through the massacre of the bandit camp that had abducted him, and the enhancements he hums in battle are impressively efficient in speeding up their movements or strengthening their blows or reinforcing their shields. Then they get Inoue, a healer with spells in her repertoire as unknown as elemental magic, and her friend Tatsuki, a martial artist without a drop of magic in her but can give Ichigo a run for his money in a spar.

They probably bump into another group of bandits except this one’s a bit weird (”We’re not really bandits,” One of them, Yumichika, claims), but that’s the label people have slapped on them, it’s what happens when you loot the rich (”They can usually afford strong fighters,” The leader Kenpachi grouches) and give to the poor (”What the fuck am I supposed to do with a mountain of gold?” Kenpachi demands). And somehow or other (obviously when Ichigo wasn’t fucking looking), Kenpachi and his people don’t leave either, and by this point, they’ve pretty much gained a bit of a reputation as some kind of mini-organization of protectors roaming the countryside, it’s fucking ridiculous and Ichigo regrets all his life choices but especially when Renji and Ikkaku and Rukia and Tatsuki get into another knock-down drag-out fight at an inn or a tavern and Ichigo’s the one who has to pay for the damages.

But anyway, eventually, Ichigo probably takes them all home where they can be his family’s problem instead. Needless to say, they get on like a house on fire, Kisuke invents like three new branches of magic in the Shiba library in the space of a week, Yoruichi and Kuukaku take to each other like long-lost soulmates, and in general, there’s just a lot of Found Family Feels. Kenpachi is in heaven, he’s never had this many people who can knock him on his ass and be down for another round.

And EVENTUALLY, someone from Seireitei probably comes to poke their nose into where it doesn’t belong because How Dare some lowborn mercenaries go around taking all the monster-hunting business away from the kingdom? Also Kaien may or may not have started spreading rumours of elemental magic and summoning magic and other never-before-seen-or-heard-of magic that makes Seireitei Very Anxious. It devolves the way it always does and results in the usual - Seireitei sends a bunch of their military in to seize everything that should be under their control and to get rid of any loose ends.

Ichigo, already stressed from the madhouse inmates he lives with (THIS IS THE WHOLE REASON HE LEFT IN THE FIRST PLACE, AND THEN HE CAME BACK AND MADE IT TEN TIMES WORSE), and he is Absolutely Delighted when Seireitei gives him the perfect excuse to blow off some steam.

And then idk there’s probably a revolution cuz the citizens and surrounding kingdoms are sick of Seireitei’s shit, none of the Shibas want to be crowned though because wow, what a waste of time, sounds boring, so Rukia is like maybe my brother can do it, he’s responsible and stuff, so they give the crown to him, and Rukia gives him an awkward hug, no hard feelings but she’s not sticking around, and the Shibas are given a place back in the city and everybody knows not to fuck with them and Kisuke starts publishing all their inventions and spreading them so even normal everyday people can learn. And then Ishida’s probably like I wanna rebuild my kingdom but there’s an asshole living in it at the moment who leads a cult and pretends he’s a messiah come to save us all so we need to kill him first, and Ichigo’s like DID YOU SAY MURDER AND AWAY FROM HERE I AM SO DOWN, and then basically Ichigo’s Menagerie of Misfit Mercenaries go to take back Wahrwelt from Yhwach, but that’s another story.

#headcanon meme: answered #bleach #fantasy au #medieval au #kurosaki ichigo #kuchiki rukia #headcanon #why did this turn into a friendship palooza?#i have no idea #for some reason they just fit together in this au

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merakiui · 4 years ago

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There's an AFTERL!FE blog now! I'm so happy. All of your posts are so good and I love how you write. Would it be possible to get another story about Theo and Nine's rivalry? The way you write them is just so fun and enjoyable to read.

(Thank you so much! I’m very happy that you like my posts. (❁´▽`❁)*✲ﾟ* You may definitely have another story of their rivalry! I had a blast writing it. This can be considered a sequel to Cake, but it can be read as a standalone as well.)

Nerium Oleander (Theo and Nine)

Stalkers are poison ivy. Their victims are innocent trees, who breathe life and fortune into the one who watches them like a hawk. Twining around their limbs like rope and heavy iron and keeping them pinned for all their worth—it’s a display of parasitic infatuation. Love, like any other emotion felt in full, is awfully draining. Day and night, allowing that person to consume your thoughts. Thinking and wondering if they appreciate you just as much as you value them. Wishing that they would notice everything you’ve done for them on the sidelines. Loathing anyone who threatens that nonexistent relationship.

As fate would have it, there are unlucky instances in which love is one-sided.

Theo simply can’t bear the thought of that, so he becomes oleander—a flower blooming in beautiful death. One hint of its aroma can send you to an early grave. Every inch of the inviting flower is bathed in poison, and yet it’s still so gorgeous. Why is it that the ugliest personalities have the prettiest shells? It’s frustrating to know that he has competition. In a setting with nineteen other Reapers, Theo’s got a lot on his plate. Like ivy and oleander, it’s the exterior that fools. A sharp, monstrous idea can be wonderful as long as it’s hidden within layers of honeyed promises. Like a cake that’s stacked with plenty of delicious flavors.

He doesn’t want to waste his time on endeavors that won’t bear any fruit, but befriending every Reaper will have its benefits. He’s already made a list of those who pose the highest threat to his precious manager. Nine is at the very top, his name circled in black pen. As much as he dislikes the polite and oh-so-gracious Reaper, he has to pretend as if the two of them are friendly coworkers. As if he doesn’t wish for Nine to transfer to another Department or to cease existing. But immortality is funny like that. You’re either stuck with the best people in the world or the fiends of your worst nightmares. Theo wonders if this is his punishment. Spending an eternity with Nine is far more hellish than Quincy and his status as a devil.

Which is why he holds so much hatred for those who hurt his manager, specifically the ones who simply don’t know when to quit.

The blue-eyed oleander witnesses it in the early hours of the morning during a particularly unfavorable mission. A vengeful spirit had the gall to hurt his manager, and they had even more of a spine to talk to them as if they were a worthless weed. In his garden of noxious plants, Theo sees the disgusting hemlock attempting to snuff out the beauty that is his beloved rose. His expression switches in an instant, a light flickering behind those expansive eyes. There are so many emotions he feels in that moment, but fear is dominant as it grabs his heart and squeezes. The spirit could kill them. It’s about to kill them, and he’s flipping through his spell book with rapturous intent.

And then Nine is at their side, shielding them from the spirit’s attack. Before him, the specter vents in anger, spewing meaningless insults. Theo feels as though he’s just been kicked in the stomach. Why is it so hard to get to you? he thinks, gripping the leather book. His chest aches as he sees the manager cling to Nine. Why can’t I be the one who saves you for once? Why can’t you just rely on me? Nine is better equipped to deal with the situation as he listens, attempting to reason with the vengeful spirit. Its crocodile tears don’t faze Theo in the slightest. He should be the one crying because he was too late. One spell and his manager would’ve been rescued from the claws of such a beastly spirit. And yet Nine was faster with his reaction time.

Theo makes a mental note of the way Nine purifies the vengeful spirit once it’s calmed down. He’s always gentle when he talks to them, using his relaxing aura to coax them into tranquility. Theo would’ve preferred to crush it beneath his unmerciful heel, but the problem has been solved. There’s no use fretting over it now. Though it will definitely keep him awake tonight.

“Manager!” He jogs over to them, dropping down to inspect their wounds. “Take this to stop the bleeding. I’ll help you.” Unfastening his cape, he passes it to the manager, who holds it against the bloody laceration while he searches for a proper healing spell.

“Thank you, Theo,” (Name) says, wincing at the stinging sensation. “That spirit really put up a fight. Thanks for coming to my aid, Nine.”

“No need to thank me, Manager. I’m relieved you’ll be okay. Mr. Theo will have you healed in no time.”

Theo grits his teeth before facing Nine. He wants this unworthy hemlock out of his special garden. “Could you gather the others? Let them know that we’re finished over here.”

“Very well. Are you sure you don’t need my help?”

“No.” It comes out way too stern, and Theo’s quick to correct himself. “No thank you. We’ll be fine.”

He doesn’t spare Nine another glance as he departs, focusing on the manager’s pained expression with sympathy. They’re in his arms now, grasping at him for salvation. The situation couldn’t be anymore perfect.

“That was crazy, wasn’t it?” they ask, making light of the previous events. “My heart is still racing!”

“I...was so worried, Manager.”

They let out a wheezing chuckle. “Thank goodness Nine was there. If it weren’t for him, I could’ve gotten killed. It’s scary to think about.”

“Yeah. Terrifying,” he echoes while casting the healing spell on them. Surely there’s a curse that brings misfortune. Theo wants to do everything he can to master every negative incantation there is. Just for future reference. There are so many possibilities when it comes to his rivals. He’ll have a field day debating which is the most effective. “You’ve got to be more careful. If you ever find yourself in trouble, just come to me. I’ll always be here to help you.”

They smile, sitting up on their own accord and feeling for any wounds that might’ve escaped the cleansing powers of Theo’s magic. Every cut is sealed and every bruise is gone, leaving the manager with a feeling of rejuvenation. At once, they recognize the plush fabric of Theo’s cape and gasp, noticing just how much blood has stained the white cloth.

“I’m sorry for making such a mess. I’ll wash this as soon as we get back.”

Theo eyes the color with disdain. How utterly cliché. It’s almost sickening. Red on white is too bold—too deep of an implication. Red is a color that means many things, two of that being passion and love. A third is the color of blood. And white is meant to symbolize purity. Theo knows he’ll have to work hard so that the manager’s purity doesn’t bleed out onto the sterile white of this corrupt world. There’s no way he’ll ever let that happen. When he stares at his cape, drenched in splotchy crimson, he sees more than just a soiled piece of fabric. He sees the darkest imprint of (Name). But blood is still messy, even if it is his beloved’s.

Theo wonders which cleaning agent is best for erasing blood. His thoughts spiral deeper and deeper into a rabbit hole of wickedness. Mortality is fragile, and cake and blood are no different. Both are victims of inescapable chance. On the other hand, immortality is a curse that binds him to the one he’d rather be far away from. Speak of the hemlock, who has completed the command with diligence. Nine approaches with the others in tow, all of whom crowd the manager like insects. Theo wishes to spend a moment longer with them. Just a few more minutes. There’s so much I want to tell you. He’s bound to this silver-lined rivalry, a prisoner of obsession. And Nine has no idea.

He supposes that’s how poison works. It doesn’t take long until it spreads within its victim, who is unaware as it shuts down vital organs and flatlines their functions. If Theo has to cut the strings that tie him to Nine and anyone else who dares get in the way of him and the manager, he’ll do whatever it takes. Like poison, it’s small and deadly. Poison might not kill an immortal Soul Reaper, but that has nothing to do with their mentality. Cake might be the same when it comes to ingredients and presentation, but it’s the baker who’s most important. A cracked baker is easy to exploit. He’s even easier to tear apart when he’s alone and basking in his own corrosive thoughts.

The oleander festers at the manager’s side, a quiet flower waiting for an opportunity to infect everyone with debilitating poison.

------

Nine has begun to notice a pattern. It’s tiny at first—like a minor inconsistency that isn’t worth the trouble. But then it becomes a prominent itch that looms in the back of his mind like a shadow. Since that mission, Theo’s been hanging around the manager as if he expects another near-death experience to happen, which shouldn’t be much of a worry. Although (Name)’s mortality is concerning, Nine knows the Reapers in the 14th Department would never let any fatal harm befall their precious manager. So why is there a strange feeling that overwhelms him whenever he spots Theo trailing after them, holding files or a bento he made specifically for them? Anyone with half of a brain would assume he’s playing favorites, attempting to get on the manager’s good side so that the punishment for skipping out on work is lighter. Though Theo doesn’t seem like the type to slack off, which is why Nine is sinking in a state of perplexion.

What is he trying to achieve? Realistically, what is there to gain other than (Name)’s approval? They like each and every one of the Reapers, so it’s not like anyone’s on their bad side. He has an eternity to figure it out, though Nine can’t exactly be bothered. If it isn’t hurting anyone, why should he fret over Theo’s behavior? It’s not as though he’s acting out of line. Rather, he’s been quite pleasant. He even offered to assist Nine in moving a few boxes. Nine doesn’t want to hold any suspicions about his colleague, nor does he want paranoia gnawing on his ankles like a puppy.

Without realizing it, he’s been aimlessly walking through the campus as he pieces together fragmented thoughts. His eyes land on the manager, who is alone as they stride towards him. For once, Theo isn’t at their beck and call. Nine thinks of Day and his unwavering loyalty. Perhaps Theo is just as enthused about (Name) as Day is with him. Nine shrugs those comparisons away, opting to focus on his manager.

“Hi, Nine! What’re you doing out here?”

“Taking a small stroll,” he answers. “The weather is perfect for this, and it’s always beneficial to get some exercise.”

“I agree. To be honest, I wanted to clear my head for a bit. I’ve got so much work that it’s beginning to stress me out.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Manager. Would you like any help?”

“I don’t want to bother you.” They wave their hand through the air as if the distress isn’t clear enough. It’s obvious they’ve been pulling all-nighters just to get through paperwork and other tasks. “Would you mind if we walked together?”

Nine considers their offer for a moment. While he would prefer a few more moments to himself, he can’t deny someone as caring as (Name). It’s almost a crime to turn them down, and he has no idea where all of this fondness is suddenly coming from. Regardless, there’s a sneaking sensation that touches his sixth sense. Since when did the flowers have eyes? The wind rustles through the greenery, creating an eerie sound that settles in the courtyard. He’s compelled to retrace his steps and turn down the corridor, but your patient expression chases that idea away.

“I don’t mind.” He falls into step with you, calmly observing the deliberate clicking of your shoes. “Take care not to overwork yourself. The 14th Department depends on your leadership.”

At least a few Reapers are more than dependent, he thinks.

“I’ll be fine as long as I can finish everything on time. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“Make sure you’re getting enough rest and eating your meals—“

“I know,” they say, drawing out the syllables. “I appreciate your concern, Nine. It means a lot.”

He nods, a simple gesture that confirms his gratitude. His manager is always thanking and praising the others. Briefly, he wonders if they’ve ever taken time to care for their own well-being rather than the well-beings of the Soul Reapers.

“When all of this is over, I’d love to spend more time with you,” (Name) goes on, a bounce in their step. Nine doesn’t miss the excitement that flashes through their features at the prospect of getting to bond with him. He’d rather be alone, but Nine has found it to be a challenge whenever they’re involved. “Do you think you could teach me to play an instrument? I’ve been meaning to pick something up, but I never seem to have time.”

Well, Nine happens to be skilled with his hands. And hands are required to play most—if not all—instruments. Perhaps you’d like to learn the violin, or maybe you’re interested in the drums. He’ll have to learn as he goes with those, but it’s worth it if it means (Name) will be happy. How odd. Where did all of this compassion come from? Nine knows what instrument they’ll say, as the two of them have sat in the storage room and played it on plenty of occasions. The atmosphere doesn’t change, but the flowers certainly do. As if wanting to blot out a horrid memory, the eyes close and a mouth creases into a tight line. Nothing short of disappointment.

“I was thinking I could be good at the piano if I tried hard enough. What do you think? We can play together, and we can even form a band.”

A band consisting of two people is hardly a band. Handcuffs can only restrict one person. A pair of unseeing eyes are useless, and Nine knows his words must be chosen carefully lest his tongue sit on a rusted tray.

He puts on a thin smile. “Learning an instrument can be just as stressful as work. I wouldn’t want to jeopardize your health.”

“I’ll be fine, but you do make a good point. It might be overwhelming if I try to balance that and missions. One of these days I’ll try to learn.”

Just not now.

And he couldn’t be any more relieved.

------

Nine finds himself in the common room later that evening, reflecting over the events of the day when he encounters the blooming oleander. He’s preoccupied with the book in his hands, which is a collection of stories written by the famous Edgar Allan Poe. He never intended to pick up something so macabre. It happened to be the first thing he grabbed while perusing the shelves. Perhaps he should’ve looked for a poetry book instead. Before he can get up and complete that task, Theo enters his visage, the corners of his lips upturned. It fails to reach his eyes.

“Good evening, Nine. I didn’t expect to find you here. This is a wonderful surprise nonetheless.” He says a greeting that’s reminiscent of Nine’s, which has been tailored ingeniously. Recycled words are only worthwhile if they’re put to positive use, and Theo bleeds venom. He has no reason to speak to Nine. In fact, he’d rather avoid him at all costs, but that won’t work if he intends to poison his fragile mind with every bit of sly kindness he can muster. Theo has learned to be resourceful. A talented baker knows how to improvise, after all. “Oh, I recognize that cover. It’s an anthology of Edgar Allan Poe’s short stories. Which one are you reading?”

Nine glances at the page, picking out notable phrases. He’s at the part where the old man is smothered by his own bedsheets. “‘The Tell-Tale Heart.’”

“That’s grim, isn’t it? Well, all of his stories are, but that one in particular is really morbid.” Theo sits beside him on the sofa, keeping a gap between him and the weed that is Nine. “Wouldn’t it be scary if you woke up to someone trying to kill you? I know I’d be alarmed. But we’ve already experienced death, so maybe it’s not frightening anymore.”

He tries to understand the motive behind Theo’s incessant chatter. The two of them have never really clicked. Small talk isn’t something they can fall into so easily. Nine wants to ask Theo many things, but it’s wrong to suspect someone without any evidence. So he merely nods as he listens to Theo, hoping he’ll take the hint and leave. It’s not as if Nine doesn’t want to talk; he’s just not accustomed to this facet of the Day Reaper. Lo and behold, the question slips out before he can stop himself.

“What would you do?”

“Excuse me?”

“If you were one of the investigators, what would be your reaction to the man?”

“Oh,” Theo states, pursing his lips as if the inquiry requires deep thought. “We know that the narrator is unreliable. He only wants to kill the old man because of his eyes. He gets paranoid when he hears the man’s heartbeat coming from the floorboards, even after he dismembered his body. I’m sure anyone, investigator or not, would think he’s insane.”

“Do you think that?”

Theo bristles at the question, a sour taste coating his tongue. Why is he suddenly being interrogated by Nine? This isn’t an interview, and it certainly isn’t a questionnaire for a criminal. He laughs to cover up the crack in his mask. “Of course I do. No one of sound mind would murder someone defenseless all because of the way their eyes looked. Just saying it out loud like this is madness.”

Nine nods again. Insanity cannot exist without sanity. A heart cannot function without a beat. A parasite cannot live without a host. He’s not sure where this conversation is going. This is far from a cheery book club meeting. Nine searches every inch of his expression, noting the occasional twitch of his mouth and the constriction of his pupils. Yet he can’t detect an ounce of a practiced lie. Could it be that his instincts are misplaced? Is this what Theo has wanted all along: A moment to talk to Nine as friends rather than coworkers? Perhaps he has been incorrect in his judgement.

The book shuts; Nine doesn’t want to read anymore. There’s an unfinished composition waiting for him in his dorm room. Standing up from the couch, he lowers his head in the form of a farewell. He sets the novel on the coffee table so that Theo can indulge in the fictional world of Poe.

“I’m afraid something has come up, so I’ll be leaving now. Please enjoy the remainder of your evening, Mr. Theo.”

“I will.” Theo beams. “Sleep well.”

Nine doesn’t waste a second turning his back on Theo, exiting the common room with graceful movements. As soon as he’s out of sight, the happy grin melts away and is replaced with that of a dark scowl. He’s not a mindless fool. It was obvious that Nine was uncomfortable. He’s just too polite to say anything, and that’s a weakness Theo’s willing to dissect.

So you were reading Poe, hm? he muses to himself, picking up the book and turning it over in his hands. I took you for a poetry guy. How chilling, Nine. Manager wouldn’t like these grotesque tales.

Who is he to determine what they like and dislike? Theo’s watched (Name) for quite some time now, committing their quirky habits to memory. It’s almost comical how they never seem to notice. Nine does, but he’s always been keen, and yet he can never understand the meaning behind his constant staring. That’ll happen when you spend your days alone, keeping yourself entertained with the voice inside your head. Theo wonders if Nine gets lonely with that depressing lifestyle. The two of them are like night and day. Theo’s bright and blinding like the sun. Nine is quiet and calm like the moon. But there isn’t any oxygen on the moon, and the sun can steal a person’s eyesight without feeling any remorse. Two Reapers of complete opposites, rising and setting all the same. A weed and a flower masquerading in a game of cat and mouse.

Oleander grows to towering heights. A stalker’s presence looms as tall as the very flower Theo embodies. He doesn’t care if he’s a leech or a misleading flower. Anything’s better than hemlock and the imposter cake Nine’s baking. Theo’s the baker and the pianist, not Nine. It will never be Nine. He’ll make sure of that. At his very core, Nine is a jawbreaker of many emotions and memories. Theo will fracture every layer until nothing’s left. Until the ground is a mess of colors and stories that unfold before the entire 14th Department. He’ll dig into Nine’s mind with a knife and fork to pull apart stringy recollections of his past life. It’s guaranteed to be a dessert far tastier than a slice of cake.

Poison ivy is easy to identify. As the saying goes, ‘leaves of three, let it be.’ Theo isn’t as obvious as a sickening rash. That’s the difference between ivy and oleander. One kills and the other spreads with red irritation. While he could sit and wallow in bitter annoyance, he’d rather get to memorizing every hateful hex in his spell book. Maybe he can trick Ell into making him a felt doll of Nine. Oh, the thrill of voodoo. Theo’s never performed such dark magic before, but it wouldn’t hurt to try. He’d like to see Nine lose his mind for a change, because eternity knows Theo’s lost his.

The manager deserves only the prettiest of flowers, and oleander has such a gripping, virulent embrace.

#afterl!fe #after l!fe #afterl!fe theo #afterl!fe nine #oneshot #yandere themes #yandere afterl!fe x reader #yandere afterl!fe #yandere theo #afterl!fe x reader #afterl!fe theo x reader #yandere theo x reader #nine x reader #afterl!fe nine x reader #afterl!fe the sacred kaleidoscope

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afterl1fe-afterh0urs · 4 years ago

Note

20 from the kiss prompts post for Youssef?

(20. 'at first i was unsure' kiss turning into 'i want more' kiss)

Warnings: slight nsfw, mentions of alcohol

"You mean you don't remember anything?" Verine shared a look of concern with Mori who had almost opened his eyes at Youssef's puzzled reaction.

"Fragments of the night..." said Youssef annoyed and anxious, a throbbing headache forming in the back of his head.

"Pffftt.... AHAHAHAHAHA!!!"

"Argh, could you laugh a little quieter, Quincy?"

"Why, you hungover? It's only natural considering how out of your mind you were last night. Hahaha, you reached a new level of embarrassment, stupid head! You were all over the manager, hugging and touching them, you even tried kissing them at some point!"

Youssef's face suddenly turned white as a sheet and a feeling of dread appeared in the pit of his stomach, slowly spreading through his body and merging with the already pulsating headache that was plaguing his body. He felt nauseous, and he wasn't sure whether it was the alcohol he kept swallowing last night or the prospect of having blew his shot with the manager. The air in the room was harder to breathe than before, struggling to enter his lungs and suffocating him, while he broke into a cold sweat, overly aware of the persistent stares of his colleagues.

He suddenly rose up, mumbled something about going to see the manager and sped out the room, leaving his still astonished roommates behind.

As he walked to the manager's office a plethora of distressing thoughts started whirling around in his head. What if they won't even want to look at him? What if they are so repulsed by him they will never talk again like they had been for the last couple of weeks? What if he had unknowingly took his last walk together with them through the garden? What if they had shared their last book? What if....what if....what if....

On the verge of a panic attack he finally managed to reach the manager's office. Knocking twice on the door he waited for what seemed like years before the manager's clear voice called him in.

"Oh, Youssef? How are you? I actually meant to check up on you once you've awakened."

"Manager... I just wanted to say that I am deeply sorry for the way I acted last night. It was unacceptable and I can only hope I will manage to earn your forgiveness in the future."

"Hm? You mean the fact that you're an affectionate drunk? Fufufu~ You don't have to apologize for that."

A bright red blush crept up on Youssef's face at the manager's teasing.

"I have been told that I tried to... forcibly kiss you... and I-"

"It's fine. Really. I didn't mind."

"But I-"

"It didn't bother me. Truly. I promise... Well, actually..." started the manager, a subtle blush finding its way on to their face as well.

Youssef patiently waited for them to find the right words to voice their idea.

"I would like to try again."

"Huh??!!"

Youssef.exe has stopped working for a few seconds. They wanted to kiss him??? After everything that happened last night?!

"Well.. it wasn't the kiss that bothered me, actually. I mean I was quite shocked at first, but as I thought about it I realized that I didn't dislike the idea. It was your less than conscious state at the time that was the real problem. Because I didn't know if it was the alcohol or you who wanted it... and I still don't know."

Silence. Youssef was trying to process everything they just said, as the manager grew more restless. Their hopeful, expecting eyes started looking down as the man in front of them still said nothing.

"Or we could just pretend nothing happened, and act like mature coworkers at their adult workplace, if you didn't mean t-"

"No. I... Let's try it."

Their eyes widened again at his response. Hesitantly, the manager rose up from their seat and walked over to Youssef. They both had their heart in their mouths as they looked at eachother, taking the other's appearance in. Manager put a nervous hand on Youssef's face as he wrapped his strong arms around their trembling waist. Looking in each other's eyes, neither of them having enough courage to initiate the kiss, they could see their own anticipation, restlessness and need reflecting in the other's eyes. The tension between them imprinted a deep and heavy feeling on the atmosphere in the room. It was the very climax of their courting story, the moment when every reader was at the edge of their seat.

Slowly, as to not startle them with his want, he leaned towards their face. Their lips connected, at first shy and unsure, but the more they moved against one another, the more they craved to devour everything the person in front of them had to offer. Their wavering, chaste kiss soon turned into a feverish make out session, their tongues swirling around eachother, caressing the wet palace of their mouths. Wrapping their legs around his waist he lifted them up and placed them on the desk, getting even closer to them than before. The manger's heat was the most exquisite meal served to a starving man, and he couldn't help but walk his hands all over their body, taking in every curve, dent and ridge, grabbing at them as if clinging to a lifeline for his dear life. Soft moans and grunting escaped both of them and the manager started to fill dizzy, Youssef's scent invading their nostrils, taking over their brain as all other thoughts were replaced only by desire for him. The dam had finally broke and everything they had kept inside for so long, every late night fantasy, every touch they couldn't afford before, every impulse they kept under control poured out in their heated actions, their yearning fueling their passionate kissing. "They are sweet.." he thought, the sweetest thing he had ever been blessed to taste in his life. The way their back arched into him as he caressed their sides, spurred his thrusting motions, their cores rubbing together and making them experience a long forgotten bliss. One of their hands started toying with the buttons on his shirt, curious hands exploring his broad, solid chest.

As things were about to go even further, Youssef's growing erection rubbing against the manager's thigh, a loud bang was heard from the door followed by a very familiar voice yelling "what was that for"

Quickly regaining their composure after becoming aware of the reality of their surroundings, Youssef cleared his throat as he helped the manager fix their clothes and hair, restoring back some of their dignified appearance. When everything seemed appropriate again the manager opened the door, only to find Quincy, Kati and surprisingly Theo leaning against the door, as Ethan was trying to shoo them away.

"What are you doing here?"

"What are we doing here? What were you two doing in there? It didn't sound like paperwork..."

The two of them grew a few shades redder, as the manager yelled at them to leave.

"Fine. But only if I get to walk behind Youssef. Seeing him trying to walk in this ~particular~ state is my entertainment for the day~~"

"QUINCY!"

#afterl1fe #afterl!fe #afterl!fe youssef #afterl1fe youssef

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lo-55 · 4 years ago

Text

Shattering Chains of Fate Ch. 16

(Not) One of Us

School started far too soon for Ichigo’s tastes.

He sits in the back of the room, with the doors within view and the windows to his left. He has two ways out and access to all entry points, in case something horrible happens. Hopefully it won’t, but it’s an old paranoia that keeps him on his toes.

His friends, thankfully, seem to be readjusting to life as humans. Uryu had taken hard to losing his powers, something that even Orihime couldn’t fix, but Ichigo had spoken to Ryuken about it after they got back and the man had had the strangest look in his eyes. Ichigo wasn’t too worried about him. Uryu was more temperamental and vicious than the rest of them, for all he seemed to be elegance incarnate. He was also more resilient than he looked.

He shouldn’t have to be. But Ichigo couldn't change that.

He was barely listening to their teacher talk about some new student when an awareness shot through him.

He sat up straighter when a young man walked into the room. Straight blond hair, a curved smile, and long limbs. He was fit and strong. He didn’t have much puppy fat, but he could have passed for someone held back a couple of years if it weren’t for his eyes.

The eyes always give it away.

They were playful, mischievous, and far too old to belong to a human.

Ichigo slammed his head onto his desk and ignored the startled squacks and stares from his neighbors. What the fuck is happening now? Can’t his life ever be normal?

He manages to hide a rueful smile. No, it can’t be normal. If it was normal, Ichigo would be a paranoid wreck. As long as strange, dangerous things were happening he knew he could handle whatever came at him.

Like the new kid was coming at him.

Void dust, mirrors, sand storms.

Ichigo lifts his head up to watch the new boy sit next to him. Shinji Hirako. He’d written his name backwards at the front of the room. For some reason Ichigo thinks of inverted pyramids.

He can tell, just by looking, this guy is trouble.

Aren’t I trouble too?

“Looks like I’ll be sitting next to you, Kurosaki. Let’s treat each other well.”

His smile is easy and his stance is confident, even when sitting.

Ichigo gives him a very pointed once over.

“Sure. Nice to meet you, Hirako.”

Ichigo manages to get halfway through the day before a hollow shows up and ruins it for him. He pops out of his body and leaves Kon to play student while he goes to take care of the issue and comes back. Three come throughout the day, more than there had been before Ichigo had left for Seireitei. It’s starting to tick him off.

It happens again while he’s doing his homework, only then he’s not alone.

Some dude with an afro interrupts him after it's dead. He shows him the badge Ukitake gave him, but apparently someone was pulling his leg. Or worse.

Ichigo is about to tell the shinigami where to shove it when his instincts scream at him and yank his hand around. Zangetsu sings when it collides with what would have cut deeply into Ichigo’s shoulder. A katana.

Ichigo doesn’t even pretend to be surprised by its owner.

“Hirako.”

The man grins like a cat.

Ichigo shoves him back to give himself room to breath. “When you said ‘take care of each other’ I didn’t know you meant like this,” Ichigo waves his hand at the two of them, swords drawn.

“What can I say. I wanted to see what ya would do,” Hirako is lazy and catlike as he prowls to the side. Ichigo keeps step opposite of him and the pair circle one another. “You should really lock your reiatsu down. You’ll attract unwanted attention this way.”

Ichigo scowls at him. “I am! This is as far down as it goes.” Kyo had gotten him to contain himself somewhere in Ohio, so he didn’t want another lecture on this!

“...Wow. Your control must suck worse than I thought.”

“You know what mother fucker-”

“Language! And here I was goin outta my way to be polite to ya,” Hirako said mournfully. He tapped the flat edge of his katana over his shoulder. He looked utterly at ease. Ichigo repressed a growl. It was for the best. The worse off Hirako thought he was the more of an upper hand Ichigo had.

“Uh huh,” Ichigo says dryly.

‘Ichigo,’ comes Medusa’s voice in his head.

‘Stay where you are. I’m fine for now. If anything happens, Achille’s can get to me in a second. He’s a Saber, for sure. You’re still a Lancer, not a Rider. You’re at a disadvantage where as I’m on even ground. Hold place.’

‘Right,’ all three chorus.

“I am!”

“Why don’t you just tell me what you came here for and we go back to being friendly,” Ichigo suggested. “Or we can keep fight, but we have to take it out of town. I’m not really…. Subtle.”

“No shit?” Hirako grins wider at him. “Alright, if ya wanna know so badly.”

He reached up and grasps the air just above his hairline before he pulls down-

A hollow mask.

Ichigo has no idea what to make of this. Kyo had said something about breaking down barriers with his Hogyoku, and making hybrids.

Ichigo touches his own cheek. He’d never made the connection before, but when he’d been fighting Kyoraku he’d felt something cool and familiar on his cheek. And his injuries. They turned white, like a hollow with a healing factor.

Something clicks into place.

Nieve. Nieve was another facet of his power. A shinigami power and hollow power. But no quincy?

His head was starting to hurt.

“Huh,” was all he said.

“Do you get it now? I’m a vizard. A shinigami who’s crossed into the domain of the hollows. I’m just like you.”

Ichigo nearly laughs.

“So join us.”

He nearly chokes.

“...Yeah. No. I just met you, and you just attacked me out of the blue. So. No.”

Hirako’s face contorted like he’d tasted something sour. “Didn't ya hear a word I just said? You're a Visored too. I know ya are. You’ll need our help.”

Ichigo lay Zangetsu back on his back so he could cross his arms over his chest. He eyed Hirako hard. He didn’t seem malicious, even if he had just attacked him. Ichigo knew when he was being played with, and having people test his skills was unfortunately familiar territory by now.

“Give me some credit,” Ichigo said tersely. “I’m not a lost dog looking for a pack. What does it matter if we are similar? I don’t know who told you about me, or what they said, but I’m not interested in joining any weird underground organization, or whatever you are. I have other things to do with my life, you know.

Hirako regarded him with new eyes. His head cocked, sending straight strands of blond fluttering out of the perfectly straight cut.

“Will it help if I say Kisuke asked me to help out?”

“He’s even shadier than you are. So no.”

“Man. Kisuke wasn’t kiddin when he said you were stubborn, Kurosaki.”

Ichigo didn’t respond directly. He did have questions. A lot of questions. About Visards, and Kisuke, and Hirako too, but he couldn’t give himself away that easily. Not now that he had other options. Powerhouses at his back, ready and willing to fight. Ichigo gave Hirako and sharp once over, drinking in his power.

He was strong, but there was something slippery about him that made Ichigo’s hair stand on end. A very dangerous man indeed. Not to mention that as soon as the mask had come out his energy had more than doubled.

“Yer gonna need our help,” Hisako said again. “You must have already felt it. The hollow trying to claw its way into power. In soul society, you fought some pretty tough people, right?”

He knows exactly when Hirako is talking about. His fight with Kyoraku. Still, it’s clear Hirako is operating under false assumptions. There hadn’t been a struggle for control. It had been a surge of power and the taste of void dust, white on his skin and the guiding hand of instinct. Vicious and pure, a fight to survive. A fight to win.

“It’ll keep fighting to take control until it consumes ya. We can teach you how to control it.”

Ichigo narrows his eyes.

“I’m still not interested. And we’ve got homework, you know. I’ll see you tomorrow, Hirako. Maybe we’ll talk more then.”

After he’d had time to figure a few things out.

For the first time in what feels like a lifetime Ichigo feels long fingers twine through his hair.

Ichigo opens his eyes to pale blue skies and lavender eyes.

“I’m dreaming,” Ichigo smiles slowly. He sits up and drags Merlin into a hard embrace.

He gives a startled, “Ooof!” But doesn’t push Ichigo away. He chuckles against Ichigo’s orange hair. “I see you missed me.”

“Shut up and enjoy the moment,” Ichigo scolds.

“Oh, forgive me master. I should just take you attention when you deign to give it.”

“I’m gonna punch you,” Ichigo warns. He let’s Merlin go a minute later. It’s only then that he realizes he’s not alone.

“Well ain’t this touchin’?”

Ichigo looks over his shoulder to find Nieve and Zangetsu standing behind them. They both look out of place in the beautiful scenery. They are weapons, creatures of battle and war. Not flowers and eternity.

Ichigo can’t imagine he looks any more like he belongs here. He is a soldier. He is not a real mage. He doesn’t have a place on Avalon. But, he has a place at Merlin’s side, where he sits. He shoots the mage a curious look.

Merlin smiles back at him, looking innocent. “I thought you might want to speak with them somewhere where they can’t disappear at will.”

Nieve looks offended. “Hey!”

Zangetsu frowns minutely. “This is a trap?”

“Of a sort,” Merlin admits.

“Are you reading my thoughts or something?” Ichigo asks. Merlin shakes his head.

“No. Only watching over you. I know you well enough to know when you need what little help I can provide you with from here. So, Ichigo. You have until you wake.”

“Asshole!” Nieve reaches for his sword, but Ichigo catches his wrists without even rising.

“Cut it out and sit down,” he scolds, his brows furrowing. “Merlin’s not wrong.”

He ignores the delighted smile on Merlin’s face.

“We need to have a conversation. All of us. Sit .”

The both of them obey, slowly. Zangetsu looks physically pained. Ichigo ignores it. He looks to Nieve.

“You’re the ‘hollow’ Hirako was talking about, right?” He waits for a nod. Nieve is still, his shoulders drawn up and his mouth curved in more a grimace than a smile. “I thought so. That thing during my fight with Kyoraku, when I got stronger but it felt like my grip on reality was slipping, right before I got knocked out. And before, in America when Cu Alter- What?”

Both of them grew tense at the mention of the Berserker. Anger radiated off of even the normally calm Zangetsu.

“Yeah, you’re right, it was me. It had to be me! If I hadn’t stepped in you woulda died! Don’t you know that, King? Died! There was a hole in you’re goddamn chest and you didn’t even have a fuckin’ sword, and ya know what?!”

Ichigo leaned back when Nieve nearly launched himself forwards, right into his space. His gold eyes were furious and narrowed. “Ya keep pickin’ fights with stronger and stronger people! Fights ya can’t win on your own! So I stepped in, ‘cause if you die we all die and I’m not-”

“I’m not mad.” That shuts Nieve up a minute. Ichigo knocks him on the head lightly with a fist. “Stop freaking out already. I’m not mad. I just wanted to know, okay? I need to know what you are.”

“What I am? I’m you! I’m Zangetsu! I’m everything you could be if you just let yourself be! I’m the killing drive, and the shame and the guilt that your try to say you don’t have. I’m the anger under your skin and hatred in your bones. I’m your desperation, your fear. I am... your instincts! And I am not letting you die!”

Ichigo lets Nieve talk. By the time he’s done his chest is heaving and Zangetsu, who looks less an old man and more a young adult after their Bankai training, is staring at him from slightly behind him.

All is silent, for a long time, before Ichigo breaks the silence.

“Thank you.”

“I- what?” Nieve blinks at him, confused.

Ichigo runs his fingers through his hair and lets it fall back to his shoulders. “You said it yourself. When I was gonna die, you took over. You beat the Berserker. When I was losing my bout with Kyoraku, you started to step in again.”

“That witch did something to ya,” Nieve says reluctantly, “She did somethin’ to your heart. Our heart. I don’t think I can completely control ya anymore. That’s what stopped me when- well.”

“Yeah. Yeah, that makes sense. If we’re really strong enough to take him on and win then…” Ichigo whistles softly. “So she stuck the raw destruction away. I get it now. That’s probably why no one told me before.”

“She told them not to,” Nieve actually pouts. “So ya wouldn’t be tempted to let me out again. Ya always fight too much with your head.”

“Uh huh,” Ichigo shakes his head. “Still. You saved my life, and probably everyone else I was trying to protect to. So thanks for that.”

“That’s it?” Nieve frowns at him. “You’re not gonna do...anything?”

“Not really? Now that I know how to listen to you there’s no reason for you to try and take control. We can fight together now. You’re still me, even you’re all the parts that make me reckless and dangerous. What else could I do but work with you?”

“Besides,” Ichigo smiles at them. “I always trust my instincts.”

Nieve gapes at him like a fish.

That just leaves one more thing.

Ichigo turns to Zangetsu expectantly.

“So?”

Zangetsu tenses. “So what?”

“There’s some things not adding up. And don’t think I missed what happened last time I tried to talk to you two. You kept him from saying something. What was it?”

They’re both silent. They look caught.

“...Does it have something to do with Nieve calling himself Zangetsu?”

“He doesn’t know what he said,” Zangetsu tries to dismiss. Ichigo pins him with a look.

“Don't’ start that. Tell me the truth. All of it. We’re going to fight together. We live and die together. I need to know what you’re hiding. Or how can I trust you to have my back? I’m not dealing with this again and I’m not putting up with it anymore.”

He’d let Romani hide things from him for a long time. He’d gone along with Kisuke even when he should have known better. He was not letting himself lie to him.

The air went out of Zangetsu. He turned his gaze to the grass, like it was too much to look at Ichigo.

“The truth. You want the truth. Of course you do.”

“Of course I do.”

Zangetsu sat back. His arms were braced. His hands are tight. He looks ready for a fight.

“The truth that I hid from you. And, from him.” he inclines his head to Nieve, the hollow. From both of them? “When we first met, I had him under careful control. It was difficult after his initial outburst, in America. But I managed. I needed to get to you first. I needed to be the source of your power, not him.”

“Why?”

“Because. I didn’t want you to fight. I don’t want you to fight. Fighting puts you in danger, and all I have ever desired was to protect you. I couldn’t do that if he was your power. It needed to be me. But the truth is, he is your Zanpakto. He is the true Zangetsu.”

Ichigo swallows thickly. That’s-

He didn't know what he was expecting. It wasn’t that.

“Then what are you? And why didn’t he tell me?”

“He didn’t know, at first. I pushed him so far down it confused his memories. We have both always been with you. Since the very beginning. Since you were born.”

“I’ll ask again. What are you?”

“I am… I am your inheritance from your mother.”

Ichigo freezes entirely.

“My-”

“I am the power you inherited from her. I am the part of your soul that is a quincy, and he is the part that is a shinigami.”

“A quincy. When I said I wished I was a quincy like her, why didn’t you say anything?”

“It was already too late,” dark hair falls along his cheeks. Anger pulls his mouth down. “I had just told you I was Zangetsu. How was I supposed to tell you I had lied when our relationship was so new? When our bond was so fragile? How could you trust me again after that? “

“After this?”

“Why did you lie in the first place? Why didn’t you just tell me that I was quincy all along? I could have fought-”

“It wouldn’t have worked. Your shinigami powers are more suited to combat.”

Shame curls around the spirit. Ichigo tries to wrap his head around everything he’s been told.

He is a quincy. He’s a shinigami. And a visord.

“How did I even end up with the shinigami and the hollow powers to start with?!”

The two spirits exchange the first glance from the time they’d been drawn into the meadow.

Merlin hums softly and cards his fingers through Ichigo’s hair soothingly.

“I might be able to tell you that. Though I can only observe what’s happening right now outside my tower, I have done some investigating on your behalf since this all started. Did you know your father and Urahara Kisuke were once friends? They met together after you left on your journey.”

“My dad and Urahara… oh. Oh. Dad’s a shinigami,” he doesn’t even feel anything towards that. No anger. No remorse. “And the hollow aspects?” he asks Nieve.

Nieve quirks a half a grin.

“Aizen’s fault, actually.”

“... of course it is.”

Of all the people Ichigo doesn’t know what to make of, Dr. Jekyll may just take the cake.

He’s a nice man. And smart. Too smart, really, for his own good, but Ichigo knows the book. He’s only read a few quotes from it for a project ages ago, but everyone and their mother and knows the gist of it.

Jekyll transforms into Edward Hyde, a horrible monster of some sort.

Yet, Ichigo sees no sign of darkness in Jekyll at all. Is there really a chance that he’s just coincidentally named after a title character from a famous novel?

No, definitely not.

It’s not possible at all.

Ichigo keeps his eyes on him. Closely.

Jekyll adjusts his gloves every few minutes, or whenever he’s talking about the fog or people being hurt. It’s a nervous habit for sure.

Ichigo wishes he could see his hands. He could see if there were calluses on his fingers or along his palms or knuckles. Nothing about Jekyll said he was a fighter.

Still, he was a doctor. If he did have to fight, wouldn’t that be perfect? He would know exactly where and how to hit someone to put them down.

Somehow, Ichigo can’t imagine Henry Jekyll hurting a fly.

They endeavor together to save the city. To save humanity.

There may be plenty of rotten people in the world, but there’s still good ones. Jekyll is one of them.

* * *

Karin and Yuzu are cornered by him a day later at breakfast.

They managed to get him alone in the kitchen while their dad is in the clinic and Ichigo’s servants are out exploring the city, save Medusa who is in the livingroom.

Cornered is not the right word. Ichigo sits at the kitchen table while Yuzu works at the stove and Karin plays at her handheld, but they’re both watching him.

They know, he’s sure. Kon wasn’t really a very good actor, and his sisters aren’t by any means stupid. They’ve had to grow up fast, all three of them. Isshin was a failure of a father, something that Ichigo would have denied three years ago. He can’t anymore.

Ichigo fiddles with his hoodie strings for a few minutes while he tries to figure out how to broach the sensitive topic in front of him. In the end he does what he usually does. He says fuck it and goes for it.

“I found out something about mom.”

Karin’s head snaps up so fast her hat falls off. Yuzu spins around in the kitchen to look at him, surprise written clearly across her small face. Ichigo motions them both towards him.

“I found out mom could see ghosts too,” he says quietly. So Isshin won’t overhear, if he’s close enough. He won’t let him ruin this. He won’t let him keep secrets from the girls. “She was a quincy. A human who can see and interact with spirits.”

“Like you and Karin?” Yuzu’s frown is a sad thing. Ichigo cringes. She’s the odd one out, again.

“Yeah. And like you too. You may only sense them, but you’re like us too. Quincy are… fighters, I guess. They protect people from bad spirits. Mom was one of them. I guess I kind of am too, and you guys must be as well.”

“Fighters,” Karin repeats. She keeps her eyes on Ichigo. “Can you teach us to fight like them?”

Ichigo scowls. He doesn’t want them fighting at all, but he can’t exactly forbid them from doing it.

“Me? No.”

“But you know someone who can.”

He looks at Yuzu, who’s staring at him too. He thinks sometimes that she’s the strongest out of all of them. She’s the sweetest, but she’s also a steel spined girl who controls the household herself, and has for years despite being so young.

It’s Ichigo’s fault, he should have taken more of the burden from her.

It’s Isshin’s fault, none of them should have to bear the burden of running a house at all.

“Maybe. Probably.”

“Great,” Yuzu smiles sweetly at him. “You can introduce us this weekend. Eat your rice.”

Ichigo mutely does as he’s told, hiding a smile.

Isshin was gonna kill him. It would totally be worth it.

* * * *

Edward Hyde is a terrible man.

He’s as hedonistic as Jekyll is sincere and good. He’s as violent as his counterpart is passive, as vulgar as the other is polite.

Ichigo is almost ashamed to say he doesn’t mind the Berserker at all.

He’s honest, at least, and more loyal than Ichigo would have thought he would be. He delights in combat and blood shed, and he harms everything he touches reflexively.

Except Ichigo, apparently.

Ichigo peers over his shoulder at the destroyed helter skelters they’d encountered on their way out for supplies, if they could find them. Mash had been forced down a seperate street, leaving Ichigo with Jekyll, who had had no other option but to risk changing shape into this creature that lived under his skin.

Ichigo kept his hand on Hyde’s shoulder even when the Berserker pressed a knife to his throat. No blood was spilled by it. Red eyes were bright and nearly feral with delight over the fight. Ichigo could feel a headache coming on. This was going to be an interesting one.

“I think they’re dead,” he says dryly, nodding to the scraps of metal scattered around the ground.

“THey were fucking weak. And I’m bored. Why shouldn’t I cut you up?” he tilts his head and a wide grin spreads across his face. Ichigo doesn’t even blink.

“Because I’m too pretty?” he says dryly.

Hyde’s smile slips with surprise before it comes back and he cackles. “For once that punk ass bitch found a friend with a spine.”

Ichigo arches a brow. “Have you met Mordred? She’ll kick the shit out of you. “

Hyde laughs again, like a crazy person, and pulls the knife back. “Let’s go. I wanna destroy something else before Henry get’s in my way again!”

“Joy,” Ichigo rolls his eyes, but follows after. Hopefully Mash will catch up soon.

* * * * *

“So,” Ichigo drawls slowly at Hirako when he sits next to him. “You’re really not giving this whole ‘joining you’ thing up easily, are you?”

Hirako shot him a grin. “I’m not givin up after only two days. Ya need our help, whether ya like it or not, Ichigo.”

The way he said Ichigo’s name, sing song and cheerful, made Ichigo wanna punch him in the face.

“Are you gonna try to fight me this afternoon too?” He asks. “Because I have other things I need to do. You know I have a life, right?”

“If ya do, you really should concede and let me help already. As long as you’re a visord all yer friends, all yer family is gonna be in danger. Until ya learn to control it.”

“I’ve got it all handled, thanks. I don’t know what yours is like, or what your situation is, but I’ve handled mine just fine.”

Hirako side eyed him mistrustfully. Ichigo ignores him entirely in favor of staring at the clock as it ticks down the last few seconds before school is over.

As soon as the bell rings he’s out of his chair and on his way to the door, until a hand catches his wrist.

He turns back to see Hirako smiling innocently at him, but his grip is a steel trap.

“Just what are you doing?” Ichigo asks with a scowl.

“Ya say ya have everything handled? Fine. Prove it, and I’ll let ya go on your merry way.”

Ichigo narrows his eyes. He does not like this at all, but what else can he do?

“... fine. Let’s go somewhere more private.”

“Oh Ichigo,” Hirako’s grin grows. “Buy me dinner first!”

“How about a knuckle sandwich?” Ichigo pulls his hand back and turns to march away. Fuck, he’s gonna have to ask Urahara for a favor now.

This is not a good day. Not at all.

* * * * * *

#Ichigo Kurosaki #bleach fanfiction #BAMF!Ichigo Kurosaki #Ichigo Kurosaki is Ritsuka Fujimaru #gin ichimaru #hirako shinji #urahara kisuke #jeckyll and hyde #Merlin Fate/Grand Order

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writingesgaypism · 5 years ago

Text

This is! Literally just two people playing a stupidly simple game! That’s it. There’s no plot other than that. Anyway, go play @lureofthegallowsgame‘s game. Erin’s a delight, Leo is the light of my life, and you get to play as a seer which is cool asf. And Jude is just a gremlin.

---

“Okay,” Leo says, fry in hand but holding off on eating it just yet. “Anchorage.”

There’s a song playing, just audible over the low murmur of the other diners at Saint’s, but Jude is very much not listening to it. They keep their straw clenched between their teeth for a little longer, momentarily distracted by the playful tilt to Leo’s head. Blinking, they release the straw.

“Boston.”

“Columbus.”

“Uh, Dayton.”

“’Uh’ doesn’t start with D,” Leo teases.

“’Dumbass’ does,” Jude mutters, grabbing a fry for the express purpose of tossing it at them. “It’s your turn.”

“…El Paso.”

Jude ducks their head a little to hide their smirk. “Had to think on that one, didn’t you?”

“E’s hard! Can you think of a city off the top of your head that starts with E?”

“I don’t have to, we’re on F now.”

Leo narrows their eyes, but if they were going for stern they fail miserably. They’ve still got that dumb, pleased smile on their face, and the force of it scrunches up their nose just a little. Jude would be able to read the same thing in their dumb, pretty eyes if they could get themself to look for longer than a second, but that’s too big of a risk to take in public. Or in private.

“Well, go on, then,” Leo says. “You’re up.”

“Fresno…? That’s a city, right?”

“Yes?”

Jude takes a quick sip of their milkshake. “It sounds fake when I say it out loud. It’s G now.”

“Gary — Don’t give me that look; it’s a city in Indiana!”

“New rule,” Jude says, swiping a fry and sticking in in their shake. “No cities that are also people names.”

“You can’t change the rules mid-game,” Leo protests.

“I can and I did. Houston.”

“You did, but you shouldn’t,” they say. “Indianapolis.”

At that moment, their waitress swings by, one pen perched behind her ear and another in her hand for reasons Jude doesn’t quite understand. She smiles, asks if everything’s all right, and will they be needing anything else? Jude lets Leo handle her because they’ve always been better with people, but they do manage to thank her before she leaves.

They both reach for another fry at the same time and Jude pulls their hand back before they collide, trying to keep their smile from seeming awkward. “What were we on?”

Leo puts their fry in their mouth and finishes chewing first, obviously in no rush, watching Jude the whole time. Jude, in turn, refuses to make eye contact, instead focusing on the line of their jaw until they realize that’s… not better. Their gaze darts to the side and they put their straw back between their teeth. Very casual. Smooth, even.

“We were on J,” Leo says, and, dammit, they can hear the smile in their voice even without looking. “Also, it was your turn.”

“Jackson…ville.”

Leo snorts, nudging their leg under the table. “Skirting your own rules?”

“Take your turn before I die of old age, Leo.”

They laugh. “It hasn’t even been, like, a second, but fine. Knoxville.”

“Lansing,” Jude says, absently licking french fry salt off their thumb.

“You know, the further in we get, the more I’m starting to wonder if there actually are cities that start with every letter of the alphabet.”

“Why wouldn’t there be?” Jude asks.

“I don’t know,” Leo concedes with a grin. “I was stalling because I almost said Michigan. Memphis.”

Jude scoffs and stirs their shake. “Really? M isn’t even one of the hard ones. How is it that you, the honor roll kid, couldn’t instantly think of a city that starts with M?”

“First of all, just because I was on honor roll doesn’t mean I automatically know every city name. Second, I got… distracted.”

“Idiot. Nashville.”

“Omaha,” Leo says, then leans forward. “So you’re admitting that the honor roll thing was a non sequitur? Since you’re not arguing against my point.”

“Oh, that’s the part you’re concerned about me not following up on? Phoenix.”

Their smile tugs up higher on one side, mischievous and fond simultaneously. “Why, do you want me to tell you why I was distracted?”

“I —” Jude risks a quick look at Leo’s eyes, catches something between nerves and an affection so deep it almost pulls them under, and swiftly redirects their gaze to the diner’s checkered floor. “No. I want you to take your stupid turn.”

Leo fidgets, then tries to cover it by reaching for a fry. “Uh. Quincy.”

“’Uh’ doesn’t start with Q,” Jude says, in a poor imitation of Leo’s voice. “Reno.”

“Play fair, Jude. Sacramento.”

“I am?”

Leo hums, resting their chin on their fist. “Your turn.”

“Tallahassee. I’m playing fair!”

“You did change the rules part of the way through,” they point out, smile turning slightly conciliatory. “And… Union.? Yeah, Union.”

“Well… I didn’t try to disqualify you for it, so. Venice.”

“Which one?”

They pause in the middle of drinking, brows furrowing. They take a moment to swallow, then, “What?”

“Which Venice?” Leo says.

“Does it… matter?”

“I suppose not,” they reply, “but so far we’ve really only been doing American cities. Venice, Italy would’ve been an odd outlier, don’t you think?”

“I try not to,” Jude says dryly.

They reach over to ruffle Jude’s hair, laughing at any attempts to swat them away. “Aw, don’t sell yourself short. You think. Usually.”

“Not around you,” they snap, then make an odd, strangled sound. “Because. You lower my IQ with your presence! It’s — Take your turn.”

Angrily, they start in on their shake again, tapping their foot under the table. There’s a brief silence from the opposite booth, but Jude absolutely refuses to look up until the conversation moves on.

“Waterloo,” Leo says finally, something dangerously soft in their voice.

“I don’t — Is there even a city that starts with X?”

“Hmm, what was it you said to me when I was wondering about the feasibility of this little game?” They tap a finger against their lips and Jude very definitively does not notice in the slightest. “Something about… Why wouldn’t there be?”

Jude takes a breath to recenter themself, and reaches into their pocket. “I’m phoning a friend.”

“Oh, so that’s a rule now, too?”

They pointedly ignore Leo, sending a quick message to Warren and hoping he responds quickly. Or maybe it would be better if he was just a little slow. To give them more time to recover — No, there’s his reply. They tap out a string of heart emojis and set their phone on the table triumphantly.

“Xenia,” they announce. “It’s in Ohio.”

Leo leans back in the booth, taking a fry almost as an afterthought. They don’t look too closely at Warren’s answer. “All right, all right. Yukon.”

“How did I get stuck with X and Z?” they grumble.

“I don’t know,” Leo says, “but since you get to make rules, I’m making the rule that you can’t use the same get out of jail free card twice. You’re on your own with this one.”

Jude sticks out their tongue and Leo’s shoulders lose a tension that Jude hadn’t quite realized was there until it was gone. Their phone screen has already gone dark on its own, but they slide it slightly off to the side anyway.

“Oh, we’re so close, there has to be — Oh! Um! Zion?” They look to Leo for confirmation, beginning to smile at the amusement they find on their friend’s face before they catch themself and pretend to examine their poor, chewed upon straw.

Leo laughs easily, their own eyes never straying from Jude. “Zion it is.”

#the lure of the gallows #tlotg #fanfic #my shit #jude #me: i'll start off with this fun little game and then it'll turn into something actually substantial--#also me: okay but what if literally all they did was list cities alphabetically and refuse to acknowledge their feelings

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sunnytumbies · 5 years ago

Note

I'm somewhat confident that Amy's stress baking enables one or more of the other characters to then Stress Eat the baking, which could lead to Tummy Fic (tell me if I'm right and also you don't have anon asks turned on. c; might get more asks if you hit that switch!)

Whoops! Anons, you are now free to enter–sorry bout that!

So, funny story: Tiny, you are right–you are so right, in fact, that I decided to write a lil fill for this! I had like 500 words written and then accidentally closed the tab :’), and for whatever reason my response was even more determined writing to finish it. Long story short, it’s now a /4391 word monster/ that I’m not even all that proud of, but I’m posting it anyway! It’s gonna be confusing & maybe a headache for me later because this is happening later in the story than the first “major story event” fic I’ll be posting but...here we are.

Content warning: this fic involves dysphoria, mentions of menstruation, self-loathing, and binge eating as a response to stress. Please be mindful should you choose to read!

___________________________________________________________

Amy hums lightly to herself, dusting the last of the madeleines with powdered sugar, breathing in the comforting aromas, honey and lemon mingling with cinnamon and apple, almond and vanilla, chocolate and bread. She can’t pretend that this was a good decision, can’t act like she would not have possibly benefit more from a day of studying than a day of baking, but the knots in her chest have finally started to loosen, and it’s hard to take that as anything but a win. She plates the madeleines and slides them into the last remaining patch of free space on the L-shaped countertop, clutching the notebook that belonged to her mother close to her chest.

It’s not that Amy only ever bakes French desserts. She adores the challenge of baklava with its stubborn phyllo dough, loves the thrill and the spectacle of a good Baked Alaska; it’s just that sometimes, she needs to hear her mother’s voice in the only way she knows how–baking the way Maman taught her, dutifully reading the advice scrawled in the margins of her recipe notebook in eccentric cursive, cleaning as she cooks (”Mieux vaut prévenir que guérir, Amelie,” she’ll find herself muttering at times in a poor imitation of her mother. It translates to “It is better to prevent than to heal,” which she thinks is sort of intense as far as wisdom about cleanliness goes, but then, she’s never forgotten it). Professors will likely always butcher her last name, flattening the syllables into something harsh and ugly; classmates will continue to express their envy at the ease with which they assume she sails through her foreign language requirement, oblivious to the unique heartache of struggling to write in a language that flows from her lips with more ease than English sometimes; but no one can take this from her, her mother’s recipes in her mother’s own words, the familiar tastes and smells of home.

It started with the croissants, shaping the dough she’d prepped earlier this week in preparation to make pains au chocolat--she can’t stop her lips from quirking up in a small, proud smile, now, looking at how perfectly they rose, how flaky the croissants are, how tantalizingly the smell of chocolate and freshly-baked bread is wafting off of them, how they glisten with brushed-on butter. But when her eyes glanced over the mostly-full bottle of fruity olive oil in the pantry, how could she resist whipping up a lemon curd tart, with its buttery almond crust and rich lemon custard filling? And it would have simply been silly to waste the lemon zest she had leftover from the tart--not when she could make the madeleines, tiny delicious cakes sweetened with honey and brown sugar, the tang of the lemon zest cutting through the sweetness in the most delicious way, complimented by the dusting of powdered sugar. Then, she thought, that was an awful lot of citrus--she simply had to offset it with a quick apple mille-feuille, the autumnal scent of roasted apples, maple syrup, and apple brandy making her wistful for October. But wait--no mille-feuille was complete without the bourbon whipped cream on top, and shouldn’t poor lactose intolerant Cal have plenty of options too? Besides, a simple spiced bread wouldn’t take too long, and the mixture of star anise, ginger, and cinnamon, sweetened with honey and rife with dried apricots and plums, would be sure to make a delicious sweet toast for breakfast.

Even still, it wasn’t truly over until she noticed that several cartons of eggs--which she, for obvious reasons, tended to buy in bulk--were set to expire soon, and it would certainly be foolish to waste so much money--really, she hardly had a choice! She made chocolate macarons with orange ganache, a cherry buttermilk clafoutis; she made kouign-amann, with its buttery dough and sugary crust, and, in a desperate bid to eat through the eggs, another batch of macarons, this time with raspberry-rose buttercream. Struck with a flash of inspiration, she used the egg yolks she’d set aside while whipping the whites into stiff peaks fit for a meringue to make toasted-flour sablé, a sort of moist little sugar cookie, and while she was at it threw in a batch of snickerdoodles--cookies were easy to both make and get rid of in bulk, and besides, they were Cal’s favorite. Lastly, she decided to tackle a chocolate pound cake--quatre-quarts au chocolat de juliette, her mother’s handwriting rebuked her, along with an all-caps reminder to bake it in a bain-marie, PAS au four!!!!!. It made Amy laugh a little, but she couldn’t deny that the water-bath made for a much richer, much more moist final product than the oven.

She feels a brief rush of shame, looking over it all--it’s truly an improbable amount of baking she’s done, here--but her heart is full, her back aching in a satisfying, productive way. If nothing else, she’s made the house smell like home and has ensured that anyone who enters can leave full and satisfied. Finally, she removes her apron and checks her watch--perfect. She has about half an hour to get to work for her 8pm-midnight shift, a fairly non-intensive desk position at one of the campus libraries, and she’ll more likely than not have enough free time to look over her chemistry notes. As for the baked goods, she opts to leave them out, but takes a few moments to write out sticky notes (“dairy free! Come right in, Cal!”; “full of dairy! Cals beware!”), and smiles gently as she thinks of Cal coming home to a warm kitchen and plenty to eat. “That boy is too damn skinny,” she mumbles to herself fondly, and flicks off the kitchen light, leaving the one above the oven on to bathe the kitchen in a warm, welcoming glow.

Cal is not having a good day.

He shivers as another gust of wind blows what feels like through him, making his teeth chatter as he attempts to sink even lower into his hoodie. The slumping motion does not agree with his cramping lower belly, and he groans, straightening back up with an arm looped around his stomach.

Any day at this time of month for him is a difficult one. He knows for a fact that he “passes,” but he still feels uncomfortably seen, feels like he has to hide himself from view as much as possible. It certainly doesn’t help that his skin hurts, that his belly bloats and his bound chest becomes sore, that despite the fact that he no longer bleeds, he gets all the associated symptoms, yeah, thanks for that, genetics. Even so, Cal isn’t new to this, exactly, and he can deal with the cramping, can even handle the accompanying dysphoria like a champ, but today has been extraordinarily awful. He couldn’t sleep last night, feeling in turns too hot and too cold, and barely made it to his bio class this morning; all the coffee machines were down in the dining hall, meaning his eyes were burning with exhaustion by the time he was halfway through bio, let alone his other two classes of the day; perhaps most damning at all, the paper he’s been counting on being due next week is actually due this week, causing him to spend an extra few hours in the library after class, barely awake, forcing himself to get something, anything onto the page; and, the cherry on top of it all, he missed the last bus home, hence tramping home now in the dark and the rain. More than one car has splashed him as it’s passed, and his jeans are practically soaked through.

He’s cold, he’s exhausted, he barely even made a dent in the paper, and his fucking stomach hurts, the cramps now joined by an anxious knot; as much as he wants to take comfort from the fact that he can see the apartment complex getting steadily closer, he also knows that he’s going to be home alone, and something about that just does not sit well with him at the moment that Cal doesn’t want to analyze, thank you very much.

He shivers his way up the stairs leading to the apartment, down the exceedingly long corridor, through the front door, and is almost immediately assailed by both a rush of welcome warmth and a rush of smells so delicious and overpowering that he knows immediately that today was a stress-baking day for Amy. Something drains out of Cal then, equal parts tension and restraint, the anxious buzzing of his thoughts thrown off by the sheer number of baked goods spread across the counter top. He lets his backpack fall to the floor with a thud. His stomach rumbles--he ate today, but not well--and he sort of knows he’s doomed when he catches the scent of chocolate, as well as when his eyes land on a plate of snickerdoodles (which very much does not make a lump rise in his throat, okay, it’s whatever, it doesn’t matter, Amy made his favorite cookie for him in the middle of her own stress-fueled baking marathon, it’s whatever). Amy will be home soon. Quincy, too, at some point. He’ll be fine. He just needs to do what he can until then, and there’s no shortage of snacks to keep him busy while he waits.

Shocking no one less than him, Cal has many, many regrets, and at least half of them are baked goods he has put into his body over the last hour. He whimpers a little, oh-so-gently palming his belly, which has distressingly little give even when he ventures to apply a little more pressure with his fingertips. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt this bloated, heavy with food and swollen with almond milk, and he’d be lying if he said he’s not fighting tears, beyond ashamed to be in this state: slumped sitting on the floor, back supported by the side of the counter, shirt riding up to expose the pink flesh of his belly. He has to swallow thickly a few times, imagining the sugary sludge that’s surely squelching through his insides right now, trying to force back a dangerous burp that squeezes out anyway and leaves the taste of honey and cinnamon in the back of his mouth. He tried to be good, and that’s maybe what sucks the most. He started with a few snickerdoodles, ostensibly the only dessert on the counter that had been made for him, unable to hold back a little groan of pleasure at the taste, buttery and comforting and complemented perfectly by the crunch of cinnamon and sugar. He had four before pouring himself a tall glass of almond milk, chasing a few more cookies with it before deciding to investigate the irresistible scent of chocolate wafting from the plate of croissants. The chocolate might be a bit much for his lactose intolerance, he decided, and opted for two thick slices of the spiced bread instead, toasted and slathered with ghee. He swore they tasted like fall, like tramping through leaves and Halloween costumes when he was young. Something about filling his stomach after being so hungry and uncomfortable all day, recklessly, indulgently, eased the tightness of his chest, until he could scarcely even feel the chill from his still-damp jeans.

He had already begun to feel rather full, but his interest was still piqued by the croissants, and he hadn’t even tried the little sugary-looking roll things, or the macaroons, or the cake--Cal squeezes his eyes shut, now, swallowing hard, struggling to even think about how much he’s eaten, but unable to completely erase the contrast from his mind between the overflowing countertop when he first arrived and the countertop now, an alarmingly high number of the cluttered plates more empty than not. All that really matters, he guesses, is that at some point filling his tummy began to hurt more than help, and he kept doing it anyway, and now his cramps have merely been replaced with sickly twinges and upset burbles.

He tries to take a deep breath, which hitches as an ominous gurgle bubbles from the top to the bottom of his packed belly, and the tears he’s been clamping down on start to roll down his cheeks. He can’t do this, not alone, at least, and Amy’s shift still has 3 hours to go--they must have just barely missed each other. Part of him knows that he will probably feel worlds better if he simply allows himself to throw up, but he can’t handle that, not right now. He cradles his aching stomach for a moment, one trembling hand cupped under his lower belly, bloated and hot, and one resting on the hard little bloat of his tummy, even that feather-light touch ushering up a series of strained burps. After another moment of feeling his stomach contents swirl and slosh uncomfortably inside him, the nausea and misery outweigh his pride, and he hesitantly lets go of his aching stomach, swiping at his tears and pulling out his phone.

I...fucked up, he texts her, and sends it before he can think twice about it. She replies almost instantly, one of his favorite things about Amy: ?????????????And a moment later, while he’s still figuring out where to begin: everything okay, honey?

The fragile control Cal has over his emotions abruptly slips at that, and he lets out a choked sob, swallowing hard when the motion upsets his tummy further. It hurts so fucking much, but Amy, Amy who bakes his favorites even in the middle of her own mini-crisis, Amy who takes the time to write adorable little sticky notes oriented around Cal’s dietary restrictions, Amy who calls everyone in the world honey because she cares about everyone in the goddamn world, Amy the literal human ball of sunshine--just, fucking Amy, okay?

Yeah. I mean. I’m safe, but I’m not okay. I… Cal doubles over as a cramp twists deep in his belly, panting a little. Maybe it would be easier to just let himself be sick. You baked...a lot. I had a bad day.

:((((( did u see my notes???? what’s going on??????

Cal has to blink hard against the tears at that, a new layer of guilt joining the anxiety and the shame of all he’s eaten. Stress-baking or not, this all had to have taken Amy a few hours, and he’d eaten right through a fair amount of almost everything.

I’m sorry. I did see your notes. It’s not lactose, I just ate a /lot/ and I feel sick and I don’t know what to do

A moment later, his phone buzzes with a call. It’s Amy, of course.

“H-hey,” he manages, sniffing, and then hiccups just before a deep burp gurgles up from his churning belly, clamping a hand over his mouth for a moment as his gorge rises with it.

“Cal, honey,” Amy says, sounding so fucking sad for him. It’s not like she’s never seen the fallout of his stress-binging before. “How much did you eat?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Cal says hoarsely, his throat burning from stubbornly swallowing back stomach acid. “I’m just nauseous and sick and--and—” He falters, feeling like a child. “And I just really had a bad day, like a really bad day, Amy, and I know your day wasn’t so good either or you wouldn’t be stress-baking but I just, I’m so fucking tired, and my paper is due and—” He gags, suddenly, and has to take a moment to collect himself, hyper-aware of Amy’s concerned silence on the other end of the line-- “and I can’t do this alone,” he finally manages, voice cracking, and it is only the knowledge that openly weeping would send him over the edge right now that keeps him from dissolving into exhausted tears.

“I’m so sorry, Cal. I wish I could be there,” Amy murmurs soothingly, and it’s almost, almost like she’s there. “If I could leave work I’d do it in a heartbeat, but I’m going to call Quincy for you, okay?”

Cal’s heart squeezes at that, half-anxiety, half-hope, and maybe something else, too, a deep sense of being known--Amy knows that Cal knows that she can’t leave work. Amy knows that there’s only one other person that he’d want. Amy knows that he can’t--because of anxiety, because of what he sees as a low stakes problem relative to Quincy’s very high-stakes life, because, because, because--reach out to him himself when he’s like this. “Okay,” he whispers, and hope she hears the gratitude in it.

“Of course,” she says, so warmly that it makes Cal’s heart ache a little. “Hang in there, okay? Try to stay calm for me. I’ll let you know when he’s coming.”

“Love you,” he mumbles, and lets his phone clatter to the floor as soon as he hears the beep that means she’s hung up, clutching at his belly, feeling his stomach lurch and rumble. He’s so fucking full. He’s such a fucking idiot.

Some time later, Quincy comes for him.

Cal startles when the door creaks open, then whimpers a little at the resulting complaints of his stomach. There’s just so much pressure, his stomach tight and hot as though nothing is moving at all, though with all that he feels burbling against his palm, that can’t possibly be true. Quincy looks a little frantic in the doorway before his eyes come to rest on Cal, still curled up pitifully on the floor, both hands pressed gently against his bloated stomach.

“Oh—” Quincy breathes, shutting the door behind him, crossing the space between them in an instant and crouching in front of Cal. “God, Cal, Amy scared me half to death. Are you alright?”

“I’m—” Cal has to stop and breathe, composing himself as a wave of nausea crashes over him, his stomach squelching unpleasantly. All at once, he realizes that he’s no longer alone, that perhaps even if he should keep suppressing everything, he no longer wants to, and he no longer cares if he’s sick, he just wants to feel better, wants to be in his bed, wants to be warm and comfortable and safe--all at once, he’s doubling over his own lap, sobbing his heart out, barely even registering the flicker of amusement he’d ordinarily feel at Quincy’s eyes going comically round behind his glasses. His stomach aches, pain ringing throughout his abdomen at the movement, and before he can process much more than that a warm palm folds itself over his distended stomach, firmly enough to quiet the cramping there, but lightly enough to keep from exacerbating the nausea.

“Cal,” Quincy says, in that low, soothing voice of his, “I am so sorry that you’re hurting, and I’m going to make that go away, but to get you feeling better, I have to get you off the floor. I can’t imagine that you are ready to move just now?”

“No,” Cal breathes, his usual shyness dominated by hours of physical discomfort. “Please, just—” Tears dribble down his cheeks, his lack of sleep and general exhaustion beginning to catch up with him.

Quincy seems to hear him anyway. “Okay, hey, heyheyhey, okay, that is perfectly fine. I’m here, alright? I’m here to help you feel better.”

Ever so gently, Quincy eases himself behind Cal, so that his back is supported by Quincy’s chest rather than the hard base of the kitchen counter. Equally gently, his arms wind around Cal’s waist, both hands coming to rest on his abused stomach. He applies pressure to the bloated space between Cal’s navel and his ribs, rubbing in broad, gentle strokes, almost immediately ushering up a deep belch that has Cal going slack with the smallest but most welcome measure of relief. Quincy is so damn warm, and his rough palm is heaven where it rests on his lower belly, supporting the bloat from below to take the strain off of his overfull stomach. His other hand moves from that space in the middle of his abdomen to his stomach, the noticeable overfull bulge where the organ ought to be, rubbing in gentle circles. The pressure is almost too much and Cal shifts to tell him so, succeeding only in ushering up several more rumbling belches, one right after the other, left gasping with the relief of it. He is still painfully aware of how full he is, packed utterly to the brim with food, but the release of trapped air is so needed and so lovely.

Quincy holds him like this for a while, coaxing up the occasional belch, paying extra attention to the twinges that make Cal groan with nausea. Cal finds his eyes watering again, this time with sheer gratitude for his dearest friends, for their kindness, for the quiet lack of judgement Quincy exhibits as he rubs his aching tummy. Eventually, Cal feels like he might be able to move without throwing up, and Quincy supports his weight with an arm around his waist as they make their way to Cal’s bedroom.

“I’ll be right back,” Quincy says after depositing Cal on the bed gently. “Amy said you’d want a hoodie and some shorts. How did she do?”

Cal smiles a little sadly, having trouble finding his voice, and Quincy barely misses a beat, busying himself retrieving one of Cal’s biggest hoodies and a soft pair of pajama shorts. “Either way, let’s give it a try. You should probably take your binder off--all that squeezing can’t be helping, and no wonder you’re shivering in those wet jeans!” He ducks into Cal’s bathroom for a moment, filling up the cup next to the sink with cold water from the tap, and offers it to Cal, making sure his shaking hands don’t cause a spill before he lets go. “Try to take some sips of that, okay? Trust me. We need to break up all that sugar.”

Cal can’t argue with that, nodding, and waits until Quincy lets the door swing mostly-shut behind him, taking the deepest breath he can manage. His stomach twinges as he bends over to put the water on his nightstand and lifts his arms to pull off his shirt. wriggling out of his binder, and he pants for a moment as the sudden release of pressure on his stomach causes the nausea to flare before it thankfully passes again. He puts on the hoodie, immediately comforted by the billowing fabric, and wriggles out of his jeans and into the pajama shorts as quickly as he can manage, forcing himself to take a measured sip of water. His stomach tightens around it, and he swallows hard.

“Hey,” Quincy says softly, knocking twice on the slightly-ajar door before pushing it completely open with his elbow. His hands are occupied with a tv tray, carrying a heating pad and a steaming mug of tea. “Don’t force it. You’re still very full.”

“Y-yeah,” Cal manages, finding his voice. “Tummy really hurts.”

“I know,” Quincy murmurs apologetically, offering Cal the heating pad. Cal practically melts when the heat makes contact with his sore belly, instantly beginning to soothe his cramping muscles, even working its magic on the fullness, just a little. “I’m sorry you’re hurting, Cal. I know you’re very full, but when you can, you should try to drink some water and this tea. It’s peppermint, so it should help with the nausea.”

Flicking off the overheard light in lieu of Cal’s carefully-hung string lights, Quincy leaves the mug of tea on the bedside table closest to Cal, spreading the quilt at the foot of the bed over him, and Cal instinctively lets his head drop onto Quincy’s shoulder when he climbs onto the bed beside him.

Cal nearly weeps again when Quincy reaches for his bloated tummy without being asked, resuming a soothing pattern, rubbing wide, sweeping circles over his abdomen, applying pressure to the bloated place beneath his ribs, to his tense sides, to the hard knot of his stomach. Each instance of carefully-applied pressure coaxes up a series of rumbling belches that Cal didn’t realize he was holding in, eventually freeing up enough room for him to sip at the tea.

“Amy will be home soon,” Quincy says after several moments. “How are you feeling?”

“Like an idiot who stuffed my face with sweets all afternoon,” Cal mumbles, still wrestling with guilt, and Quincy frowns as his belly emits an audible squelch, smoothing a hand over it in slow arcs. Cal drinks a bit more deeply at the tea, unable to withhold a sigh of relief as it begins to fill the burbly places in his tummy, blissfully soothing the ache.

“You aren’t an idiot, Cal,” Quincy says sincerely. “Amy says this sometimes happens when you get overwhelmed. You’re overwhelmed.”

Something about the sincerity in his voice makes something big and terrifying shift in Cal’s chest, and he abruptly puts down the mug of tea in favor of hiding his face in Quincy’s chest, narrow frame wracked with tired sobs. He dimly registers that at least his stomach doesn’t react poorly to the movement. “I am,” he manages eventually, as Quincy gently shushes him, stroking his belly as though to keep it calm. “I am so exhausted, Quince.”

“So rest,” Quincy says simply, “at least for now. And when Amy gets here, we’ll talk about what we’re going to do next. Okay?”

Cal sniffs, nodding, still hiding his face, and Quincy lets him, simply bringing his arms around him, smoothing his hands over Cal’s back. Against all odds, particularly the still-overpowering sense of fullness, Cal feels his eyelids drooping. All of a sudden, everything has caught up with him, and he can barely form a coherent thought. It has been a day, his belly is now more warm than upset, and Quincy is a very, very comfortable pillow.

“I’m gonna take that as a yes,” Quincy says, and Cal feels the rumble of his chest as he gives a low chuckle, too far gone at this point to respond. He’s going to have a lot to explain when he wakes up, but for now…

For now, Cal lays with his head on Quincy’s shoulder, arms looped around his neck, and Quincy pulls the quilt up around them. “I’ve got you,” Quincy murmurs, and the next thing Cal knows is blessed sleep.

#tiny-tum #perhaps it's for the better since i s2g that entire 500 words was the first sequence describing what amy baked but #i think they were like. better words!#i digress this is what we've got #Amy #Cal #Quincy #stuffing #stress eating #stress baking #belly rubs #dysphoria #side fic #answered #i think the reason im so unhappy with this is that i want quincy to be somewhat mysterious until the major fics are released but also i just #cant imagine anyone being super invested until they know more about these ppl #which is fair #but...yeah! hope ppl enjoy!#why am i so anxious about this

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drunklander · 5 years ago

Text

Drunj!Der Yells About Outlander

Thoughts on Ep. 506

STAY AT HOOOOOOOME!!!!!

Ok, now that that’s out of the way... I kind of liked this episode. Which surprised me. Because usually I find myself neutral at best. But, considering how much I’ve hated disliked the last few seasons, I guess that feeling mostly neutral means this season has been better? The bar is low, y’all.

Could 1000% still use more Claire though. And more Jamie and Claire. And yes I know I’m saying that in the recap for an episode where the two of them bang.

I said what I said.

The title card’s powder blocker thingy looks like a plague doctor mask. We should bring those back. I found a box that had a bunch of them in it in the closet at my office once. That was weird. Also, stay the fuck at home and 6′ away from people if you have to go out on a supply run or take a walk.

Ooo, a flashback! I miss Scotland.

“Whom do I address, sir?” “I am Samuel Torrington,” said the guy who is most def *not* Samuel Torrington.

I know I shouldn’t laugh because of what’s about to happen, but looool at the girl for stepping in the literal one spot of mud.

Well that was dumb. Why the fuck would you run in between your dad and the guy he’s clearly gonna shoot?

I mean, it’s super sad, I guess. But also hella dumb.

Ah, a lavender pillow. Yes, I know it’s from the book. But between this and the BJR stuff, it’s like, do they know other smells exist?

But yeah, guess I shouldn’t talk since I have lavender hand soap, lavender lotion, lavender tea and a lavender candle.

It’s the best smell.

Ok, I get why Murcasta can’t be endgame. That was a good decision. But including Innes BeCaUsE tHe BoOk is dumb af. They got to the right decision to break up Murcasta, but for the wrong fucking reason.

Like, seriously though, can we please take a moment to appreciate how dumb this is? Like, book!Innes is from Ardsmuir. He’s been part of the squad. He’s basically one of Jamie’s most trusted friends. And he marries Jocasta. Show!Innes is literally some dude we’ve never heard of until last week because the fucking writers were like oh, Jocasta has to marry someone named Duncan Innes. Guess we should make that happen, out of the blue, for no other reason. Lazy idiots...

Jocasta has better handwriting than I do and I can fucking see what I’m doing.

Also lol at her straight up ignoring Roger saying that Jemmy won’t take her money.

Cut to Jemmy crying about the fact that he is now a participant in chattel slavery. I feel you, Jem.

Oh, it’s a cold? Ok fine, but also the whole chattel slavery thing.

ADSOOOOO! Such a good lil floofer! Look how nice he is, bringing them that excellent bug! WHO’S A GOOD KITTY? YOUUU ARE!

I really like Claire’s necklace. Also Claire’s neck. Also Claire’s collarbones. Also Claire. Can we have more Claire please? And less manpain in general?

D’awww, Lord John Grey the awkward gay. GIVE HIM AN APPROPRIATE BOYFRIEND ALREADY, YOU COWARDS.

Tryon is such a fucking douche. So is Quincy Arbuckle.

Well, it might not prevent tumultuous and riotous assembly, but not hanging out in groups larger than 10 sounds like a greAT FUCKING IDEA RIGHT NOW.

STAY AT HOOOOOOOOOOOOME. (If you are able to, and if you have to go to work, WASH YOUR HAAAAAAAAAAAANDS.)

Fergus, Marsali and Bree standing around this room being disappointed with Roger is A Mood™.

Team Give Fergus and Marsali More to Do

Oh, you’ve never been comfortable in your big fancy mansion? Poor you. *plays the world’s smallest violin*

News spreads slowly in/from the backcountry except, apparently, Claire’s medical advice.

Claire Fraser said reproductive rights!!! *ups monthly donation to Planned Parenthood*

The casting for Wylie is fucking perfect. Like kudos to the casting folks again.

I cared more about the Regulator shit in the show than the book because Murtz, but all the “Oh it’s happening! JK, it’s not! JK, it is!” that they took from the book is making me care less about it. Just happen already or fuck off.

Yes, I know it’s gonna happen next week.

Roger shoveling shit makes me happy. Because it’s gross and I do not like Roger.

“You keep shoveling your shit.” -- The Fandom Bree

Wylie should be a caricature with how fucking terrible he is, but let’s be real. We've all run into a guy like that.

Oh, Claire’s rings.

I did some mental gymnastics years ago to try to wrap my brain around why Claire would still wear an emotionally abusive piece of shit’s Fred’s ring. And the fact that the books and the show are like nope, she just likes Fred, drives me up a fucking wall every time.

“He must have been quite the man to inspire such devotion after all these years.” “Nah, he was an asshole. A complete and utter piece of shit. And instead of going with that and all the complexities it brings, we continue to gaslight the audience that he was a Good Dude. Instead of using the ring as a symbol of something more than fucking Fred, we just keep on pretending he didn’t suck.”

I hate everyone involved with refusing to acknowledge how shitty Fred was.

There is literally only one smuggler in the Carolinas.

DO NOT GO WITH THE CREEPY MAN TO A SECOND LOCATION. CLAIRE, THIS IS BEING A WOMAN 101. NEVER GO WITH A CREEP TO A SECOND LOCATION.

“I get a biblical plague.” You get what you deserve, Rog.

Jamie, chill with the extra testosterone. Just punch the bro or something.

Also don’t fucking blame the victim, asshole.

Literalol at Bree showing the women her like stick and sheet fan thing and then cut to all the people with just little squares, barely doing anything.

“Don’t stop! Keep your fires going!” *everyone stops and just stares at the bugs*

Gonna go ahead and take this time to remind folks that’s it’s fucking gross to get married on a plantation. Don’t do that thing.

I know a guy who is like proud of the fact that he’s an asshole. He talks about it like it’s one of his defining traits. This scene with Wylie being like “buddy, I love my shitty reputation” reminds he of that guy. I cannot fucking stand that guy.

*ignores Claire’s feelings about Fred’s dumb ring and headcanons in my own reasons instead because I cannot even with this nonsense anymore*

Ah, the Lindsays like Roger now. I still do not like Roger.

I fucking love this whole Murcasta scene. Can we get one of these for Jamie and Claire? I miss them having big sweeping scenes that have time to breathe and unfold and all the good shit like Murcasta gets here.

The show keeps trying to deny it, but scenes like this are where it’s strongest. But it refuses to accept that this is its lane and keeps trying to go elsewhere.

I miss Jamie and Claire.

I miss the MacKenzies.

I wanna give Jocasta a hug. She’s still trash for enslaving people, though.

Maria Doyle Kennedy is a goddamn treasure. Seriously, her casting was the best choice the show made in years.

That and saving Murtz, of course.

So fucking glad they cut the creepy-ass foot thing.

Jamie, you’re drunk, but read the fucking room. Claire’s right. Just because she says shit from the future all the time doesn’t negate the fact that she’s right about you right now. Also, seriously? You’re taking *this* opportunity to call her out?

Buddy deserved that slap.

Look, I’m always down for the Frasers to fuck. More Fraser fucking, I say. But this is just another instance like their fight at Lallybroch where the fight itself is never actually resolved like it should be. They just fuck about it and magically everything is ok again. Le sigh.

Murcasta gets a big long scene with time to breathe and talk through everything and it’s riveting af. But Jamie and Claire never get that anymore and it pisses me off tbh.

Stop shoehorning in book lines! She can’t see shit through all the skirts and stuff!

I miss the Lallybroch ring. What did they ever end up doing with it? It’s floating around somewhere.

Bonnet is so evil to 11 about fucking everything that it makes him boring. We get it. You’re a bad guy. Do you also have a tiny dick or something that you’re overcompensating for?

Can we please wrap this Bonnet shit up this season? I swear if they drag it out as long as they do in the books I’m gonna be rull annoyed.

Ok so now the war is actually gonna for real happen and I’m like legit out of fucks to give about it because Murtz aside, they’ve done the “it’s coming, jk!” fake out too many times...

Can they try to hang Murtz instead? Because I swear spending half a season with emo!Roger is cruel and unusual punishment.

#*#outlander starz #outlander 5x06 #drunj!der yells about outlander

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akaluan-dark · 6 years ago

Text

Sentinel AU Part 2

Part 1 | Part 2 | ????

((A bit less horrible this time, but still not up to my usual levels of fluff, sorry. This AU stays kinda dark for a while, I think.

Warnings: Pain, mention of previous self-harm, brief discussion of self-harm’s results albeit no one really knows the verdict yet. (Urahara doesn’t actually know Uryuu self-harmed to get to this point, it’s a potential he’s considered but there are several other options as well)))

Uryuu wakes slowly, body filled with an aching numbness and mind blank. The ceiling above his head is unfamiliar, but he can’t dredge up the energy to react. Even when his senses flicker and spike, he can’t do much more than accept it and let it happen.

There’s someone arguing in the hallway with his father. Neither of them are speaking very loud, but Uryuu /knows/ they’re fighting. His father’s voice has the same icy edge to it that it does when he fights with— when he— when sensei—

Uryuu swallows and squeezes his eyes shut, fighting back tears.

(Ragged breaths and slowing heartbeats—)

(No-no-no-no-no—)

(Sensei—)

“—away from my son!” his father demands, snapping Uryuu out of his spiraling thoughts.

“Maa, maa, we both know better than that, Ishida-sensei,” the unfamiliar voice says, placating. “The damage—”

“Don’t you /dare/,” his father says, voice tight with something Uryuu thinks might be fury. “Don’t you /dare/ stand there and talk to me about ‘the damage’. Get out of my hospital. Out!”

“Ishida-sensei, please, your son is wounded. I did what I could for him, but he needs—”

“He needs to be left alone by the likes of you,” his father interrupts, tone final and sharp. The sort of tone he always took right before declaring an argument ‘over’. “The S&G council have been made aware of his situation and will handle it from here.”

“Not you?” the stranger asks, sharp and disapproving. “I would think as a Guide yourself—”

“Out!” his father snarls. “And Urahara— if I catch you around my son again, I will not hesitate to /destroy/ you.”

There’s a pause, heavy and uncomfortable, and Uryuu can’t help but fidget, plucking at his bedsheets with clumsy fingers. He doesn’t understand. Not the argument nor why his father hates this Urahara person even worse than he hates being a Quincy.

“Very well, if that is how you want it to be,” Urahara says, voice perfectly even.

Uryuu wants to cringe back at the words, wants to hide under the covers and pretend he never heard them. There’s something /dangerous/ about them — about Urahara — that sets off every instinct in him.

(His father has /infuriated/ the man.)

“It is,” his father confirms.

“On your head be it.” There is a /snap/ like something being abruptly closed, and then the sound of footsteps stalking away.

His father lingers outside the room, unmoving, and for a moment Uryuu wonders if his father will come in to speak with him. If he’ll give an explanation, or even just… tell Uryuu what’s wrong.

But he doesn’t. He doesn’t even step closer to the door, just turns away and walks off, leaving Uryuu entirely alone.

(His mouth tastes like ash.)

(Where is his mother..?)

Uryuu lifts a shaking hand enough to see and stares at it. Stares at the scratches covering his fingers and the bandages on his arm. He stares at the evidence of damage and tries to remember—

(Hollow roars and ragged breath and metal in his mouth.)

(Crushed grass and muddy ground, scattered red like sequins—)

“Hey, kiddo, you okay?”

Uryuu starts and tries to sit up, pushing his lethargic body until it obeys; there’s a man sitting in the open window, wearing the silliest hat Uryuu has ever seen and fiddling with a fan. He doesn’t remember hearing the door open, nor the window, nor even the sound of footsteps, and that… worries him.

“Woah, hey, it’s okay,” the man says, slipping into the room and over to the bed. One large hand settles on Uryuu’s back, supporting him even as he’s eased back to rest against the headboard. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

The voice is familiar, even if the man isn’t. Uryuu stares up at ‘Urahara’ and asks, “Didn’t /he/ tell you to go away?”

“Maa, heard that, did you?” Urahara smiles sheepishly and rubs at the back of his head. “Ah, well… we just… have a difference of opinion about something. That’s all.” At Uryuu’s suspicious look, Urahara chuckles and flops into the chair next to the bed. “Maybe you can help me out with it?”

“I don’t even know you,” Uryuu grumbles, looking back down at his arms. The fine weave of the bandages catches his eye, individual threads standing out like rope, fuzz interlinking—

Uryuu winces, squeezing his eyes closed against the sight. He tries to remember his sensei’s words on calming his senses, but he can’t— he can’t and it hurts, it /burns/— there is too much light—

Urahara’s hand settles across his eyes, blocking out most of the light. His palm is warm and something sparks across his skin, rippling through Uryuu’s head and settling like a heavy blanket across his mind. When it settles and Uryuu relaxes, Urahara pulls his hand away; this time, the light doesn’t bother him, and when he open his eyes nothing grabs his attention and forces him to focus in.

“Better?” Urahara asks. When Uryuu nods, the man sighs in relief and fidgets with his fan. “Good, I’m glad. I think—” he hesitates, eyes Uryuu, then lets the cheerfulness fade— “You need to know what happened. No matter what your father thinks.”

Uryuu considers Urahara, struggling to think through /whatever/ the man had done to him. The distant pain he’d woken with is even fainter now, and his lethargy is back. It feels like he could sleep for days — like maybe he /should/ sleep for days — and he wonders if whatever the man has to say is actually important enough to stay awake for.

(His father had threatened to destroy the man for this trespass.)

He manages to bring a hand up to rub at his eyes, fighting back a yawn. “I might… fall asleep,” he admits softly. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Urahara reassures him. “We’ll go over it briefly now, and I’ll be back when you’ve healed a bit more, okay?” Uryuu’s nod is all he waits for, before beginning to speak again, “Your soul was damaged either during or soon after you woke as a Sentinel. I did what I could to heal you, but… I’m not an expert.” He grimaces and leans forward in the chair, resting a hand atop Uryuu’s in some form of comfort. “Both your reiryoku and your sentinel powers were affected, and I’m… not certain how that will affect you in the future.”

Uryuu flinches, fingers flexing as he /remembers/—

(Choking red light smothering his pale blue—)

(Ripping it free like a /weed/—)

—and he needs a moment. He needs a moment to breath and try to absorb Urahara’s words. He can’t — doesn’t /want to/ — understand what Urahara is saying. But even with his thoughts as slow as molasses, even with his body begging for sleep, he /knows/.

He’s broken.

(And it’s his own fault.)

#Sentinel Au #bleach #ishida uryuu #Urahara Kisuke

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themermaidstar · 6 years ago

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The Mermaid Star watches the Bleach Live Action Movie

(Note: I'm not very good at remembering names, so forgive me when I refer the actors simply as ex: "Ichigo's actor". Also, I am a very open IchiRuki shipper, but I will try to keep this as unbiased as I possibly can.)

First of all, I will admit that like most people, I didn't expect too much for this live action adaptation of Bleach. Not only because I knew live movie versions of animes almost never go well, but also because I did not particularly part ways with Bleach in a happy manner.

So when I first heard the news of the live action movie, I was not happy. This is obviously bait for Kubo and co. to see if there was still enough demand for Bleach to continue as a franchise And honestly, after that terrible last arc and the disappointing ending, nobody really asked for this. I honestly did not care for Bleach to continue on with the new generation.

Still, despite everything, I could not resist my curiosity as trailers of the movie came out. They looked pretty decent at the very least, the actors were a bit unexpected, but the effects were pretty okay. Somehow I wanted to give this movie a chance. After all, I did have quite a long history with Bleach.

And now that the movie's been posted early on Netflix, of course I couldn't resist watching the movie! So without further ado, here are my impressions of the live action Bleach movie:

The beginning part of the movie gave me a "Hm, ok." impression, especially the part where Ichigo first meets Rukia. I gotta admit that their first meeting was a bit underwhelming for me. But I suppose in real life, it would be unrealistic for the scene to go as comical as it did in the manga/anime. But then the fight with that first hollow came, and the pace began to move better. I was pretty impressed with the special effects for the hollows. Ichigo's sword could've been better, but I didn't mind it too much. I was satisfied with the way the scene went. Except for the part where they skipped Ichigo and Rukia's iconic first exchange of names. There were several changes made to the plotline, which were quite understandable, though there are moments where I felt that they're cramming a bit, especially the Grand Fisher part. Still, the movie overall was a surprisingly good watch, probably one of the better made live action movies from shounen animes/mangas. It didn't compromise too much with its storyline, and the essence of what made Bleach, well, "Bleach", was still there, which was definitely what mattered most. I especially liked the latter part of the movie where things began to get serious. Of course, I won't deny that there are several parts that could've been done better. But overall, it's a movie that satisfied me as a former Bleach fan, and something I would definitely watch again.

Ichigo's actor had moments where I wasn't fully convinced of his facial expressions. I think I've always had this impression with a lot of Japanese actors/actresses' mannerisms that they're either overreacting or too dull. Ichigo seemed to be the former at times. That said, I will not deny that he does have a lot of moments where he really becomes "Ichigo", especially during the fight scenes. I could've sworn that I could sometimes hear the original voice of Ichigo. He does bring out a bit of, say, a "kawaii" side to Ichigo, like the high-five scene which I wouldn't think the original Ichigo would've ever done due to his consciousness about his tough reputation. It's not a negative per say, but it does bring a different side of Ichigo to light without completely compromising with his character. His action scenes are quite well-done too, so I was impressed and satisfied with the actor overall.

Rukia's actress was initially not what I expected to be. Like Ichigo, I think this version of Rukia is a bit less guarded with her emotions, which is not necessarily a bad thing. She really did grow on me and has somewhat fit into the role of Rukia, she was able to capture the essence of Rukia's character even if their mannerisms are not totally alike. Her ability to make very believable facial expressions made me completely sold to her as an actress. I really think this girl will go far in the Japanese acting industry.

Ichigo and Rukia's bond was really emphasized in this movie, as it should be since it was the focus of the first arc and is essential to pretty much all the arcs and Ichigo's development. I initially had doubts about the two actors' chemistry when the posters and trailers came out, I wanted them to bring justice the most unbreakable bond in Bleach's story. Well, it turns out that these two have MASSIVE chemistry! I really couldn't help smiling and giggling at their interactions. These two acted so naturally with each other, I couldn't deny that these two were "Ichigo and Rukia" in the flesh. Those training scenes were probably the best thing they've added to the story, especially since it makes Ichigo's growth of strength more realistic and believable rather than just relying on pure power and adrenaline. You could really see how their relationship naturally grew even in that short amount of time; from strangers who had no choice but to begrudgingly work together, to becoming each others' close confidants who would do anything in their power to protect each other. I mean, all that "You could stay here in our world" and "I could be your friend" lines from Ichigo? All the times Rukia kept denying her attachment to Ichigo but then would state that she was happy to hear him say those words? OH MY HEART!!! I can never get enough of their scenes together! I've always thought that these two shine the most when they're together, and I'm really happy that I get the same feeling in the movie. I admit that I did get a bit emotional at the part where Rukia had to pretend to insult Ichigo and physically detain him in order to protect him from Byakuya, especially when she said that he would forget all about her after all this is done. God, the painful expressions of both Ichigo and Rukia! I could feel both of their pain at being torn apart like this. It's without a doubt that Ichigo and Rukia's strong bond was the main highlight of the movie, and arguably the best and most accurate element from the original storyline. It really made me nostalgic, so despite the fact that this movie could've been done better, I'm glad that this movie has somewhat become a reminder to us fans of how good the Bleach series used to be in the first part.

I gotta admit, I was also mostly impressed by Ishida. He was probably the most accurate to the original character, and not only did he look the part, the actor did a very good job capturing Ishida's mannerisms. I loved the Quincy arrow and bow effects too. I did think that his acceptance of Ichigo was a bit too fast, but I'll let that slide. I'm glad that Uryu at least had his fair time to shine in this movie, as he should have.

Chad and Orihime were pretty meh in the movie. They pretty much haven't contributed anyting important to the storyline, only being reduced to mere observants on the sidelines. Again, this is understandable because of the movie's limited time. Still, it is nice to see that these two were at least not cut out completely. I did kinda like the part where they showed Chad protecting their classmates using his strength, at least they didn't forget that he was naturally strong even for a normal human. Although I kinda thought his scene in the beginning of the movie seemed a bit random. As for the actor, I wished that they could've gotten a real Eurasian guy to act as Chad. But oh well, I think he did okay as Chad considering how small his role was. I also wished we saw a bit of a glimpse of Orihime's Shun Shun Rikka, maybe a bit of glimmer from her hair clips to hint their awakening powers. At first I was kinda disappointed with her actress when she was revealed in the promos, but she eventually grew on me and I saw her appeal. I did not like however how she was pretty much reduced to the moping lovesick girl whose only lines were most if not all just concerning Ichigo. I kinda missed her, well, ditzy moments which added to the comedy and light-heartedness of the series. It would've been funny to at least see Inoue bring some of her rather unique cooking to school. But again, even the original Inoue's vast imagination would not be realistic in real life, so that's fine too. Like Chad, I thought Orihime's actress did okay and was pretty enough to look like Orihime. Despite lacking Orihime's flowing locks, I quite liked her hair being brown and medium-length and pinned to one side, it made her look cute without looking immature. I'm a bit disappointed though to not see her and Rukia's friendship grow, which was supposed to be one of the reasons why Rukia became more attached to the Human World. Again, time constraints.

Byakuya and Renji were probably the most disappointing ones for me. At first I was really excited to see Byakuya, he looked really good in the promos. I thought his hair was done well considering how complicated it's supposed to be. But while watching the movie, I slowly grew more and more disappointed in their portrayal of Byakuya. He somewhat gave me this rockstar, swaggish vibe, instead of the refined, aloof aristocrat he was supposed to be. I understand that his actor was a musician. Still, I expected more from him, and I was let down. I did not like how he seemingly enjoys taunting Rukia and Ichigo when he's supposed to be inwardly conflicted about Rukia's sentence. I did like that one scene though where he was sizing up a weakened Ichigo, and while he did not say anything, you can see in his eyes that he recognised something in Ichigo's eyes that slightly changed his perspective of him. I'd like to believe that this is the scene where he realized how much Ichigo resembled Kaien, which gave him even more reason to kill him for Rukia. Renji is also another character who I did not appreciate very much in the movie. I wished the actor was a bit taller, more menacing. But honestly, he was not convincing, instead coming off as quite irritating, especially with his weird tongue mannerism. At the very least, I'm glad that they did the scene where he saw Ichigo's unwavering resolve to save Rukia, and was shown to be somewhat affected by it, and at least he seems more reluctant to kill Rukia than Byakuya. I've always liked the sort of "rivalry" Ichigo and Renji shared in the original series, and I think this movie portrayed it pretty well despite my reservations about Ichigo and Renji's respective actors.

I won't bother commenting about the other characters since my common comment for them is that their unique characters were reduced to pretty much ordinary people. It's quite disappointing, especially Tatsuki and Karin, but like i said multiple times before, it's understandable. I'm surprisingly also disappointed that Kon wasn't around even though I completely understand how useless he would be to the plot. Even just his lifeless doll being used as an easter egg would've made me smile. I missed that plushy perverted mascot. He deserved a lot more screentime ever since the Arrancar arc.

Overall, I'd score this movie a 7/10. A lot of work still needs to be done, but it was still satisfying enough for me. The heart of Bleach was there, and that's what matters most. It was definitely good enough for me to start rewatching the Bleach anime again (not the manga though) due to the nostalgia it brings. At the very least, it reminded me that despite the disappointing last arcs and ending, there are still enough good moments worth watching in Bleach.

#bleach #bleach live action #ichiruki #bleach movie

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akaluan · 4 years ago

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Erich/Kisuke: Accidental Marriage + It’s Not A Date, We Swear Part 4

Erich hauls a new box onto Kisuke’s workbench and absently uses his reiatsu to slice it open, mind still focused on what he sensed — or rather didn’t sense — from Kisuke earlier; the rough edges of the man’s soul and the shadings of desire-longing-want were almost expected — such intimate reiatsu sharing had a tendency to invoke similar reactions no matter who was doing it — but the complete lack of anything that could have drawn Tessai’s attention…

That he didn’t have an answer for.

Nothing had stood out, everything seemed right to him, and yet… and yet Tessai’s reaction tells him there’s something there, something he’s missed no matter how deep, how thorough, his search had been.

The whole thing has left him uneasy and off balance, like there’s something hanging over his head, ready to strike the minute he looks away—

“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting long,” Kisuke declares as he sweeps into the room, once more dressed in his usual outfit; it’s both a relief and a disappointment, because Erich has eyes and Kisuke wasn’t the only one affected by the earlier reiatsu sharing, but he also knows that they’re friends and little else.

“You didn’t,” Erich says as he nods towards another open box on the other side of the workbench. “I hauled a box over and opened it for you, and just opened my own.”

Kisuke makes a pleased noise and darts around the table to the other side, peering into the box that Erich set out for him. “Mou, just more bottles and knives,” he says with a put upon sigh, then pulls the first one out and holds it up. He frowns as he stares at it, tipping it back and forth, and then asks, “Or maybe not the same?”

“The histories mentioned more than one potion,” Erich tells him in amusement, then steps around to stand at Kisuke’s side and leans in to peer through the amber glass. It’s not sparkling like the glamour bottles — nor is it translucent like them — so he’s inclined to believe it isn’t one, instead of it having lost its potency. “I’m… not sure which this is, though,” Erich admits after a moment. “There’s nothing particularly distinctive about it, which… describes about half the potions I’ve heard stories of.”

“Potions,” Kisuke repeats with a tiny laugh, then leans away and raises his hands in surrender when Erich scowls at him. “Sorry! It’s just… hearing you talk about potions—”

“What else am I supposed to call them?” Erich asks grumpily as he rolls his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest. He knows exactly how Kisuke feels — he used to snicker at all the stories too, before he realized exactly what his people had lost — but hearing it from someone else, someone not a Quincy, is… different. Wrong. Infuriating. “The terminology was established centuries ago. It’s not my decision.”

Kisuke sobers at that, a strange glint in his eyes and hints of regret-awkwardness-uncertainty in his reiatsu as he sets the bottle down. “Sorry,” he murmurs, reiatsu filling with sincerity-regret-determination in the process. “I won’t do that again.”

Erich grimaces and frees a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. He takes a breath, sets aside his absurd reaction, and says, “It’s fine. It is hilarious, you’re right about that. I don’t… really know why I reacted like that.”

“Because in the end, friend or not, I’m not a Quincy,” Kisuke says easily, then shrugs when Erich shoots him a puzzled look. “What? It’s not exactly a mystery why you’d take offense at a Shinigami laughing at pieces of your history. Isn’t that exactly why you didn’t want the Twelfth involved?”

Erich bites his lip and looks away, disliking the implication that he doesn’t entirely trust Kisuke with helping him. If he’s still thinking of Kisuke — of his friend — as a Shinigami—

Kisuke steps closer, reaching out—

Only to hesitate, hand hovering near Erich’s shoulder as uncertainty blooms in his reiatsu, so heavy that Erich can almost taste it, and it’s… odd.

(He’s never felt Kisuke’s emotions so clearly before.)

(He’s never known the man to wear his heart on his sleeve, so why now…?)

(What’s changed?)

Even as Kisuke pushes past his nerves and grips Erich’s shoulder, Erich continues to turn the question over and over in his mind. Contact doesn’t seem to change a thing, so it probably isn’t a result of their proximity, so what in the world…?

(There’s something he’s forgetting.)

(Something he’s overlooked…)

(But what?)

“I don’t mind,” Kisuke says firmly, dragging Erich away from the faded memory niggling at the back of his mind. “Just being allowed to see all these strange uses of reiatsu is enough for me,” he adds with a wry smile. “I hope you’ll let me help you decipher at least some of it—”

“I plan to,” Erich interrupts, temporarily giving up on whatever it is he’s overlooked; it’ll either come to him or it won’t, but now isn’t the time to be distracted. “I’m good at adapting or redesigning things I already know, not reverse engineering mysterious creations from hundreds of years ago.”

The anxiety-regret-nervousness in Kisuke’s reiatsu melts away as Erich talks, and Kisuke’s smile widens, crinkling the corners of his silvery eyes and brightening his expression into something almost breathtaking. “Well now, that I can certainly do.”

Erich swallows. Tears his gaze away from his friend and back to the box in front of them. “I’m sure you can,” he says as dryly as possible, trying to inject a bit of normality back into their conversation. “It’s what I was counting on, after all.”

“I see how it is,” Kisuke says playfully, letting go of Erich’s shoulder and stepping back. “You just want me for my brain.”

“It is an exceedingly clever one,” Erich agrees with perhaps a touch more fondness than necessary, then gives himself a mental shake and retreats back to the other side of the workbench before… before something happens.

(He’s not so sure he wants to know what that something will be.)

(Maybe that chalice did leave an effect behind…?)

(Damn, if only he knew what it was for!)

He leans against the workbench and pretends to peer into the box in front of him, using the moment to reorient himself and tuck away the last, lingering traces of longing-interest-want from when they shared reiatsu earlier. He can’t afford the distraction, not now, not when they have so much to do, not when Kisuke almost certainly doesn’t feel that way about him.

(Kisuke can’t feel that way about him, surely.)

(A powerful-clever-cunning man like Kisuke would never look at him like that… would he?)

Erich pauses. Casts a glance through his eyelashes at Kisuke. Tries to discard his assumptions in favor of assessments like he was once trained.

It’s… hard. Harder than he’d like it to be, because he’s always been terrible at assessing how others view him. It’s why he’s always let his actions speak for him instead of trying to put himself forward; at least then he can’t misread someone and thus misspeak and ruin his chances at whatever it is he wants.

But Kisuke…

Kisuke had been awkward this morning, a blush staining his cheeks and his gaze constantly roaming from Erich to the room and back again, as if he couldn’t bear to look away but didn’t want to stare.

They’d done nothing but sleep in the same bed, much of their clothing still on, and yet…

Kisuke had rambled like a waterfall and then fled as if his life depended upon it.

Erich absently plucks a little decorative box out of the collection of things and turns it over in his hands just as he turns the idea of Kisuke wanting him over in his mind.

Several months ago, he would have been infuriated by the idea, would have done his best to be colder-sharper-stricter, but after needing to work together for Kurosaki and Ishida’s sakes, after spending long evenings and longer nights pouring over tomes and modifying techniques in search of an answer to Kurosaki’s power loss, after fighting alongside each other against other Quincy…

He doesn’t know when it happened, when his mind changed, but… if Kisuke is in love with him…

Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad after all…

(Does he dare test his theory?)

(How would he even go about it?)

(He hasn’t tried to show interest in anyone in decades!)

(He… doesn’t know how…)

(Alexis always just knew, but Kisuke isn’t Alexis and it’s unfair to hold them to the same expectations.)

(So how…?)

Erich sighs and sets the little decorative box aside without trying to open it — there’s no point right now, not really — and tries to set his thoughts aside the same way. There’s no use driving himself into a frenzy over a possibility, not when he has so much to do. He can’t afford to be distracted while handling ancient and damaged relics, as the previous evening already proved; they have a long day ahead of them and no time to waste on a possibility that Erich doesn’t know what to do with.

He might even be wrong, might be reading more into the situation than there truly is to see; Kisuke might just be uncomfortable with sharing space like that, or… or simply unused to it after so long as an exile.

(His instincts say he’s right.)

(His mind says it can’t be possible.)

(Which does he trust…?)

Erich clenches a hand, nails digging into his palm just hard into to send pain skittering up his nerves, and breathes out. Refocuses.

(He’ll… deal with this later.)

(That… that sounds like a plan.)

(Maybe if he just—)

(No.)

(Later.)

(…)

(Or never.)

(Never sounds good too.)

(…he’s such a mess…)

#fluffy accidental marriage au #part 4 #Erich's starting to get a clue #it's honestly kinda hilarious to write these scenes

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grimmichi-stories-from-tayman001 · 3 years ago

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GrimmIchi (post epilogue): Includes some Anime characters and an original character of mine also using Anime terms. 22

Meanwhile in Taylor's lab

Eiden: I actually like this new life, a lot better then before since I get to eat whatever I want and not have to watch my weight.

Just then Taylor’s voice sounded from the speakers

Taylor: I had a feeling that you were a gainer Eiden that is why I offered this position to you over a different position.

Eiden: But what am I testing?

Taylor: The food, and before you ask I mean its effects not the taste, since this food is enhanced with higher calories, but I don’t know how much calories.

Hearing this Eiden began freaking out

Eiden: I’m not gonna die from this am I?

Taylor: Not to worry remember that needle I stuck into you before I left you in there, well that was filled with something to keep you unaffected by your weight gain, in other words you will remain healthy even if you weigh 1358321773125975 pounds, I know random number but it was highest number I could think of at the moment.

Eiden: That is a relief, since I was beginning to think that you left me in here to kill me.

Taylor: If I intended to kill you, then you’d already be dead, since I am not one to stab someone in the back.

Eiden: That is a lot different than Bǫlverkr, I have a feeling that he will eventually stab his second-in-command turned lover Nobuo in the back.

Taylor: I wouldn’t be so sure since, I saw a vision of the moment they started dating and I could tell with certainty that Bǫlverkr dearly loves Nobuo and wouldn’t let anything harm him even if it means disbanding his organization to keep Nobuo safe.

Eiden: I hope you’re right since I can tell that Nobuo loves Bǫlverkr and would be heart broken if Bǫlverkr betrayed him.

Taylor: I apologize but I have to go we found the Bǫ.

Meanwhile in from the of Bǫ

Taylor: I just had a talk with Eiden and he is worried that Bǫlverkr will betray Nobuo but I can tell with certainty that he won’t and that is how we can end all of this without any of us dying since we won’t win a fight with them. Suì-Fēng, do you think you, Yoruichi and the rest of the Stealth Force can map out the area while taking care of some of the enemies inside?

Suì-Fēng: Not a problem!

Yoruichi: On It!

Taylor: Rose can you distract any that come out with your music and Izuru distract them with your dancing

Rose: Uh sure but I could just use my Kinshara instead of my guitar, but in this situation I can look beside that since I do like watching Izuru dance.

Izuru: As long I am dancing to Captain Rose playing his guitar that is fine by me.

Taylor: Rukia can you put up a row of Tsukishiro around the the enemies hide out so they can’t escape?

Rukia: Sure, but won’t that trap us in too?

Taylor: On the contrary, since the enemy can’t use any floating technique despite being part Quincy there main power and the hollow power prevent them from floating in the air.

Rukia: Clever, using their one weakness against them, I like it.

Taylor: Byakuya and Renji can you use your Bankai respectively to attack any stragglers that aren’t distracted by Rose and Izuru that why Rukia’s Tsukishiro parameter remains secure?

Byakura and Renji: On it.

Taylor: Ichika and Kazui you think you can cheer on everyone?

Ichika and Kazui: Fine but why can’t we do anything important?

Taylor: Whose to say that cheering isn’t important at a time like this, after all cheering keeps spirits up and at a time like these we need spirits high.

Ichika and Kazui: In that case we’ll cheer so much that everyone would have to keep their spirits high so we don’t get annoying.

Taylor: Isshin, Ryūken, Karin, Nozomi, Yuzu and Masaki, stay out here and pretend that everything is normal and you guys are having a family picnic, and if they get close knock them out or better yet keep up the picnic and ask them if they’d like to join, here is a basic, I have marked food that you guys can eat and ones that are to be handed to the enemy.

Isshin: Can me and Ryūken eat the ones for the enemies as well?

Taylor: I don’t see why not as long as you are fine with getting fat since the one made for the enemies have extreme calories and those calories can only be stored as fat.

Ryūken: I’m fine with getting fat if Isshin is.

Isshin: I’m fine with it, Ryū, I am surprised that you are willing to get fat at all.

Ryūken: I am a man, all men deep down, want to be fat a lot just don’t accept that or embrace it.

Taylor: Truer words have never been spoken.

Chad: Even I intend to get fat and Noba already supports me.

Ichigo: What about your boxing?

Chad: I only did that to earn enough to afford something for Noba.

Hearing this Noba begins blushing

Chad: In fact, I already have it.

Chad begins going down on one knee and taking out a small box with is obviously a ring box

Chad: Noba, I know we have been dating for 11 years so I know this isn’t sudden, so Will you marry me? He proceeds to open the ring box to reveal an extremely rare and expensive diamond ring

Noba doesn’t say anything but takes the ring and puts it on his left ring finger as his answer

Chad gets up and grabs Noba and begins making out with him

Taylor: Chad and Noba just continue doing that every 5 seconds after pausing to breath for 30 seconds.

Chad and Noba just give thumbs ups

Taylor: Isane, Kiyone and Orihime just stand by incase there are injured.

Kiyone: But I want to fight.

Isane: As a member of Squad 4 its our duty to stand by and heal the wounded because that is what we are trained for.

Kiyone: Of Course, sis.

Orihime: There is no need to worry.

Ichigo: What about me?

Taylor: Ichigo you will be entering the compound with me, Anthony, Uryū and Brandan, and before you ask Grimmjow can come too.

Ichigo, Uryū, Brandan, Anthony and Grimmjow: Alright!

Taylor: Shinji, Momo and Aizen, now what I want each of you to do is different, Shinji can you create explosions with your Cero to make an excuse that you wanna make noise? Momo can you start burning down the trees to make a forest fire? Lastly Aizen, can you use your Zanpakutō on the enemy? Oh and before I forget Shunsui can you protect everyone from Aizen’s Shiki using your Katen Kyōkotsu’s ability to go into the shadows?

Shinji, Momo, Aizen and Shunsui: On it!

Taylor: Now Ririn and Kurōdo. Ririn can you make illusions and Kurōdo transform into something that can help?

Ririn and Kurōdo: Right!

Just then Kon came stumbling out of a Senkaimon

Kon: Why did no one invite me?

Kurōdo: I was gonna but you were busy sleeping and you looked so handsome sleeping that I couldn’t bare to wake you.

Kon: Aww that is so sweet babe.

Taylor: Well Kon you can use your leg strength to amaze the enemy by jumping around like a kangaroo with it’s head chopped off.

Kon: Awesome!

Taylor: Riruka can you use your dollhouse to trap the enemy?

Riruka: Sure but I expect donuts for this.

Taylor: How about I just build you a donut production line so you don’t need to buy donuts anymore.

Riruka: Deal!

Taylor thinks about what the remaining people should do

TO BE CONTINUED

#grimmichi #bleach characters #original characters #male pregnancy #male weight gain

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