#I drew nightmare too but he turned out ugly and I don't want to show him... he's just like dream but greasier

[sunnydayaoe]

Human dream design... he's so tito coded

[willow-salix]

The Shirt

This little thing is for @misssquidtracy and @soniabigcheese and was supposed to be a ficlet (tell that to the 2.5k that came out). It came about after a throw away comment to Sonia last night and then John ‘helpfully’ dropped the whole thing in my head fully formed. Enjoy!

Thanks to the awesome @myladykayo​ for the gorgeous shot of this dude!

"I don't need any new clothes, I told you that."

"And I didn't listen. Come on, John, you haven't bought anything new since college."

"And I'm happy with that, all of my clothes are perfectly serviceable," John continued to argue as Gordon towed him into yet another shop. 

As always they drew attention, Gordon because of his loud voice and, according to him, his swimmers body that the women loved. Gordon had always loved to be the center of attention, he'd reveled in it back in his Olympic days, proud of the knowledge that his promotional pictures had graced many a teenagers phone backgrounds and lock screens. 

John, on the other hand, had no idea what people saw in him and why they still watched him even when he was with his brothers. He knew his hair always drew looks and over the years he'd heard more than a few people whispering something about checking if he was a natural redhead, although he'd never wanted to stick around to listen too closely and had gotten out of there sharpish. He'd much rather just be left alone to fade into the background where his introverted wallflower tendencies could be appeased. 

"Well, I need new clothes and you can't leave a man to shop on his own, it's just not done," Gordon continued. 

"I'm pretty sure there's no such rule."

"I'm making it a rule, it's part of the bro code now," Gordon shot back, flicking through yet another rack of eye-wateringly bright shirts that even Hawaii would have disowned. 

"I reject your rule."

"You can't, I'm your baby brother, you have to be nice to me, that's in the bro code too."

"I demand to see written proof of this rule book that you seem to keep pulling things from whenever it suits you."

Gordon glanced at his brother, seeing his lips twitch as he fought valiantly to keep any display of amusement firmly at bay. John didn't often get the chance to hang out with his younger brother but he always enjoyed it, not that he'd ever admit that out loud, that would only encourage Gordon to up his annoyance level by at least five points. 

"Ha! You smiled, I'm off the hook!" 

"I did no such thing."

"You did, I saw it! The robot had a feeling- ow!" Gordon ducked out of the way, avoiding another cuff around the back of the head from his, far too lanky for his own good, brother who apparently had the reach of an orangutan. 

"I'm not a robot, you little jerk. Stand still so I can hit you properly." And there went the warm fuzzy feelings. Back to reminding himself just why said hang outs didn't happen more often. 

"Yeah, right! Like that's gonna happen." Gordon shimmied backwards through the rack of shirts that made the sun look dull and out the other side to freedom. "Too much time in space has made you slow, bro!" 

"What? HOW DARE YOU!" Without thinking John dived around the side of the rack, stretching out to grab at his grinning brother. "I'll show you who's slow!" 

"I am lightning, I am the wind!" Gordon dodged aside with perfect ease, avoiding the grasping fingers of his brother. 

"Full of wind, more like! Stand still!" How was the squid so fast? 

"Come on, old man, keep up!" 

John made another grab at the back of Gordon's shirt but the little shit wiggled out of his grasp like an eel. 

"Ha! Victory is mine!"

"I wouldn't be too sure about th-" WHUMP! John spluttered, screeching to a stop as he got a face full of fabric, evidently thrown by Gordon who'd decided that weapons were now in play. 

He flailed, tripping over the leg of a clothing rack as he stumbled blindly. He made a grab for the first solid feeling thing he could find, although his judgement of solid was woefully inadequate. He landed on the floor in a tangle of limbs, both his own and plastic, as the mannequin he'd inadvertently grabbed fell with him. 

"Gordon," he gasped, winded from his tumble, but the sound of his brother's hysterical laughter was all that he received by way of an answer. 

He yanked the material off his head, a shirt of some description by the looks of it, and staggered to his feet, dragging his dance partner up with him. 

He managed to get her upright and back on her stand after a great deal of huffing and many swear words muttered under his breath as Gordon continued to howl like a hyena, hanging onto a mirror to stop his own downward descent. 

Yanking her skirt back up where he'd accidentally yanked it down, John finally got the mannequin back in place and decently covered up. 

"Gordon stop laughing!" he ordered as he bent to pick up the shirt that had assaulted him before angrily turning to face his brother. 

"What a clumsy idiot," he heard someone whisper a few rows over, stopping him in his tracks. "Keep out of the way, he'll take us down with him next."

John ducked his head, his cheeks as red as his hair, wishing the ground would open up and swallow him whole. He hated being the center of attention and now, he risked a peek to confirm his suspicions, yep, now the whole store was looking at him. Great, just perfect. 

"I'm never coming shopping with you again," he hissed in Gordon's direction. 

"Too right. Did you see the shirt he's holding?" the woman's friend whispered back. "Anyone that picks out something like that should be avoided at all costs."

"He's looking, quick, pretend you haven't seen him!" Both women quickly looked away, suddenly extremely interested in a nearby coat. 

What were they talking about? John glanced down at the pile of fabric still clutched in his clenched fist. It was definitely a shirt of some description, beigey-brown in colour, but not just one shade, oh no, this monstrosity had at least four other shades of brown thrown in for good measure, all coming together in wavy lines of what-was-this-designer-thinking to form some kind of texan nightmare, complete with gaudy gold piping. It truly was hideous, quite honestly the most disgusting thing he'd ever laid eyes on and he'd trained with astronauts who didn't have control of their digestive systems yet. 

He looked around desperately to find somewhere to hide it away from his sight, ignoring Gordon who was taking deep breaths in an effort to calm down. 

There! He spotted a convenient looking pile of sweatpants on a shelf and moved over to stuff the offending article back into the depth of hell from whence it had crawled when a single, solitary thought tickled at the back of his brain. 

He paused, thinking, his brain hamster now awake and racing at top speed around its wheel. He glanced from the shirt to the women who had spoken before, then back down to the shirt. 

"I'm going to try this on," he announced to his stunned brother, marching past him to the changing rooms. 

He quickly stripped off his T-shirt, the one that declared that he was a communications engineer not a magician, and pulled on the horror shirt. Surprisingly enough it was actually made of quite a soft material, something his overly sensitive, due to time spent in low gravity, skin really appreciated. 

He pulled it closed and buttoned it up, rolling his shoulders to allow it to settle into place. It was remarkably comfortable, actually long enough in the body. He stretched out his arms, pleased to see that the cuffs didn't immediately hike up to his elbows. All good so far, but only one thing would assure its purchase…

He pushed open the changing room door and stepped outside. The effect was immediate as two men, three women and a toddler that had been independently milling around near the entrance took one look at him and, as one, turned as quickly as they could in the opposite direction. 

Grinning to himself he tugged the tag off the sleeve, grabbed his T-shirt from the changing room and headed to the counter. 

"I'll wear it out," he informed the cashier, loving the way he not so subtly averted his eyes, unable to look at him. "And I'll take as many as you have in stock in this size and the next one up too." The cashier rushed to do his bidding, desperate to save what remained of his eyesight. 

"See, I told you coming shopping with me was a good idea," Gordon grinned as they made their way back to the parking lot, their arms filled with bags. 

"I will admit that it had its advantages," John answered as they strode easily through the crowd that parted like the red sea, unwilling to risk being contaminated by their fashion flu. 

John breathed a sigh of relief, feeling like he could relax for the first time since they'd gotten there three hours before. 

"That shirt is magical," Gordon declared, watching in astounded awe as eyes all around them shifted to avoid looking in his brother's direction. "It's like a people repellent in clothing form, it's….it's…" he groped around for the right words. 

"It's perfect," John declared, lovingly stroking a sleeve like one would a beloved pet. And it truly was. It was like people had a filter, an ugly shirt firewall in their heads that made them avoid it at all costs.

He couldn't remember a time that he hadn't been stared at since the year he'd turned seventeen and hit his second growth spurt. In that year he'd shot up six inches, his lanky frame had filled out a little, his weedy arms turning into tightly packed muscles and he'd developed abs and a voice that had deepened a few octaves. Then, for some reason, his anxious aura with its go away vibes had become nothing but a challenge for most people, acting as a kind of siren call for them to latch on to him and decide that he needed to be included, chatted to and made the center of attention. 

Now it was like he was practically invisible and it felt amazing. Even with the neon orange shirt Gordon was wearing, people were mostly ignoring him. 

"I'm never taking this thing off again."

       ***

"Why am I always the one doing the laundry for you lazy arses?" Selene bitched as she dragged a massive basket of assorted Tracy clobber into the lounge where the assorted Tracys owners sat around in various states of lazy. 

"Because you love us?" Gordon answered, grinning cheekily. 

"Nope, that can't be it," Selene retorted, sitting down on the steps of the seating area to begin the mammoth task that was sorting and folding. She dragged out one of Virgil's plaids and folded it into some semblance of order and dropped it on the floor to start his pile. 

"Let me help," John offered, moving to sit beside her and take some of the pile from her lap. 

"Thanks, gorgeous."

"Whipped," Scott teased, reaching for his coffee cup. "Hey, Sel, if you're the only one doing the laundry as you claim, how comes you haven't managed to wreck John's ugly shirts?"

"Why would I?" she shrugged, balling up a pair of Scott's socks. 

"Because I know you. Any excuse to shop, right?" 

The socks made a handy projectile as she threw them at his head. 

"Thanks!" Scott grinned, effortlessly plucking them from midair. "Seriously though, look at it."

Selene looked at the shirt that was currently hiding the delightful chest of her even more delightful husband. 

"I fail to see the problem with it."

"Really?" 

"Hey, leave my shirt alone, it's perfectly serviceable, thank you."

"It's old, it has to be at least seven years since you bought them," Gordon joined in. "They probably don't even make them any more."

"They don't," John said, concentrating on folding one of Alan's T-shirts into a perfect square. "So nothing had better happen to the ones I have left."

"Now's your chance," Alan whispered to Selene. "Kill them with fire and you'll never have to see them again."

"Yeah, you know that he's got much nicer clothes in his wardrobe," Scott added. 

"I've actually grown quite fond of them," Selene answered, carefully folding one she'd plucked from the depths of the pile, smoothing it out like it was something precious. 

All three Tracys, minus one Virgil who was down in the hangars no doubt creating more washing for her to do by getting covered in grease and muck, stared at her like she'd just announced that she was going back to blonde. 

"What? How? You said that he's never looked better than when he's wearing a decent shirt, I had to give you a drool cloth at your wedding."

"All true," she shrugged, folding one of Virgil's vests to the best of her ability. 

"Yet you continue to let him walk about in, what was it you called it, his rodeo clown shirt?" Gordon asked, completely bemused. "Are we missing something here?" 

"I'm a witch," she started by way of explanation. 

"Duh," Alan snorted. 

"And I have a healthy respect for glamour magic, and that right there," she continued as if she hadn't just been rudely interrupted, pointing at the shirt that John was wearing, "is the most magical thing I've ever seen in my life." 

All three of them burst out laughing, unable to believe what they were hearing. Selene waited patiently for them to finish cackling like they had just cursed Macbeth. 

"Allowing the shirts to live is doing the world, and my arrest record, a huge favour. Now, if you'll excuse us…" she got to her feet, relieved John of the socks he was busily matching and dragged him to his feet.

"OK, OK, I'll bite," Scott continued to chuckle, wiping the tears from his eyes. "What makes you think it's so magical?"

"That should be obvious, nothing short of a miracle could hide that amount of sexiness. Why do you think I'm good with him hiding in Five when he's wearing that space suit?" She dumped the half folded pile of washing back into the hamper.

"I've decided that you lot can sort your own laundry, because I've got the sudden and overwhelming urge to see that shirt on our bedroom floor. Later, fashion rejects."

John put up zero resistance. 

"I love this shirt," he grinned, waving a cheerful goodbye to his stunned brothers as his wife yanked on his hand, towing him bodily from the lounge and on to far more pleasant things than chores. 

[blameitonthebleach]

Can I request a scenario for Retsu or Isane please? They have a s/o who has been in a coma for sometime for some reason. Everyday our lady takes care of the fem!/SO and although it seems futile now, their wish is for their beloved to open their eyes again. A Christmas miracle happens and they wake up, they don't have to spend their Christmases alone anymore.

You sure can, my dear! I chose Isane for this one, because the ladies don’t get enough love on my blog.

It had been close to a year now. After what was supposed to be a routine mission in the Rukongai turned much more sinister, you were injured protecting your beloved Isane. From two different squads, you were the Fourth Division’s extra escort, and though Isane didn’t need your protection, it made you feel just a little better to be at her side. You loved the way she looked directing her squad members; that stern, concentrated expression, and the way she always had one hand on her hip making her regal and beautiful. You’d been together for what felt like centuries, and you always thought that she just…got you. You got each other, honestly. 

You knew that when she was fatigued, the only person she’d let see her weak and tired was you. She’d shyly sidle up to you when no one was looking and rest her head on your shoulder. Just the same, when you were angry, frustrated, or exhausted, she was always there to cheer you on with some sage advice and that beautiful smile. 

On that mission a year ago, it was just days away from Christmas. You two had decided that you would spend the day as the humans did, and you personally had drilled Orihime on human holiday customs so it would be perfect. On the way to the Rukongai, you’d spoken animatedly to Isane about how excited you were, how hard you tried, and that you couldn’t wait to see the look on her face when she opened her gift. You assured her that it was just something small, but you wanted her to have it anyway. She had teased you, calling you silly, but you saw the small smile play at the corners of her mouth and the affection in her dark eyes. 

Upon reaching a clearing where Squad Four was supposed to aid some injured shinigami, something was…off. No one could put their finger on it, not even the skilled lieutenant captain herself. Everyone was on edge, and she worried about you even as she completed her duties. You could certainly take care of yourself in any normal situation, but this was completely abnormal. There should have at least been some residual reiatsu in the surrounding area, but there was nothing. Isane could feel nothing save for the shinigami in the clearing. Keeping her eyes peeled, she assisted the fallen with the rest of her squad, trusting you to have her back in an emergency. 

In the time it took to blink, the clearing was filled with commotion. First, it was a scream to Isane’s left. When she looked, the only thing remaining was a morbid painting in the dirt. She didn’t even have time to think about who it was before chaos ensued. Looking over her should, she didn’t need to hand out orders to you as you drew your zanpakuto to aid the others. Before she could voice that they needed to get the wounded back to the Seireitei immediately–

“Isane!”

Instinct guiding her actions, her blade was drawn and ready, but it was too late. Whatever Hollow had massacred their fellow shinigami was directly on top of her. In a blur of motion, you were there to take the blow of its ugly claws, sending a spray of blood and gore across the ground at Isane’s feet. You’d managed to deal it significant damage, but it was nowhere near defeated. You could no longer stand as the black faded in from the edges of your vision. Isane screamed your name, and the last thing you saw was a face of anger and hatred, and one single tear stain her porcelain skin.

The Hollow was defeated in record time, and Isane had to take a breath for that fact to settle in. She directed her strong gaze to the rest of her squad. “Get the injured back to the Seireitei immediately,” she repeated.

“Lieutenant, what about–?” They cast a glance at your unconscious form.

“I’ll take care of it. Now, move.”

There was more chaos once everyone reached the Seireitei. Three shinigami were pronounced dead on arrival, two were MIA, and one was presumed dead judging by the gory scene from the first scream. Doing her best to remain impartial, she instructed Hanataro to tend to you while she looked over some of the other patients in dire condition. However, Captain Unohana, ever astutely aware of everything, assigned Isane to your care with a gentle hand on her shoulder. She could have cried, she was so grateful, but there would be time for tears later. 

It took several hours, and she still required Hanataro’s help. It wasn’t pretty. Your mangled body broke her heart as she worked tirelessly for hours. Your feminine form looked more fragile than it ever had before. When there finally wasn’t anything left to do except wait for you to heal, she sent Hanataro away with her thanks. You were in the clear, your life was no longer in danger, so it was strange when you just…didn’t wake up. A few days passed, and she figured it was normal. These things happened, and Unohana wasn’t worried. Then it was a week, and then two. Then a month. Before she knew it, it had been an entire year. 

The preparations you’d both made for Christmas were never fulfilled, and your gift to her–sitting on your bedside table, wrapped immaculately to show your love–remained unopened. She couldn’t have cared less about the present. All she wanted was for you to open your eyes, and tell her everything was okay. The person she cried to when bad things happened remained unresponsive on a hospital bed. Isane checked your vitals every day. She caressed your cheek, smoothed your hair, and every night before she left she kissed your forehead, hoping that maybe that would rouse you enough to come back to her. She missed your warmth, your smile, your soothing words. 

Christmas Eve rolled around, and Isane was still by your side. She’d changed your bed sheets and clothes, and had gotten into the habit of telling you about her day. After all, coma patients could often hear and were aware of the outside world, they just couldn’t interact, couldn’t they? That thought alone broke her heart even more, but talking to you was the only respite she got.

“Hey, ___, it’s Christmas Eve,” she said gently. Smiling, she fluffed your pillow and fiddled with the flowers at your bedside. “Are you going to leave me alone again?”

She laughed derisively at her own joke, then took her permanent seat next to you. Propping her elbow up on the bed, she sighed. At least you looked peaceful, she reasoned with herself.

“Isane,” came her sister Kiyone’s voice. “I knew I’d find you here.”

Isane gave her a pained smile. “Here I am…”

The silence stretched on, deafening in the face of the falling snow outside.

“Are you going to stay here all night again?” Kiyone whispered, setting a concerned hand on her shoulder. “I know you’re worried, we all are, but you’ll make yourself miserable being all my yourself. ___ wouldn’t want that, and you know it.”

“But…what if she wakes up, Kiyone?” Isane mumbled, unable to help herself. “What if she finally opens her eyes, and I’m not there for her?”

It was silent for a moment again.

“I’m not going to force you. I know how close you both are, and I know how much you love her. Just… Don’t push yourself. You can’t help her if you aren’t taking care of yourself.”

With those parting words, Kiyone left quietly to talk to her captain, and Isane let out a sigh. Her sister was right: there was nothing she could do to make you wake up. If there was, she’d have done it a long time ago. She sat with you for another half hour, talking about everything and nothing, and left you as usual with a warm kiss to the forehead.

After a night out with her sister and some of the other members of the Shinigami Women’s Association, Isane was feeling just a hint better than the day before. A girl’s night had been just what she needed to reinvigorate herself, or so Rangiku had determined. They all supported her, and couldn’t wait for you to wake up and help them with their latest plot to sneak further pictures of the men around the Seireitei. 

Early that morning, you’d had a nightmare. Everything after that incident was a nightmare, honestly, but reliving the event was definitely awful. Choking on a scream, you’d awoken to a startled Hanataro checking your vitals, and the quick appearance of Captain Unohana herself. Breathing heavily, your hand clutched at the fabric of your clothes as you stared around the room in confusion. 

“W-What happened?” you got out after a minute of trying to remember how to move your mouth. Your voice was scratchy and rough from disuse, and your mouth felt like the deepest pits of Hueco Mundo. As Hanataro floundered for something to say, a look from his captain sobered him up, and he went in search of Isane.

“You were injured by a Hollow in the Rukongai,” Unohana stated calmly. “You saved Isane’s life, but sacrificed your own. Does any of this sound familiar?”

“…Vaguely,” you replied. You couldn’t remember the details, but the bigger picture was there. “How long was I unconscious?”

“It’s been over a year.”

“A year!?” you asked incredulously, hoping that she was joking. Unohana never joked. 

It was at that time Isane burst into the room, panting as her hair was in disarray. Well, more in disarray than usual. It hadn’t felt like very long to you, but to Isane it had been a lifetime.

“___!” she cried, running to your side. Unohana excused herself quietly, assured that you were okay to catch up with your lover for the time being. 

“I-Isane…” you said, feeling guilty. Wrapping your arms around her tall frame, you buried your nose in the crook of her neck. “I’m sorry I made you worry… And I’m sorry I ruined our Christmas plans.”

“Idiot! I don’t care about that!” Pulling away to hold your face in her hands, she glared at you lovingly as the tears spilled down her cheeks. You stretched out your hand to wipe her tears.

“You were crying then…” you whispered. “For me.”

“I thought I’d lost you,” she hissed back. “And I don’t care about the gifts or the celebration, I just care about you.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but it was quickly covered by Isane’s warm lips. You melted into her with a sigh, hands on hers hips pulling her closer by her shihakusho. She tasted like salt and booze, a taste that was strange to you, but it was still her. It made your heart beat quicker, and Isane slid her tongue along your bottom lip, unable to stop herself. Not much better, you obeyed eagerly, and basked in the attention of your girlfriend.

“I’m sorry,” you repeated once you’d parted, though you still clung to one another.

“Stupid~”

“So, I missed Christmas, huh?” Trying to lighten to mood, you grinned at her sheepishly. “Damn, and I was so excited about that gift.”

“Nothing can top what you’ve given me this year,” she replied, hugging you close to her. Confused, you made a noise.

“Christmas hasn’t passed yet?” you asked.

“Today is Christmas, ___,” Isane replied with a smile more radiant than the sun. As you gaped at her, she cradled your face in her hands again, and whispered “Merry Christmas…”

As the snow continued to fall, Isane closed her mouth over yours, and you shared in the affection between you. You were back, and Isane could hold you in her arms again, could kiss you again, could be with you again. It was by far the best Christmas ever.