#apparently the poorly bleached back of my head i saw for the first time a few days ago has scared me from thinking i can bleach my own hair

[autism-corner]

weird day.

[ramblingkat]

Fic: Stars

This was encouraged by the UraIchi discord server. Basic concept: Everyone is born with a tail. If you live long enough, you get more. If you find your “soul mate” you get a new color on your tail. 

Here, Yoruichi noticed the new color on Kisuke’s tail. He had happily been oblivious. And has no idea who’s reiatsu matches that new color of fur on his tail.

Fandom: Bleach

Characters: Urahara Kisuke, Shihoin Yoruichi, Ishida Ryuken, Kurosaki Masaki, Kurosaki Isshin, and Kurosaki Ichigo

***

“You have gold in your fur.”

Yoruichi’s voice, deep and raspy, was a familiar one, and he knew she’d been sitting behind him for a bit, so Kisuke didn’t jump. Though he did pause, a cup of tea against his lips. Then he lowered it again, turning some to look over his shoulder at his friend. 

She was crouched next to his tail, eyes focused on the tip. Kisuke didn't actually look at his tail all that much, with it being out of his direct line of sight. Oh, he made sure it was brushed and neat enough, but it was just another limb. As long as it worked as he wanted, he never thought about it too much. 

Now he flicked it up, bringing the tip up closer since that was where Yoruichi had been focused. 

This was the only tail on display, as humans rarely lived long enough to gain a second tail, let alone a third as Kisuke had. The other two were hidden, as they had been for almost a century of hiding in the special gigai he had created. The only one on display was the same ashy blond as his hair, a sleek fox tail that had gotten him quite a few appreciative looks. And more than a few people asking for blessings. 

Apparently, pale fox tails were a sign of favor. Not something he had expected when he had first come to the living world. 

Shinji had laughed at him, the man’s golden lion tail lashing lazily behind him. Kisuke had asked how it felt to only have to deal with one rope instead of the multitude that the older captain usually had. That had lead to a spar, and gotten Shinji distracted. 

Now, however, Kisuke saw that there were fine golden hairs growing at the end of his tail. They didn’t stand out a great deal, not yet. But they were definitely golden. A distinct change from the pale fur they grew in. 

Yoruichi’s reiatsu, as muted as it was, radiated delight. Kisuke was feeling a bit stunned himself. 

“But,” he protested, voice distant in his own ears, “I haven’t met anyone new. Not for long enough to have our energies to click enough to bond.” 

There was a flat-out chortle from Yoruichi, and she rose up onto her back legs, resting her paws against the back of his shoulder. That let her get a better look at his tail. “You found someone to soul bond to and didn’t say anything.” She sounded highly amused and no small amount of pleased. “What have you been up to?”

Kisuke snorted. “Plotting and planning. The usual.” He flicked his tail against her face, then let it relax again. “I wonder who this is. I don’t know of anyone I’ve seen recently that has that color of reiatsu.”

He reached over and poked Yoruichi’s nose as she opened her mouth. “And don’t start on SoiFon. Right shade, very much wrong person.” He smiled faintly. “She’d murder me if we ever created some sort of spiritual bond.” Kisuke paused. “Though the way she hates me would definitely qualify. But the timing is wrong.”

“She doesn’t hate you,” Yoruichi protested. Ignoring Kisuke’s amused, yet unimpressed, expression, the cat continued. “She’s just prickly about my honor.”

Kisuke snorted again, hand moving to rub his friend’s ears. “Very prickly,” he said drily. “If she could make me vanish, she would definitely do so.” He shook his head. “In any case, SoiFon’s disdain for me is not the topic here. I honestly have no idea why I would have golden fur coming in now. Everyone I interact with now are the same people I have interacted with for years. I doubt any of them have changed that much.”

“Something to figure out later,” Yoruichi agreed. “It’s not like your crimson isn’t a distinct shade.” She licked a foot, quiet for a moment. “Though now that I am here, how are things with Isshin and Masaki?”

Still absently petting her, Kisuke smiled faintly. “Going well. From everything that Ishida-san and I can tell, the baby is healthy and growing well. They are likely to have a mix of Isshin-san and Masaki-san talents.” Kisuke considered it a moment. “I believe, once the baby is born, they’ll take the hollow with them. That will be vital for their stability. They are so in balance at the moment that the loss of one aspect will likely prove lethal in the long run.” He considered that as fingers moving softly over dark fur. “Something I have impressed upon the parents to be. The hollow is sealed and will continue to be until we break it at some point, but the power it holds is present. So the baby will be…impressive.”

There was a snort from Yoruichi. “Maybe it’s the baby,” she teased, though there had not been any documented cases of soul bonding with an unborn child. “You do the impossible regularly enough. Why not do it again?”

Kisuke tweaked her ear, hand blurring as he dodged the slash of her claws. “I doubt even baby Kurosaki is developed enough to have a proper reiatsu signature yet,” he said easily. “While they have a strong presence already, it’s…malleable. Though I do hope that you’ll be in town when the time for the birth gets close.” He wrinkled his nose. “I am already noticing an uptick of smaller hollows. Masaki-san has been attracting quite a bit of attention from the wrong quarters. I think when it is time for baby Kurosaki to be born, they will lure in hollows for miles around. We’ll need to set up a protective line around them and deal with the swarm that is likely to descend on us at that level of power energy.”

A nod from Yoruichi. “Just contact me when it gets close to time. Though I don’t know if I’ll go too far.” Her tone went light and teasing. “After all, I have to find out who your mysterious suitor to be is. Only you could get a soul bond and not notice.”

That got her a sigh and a shrug. “It wasn’t like it was that big a deal,” he protested, giving his friend an over-exaggerated pout. “And I’ve been busy.”

Yoruichi perked up. “I have to talk to Tessai,” she warbled out, as close to singing as she got. Dodging Kisuke’s grab, the cat ran into the house, yowling out the name of their other friend, and Kisuke sighed.

Collecting his tea, he focused on that. No need to think about Tessai-san’s matchmaking urges now. He’d be dealing with them soon enough.

***

The stars looked amazing, and Kisuke found himself panting as he watched them decorate the night sky.

They weren’t as bright here as they were in soul society, but there was a great deal more progression in the living world, so bright it dimmed even the night sky.

Though all of his senses felt dimmed. The Kurosaki baby had come into the world, and he was grateful that Ishida had a charm that he and Masaki had put on the baby. It would allow more of the child’s reiatsu to release over the next year or so. Slow enough that they shouldn’t have a repeat of tonight. 

He was exhausted, and he was sure that Yoruichi was the same whenever she was at. 

The Visored had taken the outer layer of the patrol. Kisuke and Yoruichi had focused on the blocks around the roof of the hospital that the baby was being born in. And outside of all of it, Hachigen and Tessai had been working on keeping all of this under wraps. While he knew Aizen had an idea where they might be, they did not need the baby’s explosion of power to attract his eye. 

He was pretty sure they had dealt with every hollow from miles around, all attracted to the initial spike of power that the baby would have screamed out with their first breath.

That was something he needed to check on well. 

Pushing himself upright, Kisuke glanced around. It only took a moment to spot Yoruichi, leaning against an air conditioning unit a few roofs over. Waving to catch her attention, he waited until she nodded back, then he let himself drop over the side of the roof.

Ishida had given him a room number, and Kisuke had already scouted out where it was in the hospital. So it only took a moment to wrap a hint of reiatsu under his feet to slow and then stop his fall. He pulled a phone out and texted the man, making sure he was able to come in.

The curtains shoved apart, and Ishida was scowling at him. The man opened the window. “Get in here,” he muttered. “The sooner you make sure the boy is all right, the sooner you can leave.”

Kisuke smiled. “A boy? I am sure that Kurosaki-san is thrilled.”

“Isshin is being an idiot over it, and Masaki is pleased to have a healthy baby.” 

He shifted aside, letting Kisuke step through and land lightly on the floor, geta making only a small clicking as they hit the ground. Then Ishida continued. “They named him Ichigo. I assume you dealt with any outside trouble.”

Kisuke grimaced a bit. “After this, I think we’re all going to go find out beds now that the charm you have put into place has muted his strength. The area should be hollow free for a few months.”

A sigh. “That’s good,” the white haired Quincy said. “Hopefully they’ll be gone for even longer than that.”

Kisuke considered that. “If you like, I can set up patrol when your own child is born.” It was an honest offer, as he knew that the man’s wife had taken poorly to pregnancy. She was happy to be pregnant, but every time Kisuke saw her around, she looked exhausted and drained.

Ishida tensed, then made himself relax. “We’ll discuss that later,” he said, which made Kisuke smile to himself. That wasn’t a no, and it was nice to see how devoted the man was to his wife. He was as bad as Isshin was, if quieter about it. 

But he only nodded in response, quietly following as he was lead to the bed. 

There was Masaki, who was watching them, though Kisuke could see she was ready to go to sleep. Beside the bed was Isshin, whose tail was wagging back and forth like mad. And beside him, placed where both he and Masaki could reach, was a tiny little being. 

There was a tuft of dark hair, though he could already see strands of a paler color in it. Kisuke wondered if baby Kurosaki… Ichigo, his name was Ichigo, would have his mother’s hair? 

He was wrapped firmly in a warm blanket, swaddled quite tightly. Though he managed to get a foot and a puffy little tail out of the confines already. Kisuke smiled faintly, tucking the fluffy grey tail and the foot back into the blanket. “Already a trouble maker,” he murmured to the child, and then rested his hand on Ichigo’s chest. Closing his eyes, he focused, threading his reiatsu gently to make sure everything was still balanced. 

This was something he’d been doing since Isshin had come to tell him that Masaki was pregnant, in a near panic. There had been two pregnancies before this one, and neither had gotten far. The third time was the charm, and the balance of energies settled in ways to keep the boy from coming to harm. 

Everything still felt good, and he opened his eyes with a smile. 

“Congratulations,” he said, smiling at them. He knew they had been heartbroken the previous times, and having Ichigo here, all red-faced and scowling, had to be such a relief. 

“Masaki-san?” he asked, offering her his hand. She rested her fingers against his palm, and he did his own scan of her energies. 

Once he was done, he gave her hand a light squeeze and let go. “It’s as I thought. The hollow passed on to Ichigo, but the seal on it seems to be intact. Though he’s definitely strong enough to see spirits without much help.”

He smiled at the new parents. “You should have an easier time of things if you decide to give him any siblings without the hollow energies causing such distress on your own.” That was to Masaki, who looked relieved. He knew she had taken the failed pregnancies hard, but this should help her feel better about any future attempts. 

Moving away from the bed, Kisuke absently sealed Benihime back into a cane, nodding at each of them. “Now that everything seems to have settled both outside and in here, I’m off. Let me know if you have any other concerns that I might be able to help calm.” 

He went to perch on the sill of the window, then threw a grin back at them. “And, as always, come visit the shop and pick up a few items. I always have a wide range of stock for your purchasing pleasure.”

Ishida shoved him out the window with a snort. 

Kisuke laughed as he caught himself, and took off into the night. Time to find everyone and let them know that they could do whatever. The situation was done, and it was time for a well-deserved rest.

Besides, now that Ichigo was actually born, Kisuke had potential plans to adjust.

[ishouldgetatumbler]

Kissed an cast into the sea

Fandom: HunterxHunter

Pairing: Mito Freecs/Illumi Zoldyck (Miumi)

Warnings: Alcohol, Illumi’s brain

Word count: 5343

AO3

1

      A man was sitting at her kitchen table. He was tall, even sitting he was nearly as tall as Mito. He was watching her with the palm of one hand resting on the back of his other. His hair was long and black; it seemed expensively cared for. His clothes were clashing, and poofy, but his face was all business. Mito wanted to curl up in fear of his big dead eyes.

      Right. Okay.

    She was standing in the doorway of her home, holding a fish by the severed fishing line. Her hair was tied back and her dress was sky blue with clouds drawn from spilled bleach and white paint. It was darker blue at the knees and below, where the marsh water soaked it through. Her rubber boots squelched on the tiles of her kitchen, mud caked wellington boots oozing onto the floor.

    Right. Okay.

    She set down her catch on the cutting board before stepping on the toe of her rubber boot and working herself free of it. The next shoe she stood on one foot to pull off with her hands. She set the both of them in a tin caked with sand and dry and turned to the person sitting at her table. 

    He was still there, eyes on her curiously as she stood in soaked wooly socks. The fact he was still there made the fear worse.

    Right. Okay.

    "Ging isn't here right now."

    The man cocked his head to one side, curiously.

    "You're not the first person to try this. I don't know where Ging is and I don't know how to find him."

    She'd said that to everyone who had come through looking for Ging. It was the truth, but she always imagined she could find Ging if she really wanted to.

    "Gon Freecs? Do you know where he is?"

    That was new. Gon really did take after his father.

    "No."

    The stranger looked at her reproachfully. He wasn't the first to believe breaking into her house would scare her. They'd come and gone, polite euphemisms for threats and poorly concealed weapons. She didn’t see any weapons, but the man was too calm to be threatening her without one.

    "He broke my arm." He added after a moment, still reproachful.

    She gave a tight smile with no humor or joy.

    "I'm sorry to hear that."

    The stranger continued to look reproachfully at her.

    "He kidnapped my brother as well. Boys really should not be taken from home at such a formative age."

    "Kidnapping? That doesn't sound like Gon."

    "I'm very certain he did. Killua Zoldyck?"

    Things clicked into place. She tried to remember his name, scrawled on loose leaf paper three times folded. Gon's handwriting was nearly illegible when he was excited. That name was in one of the three paragraphs reduced to squiggles as he talked about Killua.

    "Illumi is it?"

    He raised both his hands from the table, putting them up as if to say 'you caught me.'

    "Hi."

2

    He watched her as she gathered laundry for the drying lines, swept out the mud she'd tracked in and washed her hands again to begin preparing the fish. She hesitated for a moment before grabbing her knife. Good, she understood the situation.

    She scraped the scales from the fish with the same intense focus Gon had broken his arm. So it was hereditary. She laid the fish on its side, deboning it and gutting it with a few sharp moves. She glanced at the fish as she set it aside, blindly reaching for another. Her hand found an empty countertop, and she turned to Illumi.

    "Could you go to the market and buy another salmon?"

    Illumi cocked his head to one side. She didn't seem unnerved. "Why?"

    "Because I have two people to feed tonight." She grabbed her apron, using it to wipe at the bits of fish on her hands.

    She’d moved on very quickly. She knew he was dangerous, she knew he was after her son by extension, but she didn’t know why. It was probably in her best interest to stay polite, in case he was there to help. But she knew about him, she knew his name. How much did she know? She was offering him dinner, so it couldn't be much.

    He could kill her and puppet her, but maintaining that concentration would be harder than just waiting for his brother to return. Maybe a few needles, to make her more obedient. The Zoldycks were made to have power in any case. 

    He tutted his tongue as it occurred to him Killua would notice if he ever came back, and that attention to detail was why he'd tried to cut his prodigy brother out of the mix in the first place. Everything would be so much more… cooperative when he'd stuck a few needles in Killua's brain. He was twirling a needle now, spinning it end over end between his fingers. 

    Killua would be the head of the family, of course. Tradition had to be upheld, and it was easier to deliver bad news through someone else's lips. And maybe, for some mysterious reason, Killua decided never to marry or officially sire that duty would just have to fall to the eldest relative. And after having a son who could be heir, Illumi could-

     Illumi noticed he was walking back up the hill, holding a bag in his other hand. He stopped, instinct stopping the needle he was holding in the throwing position. How had she done that? He stared at the ground, at the foot worn path back up the hillside and he waited for the feeling of nen to crawl over him.

    Instead, he remembered what happened; his memories creeping out from hidden places like they were ashamed. He was embarrassed to see them.

    She had just… asked him to go shopping again. He replayed it in his head over and over, trying to piece it together. He was distracted, thinking about the future, and she'd said, very firmly, "You're just going to sit there and think, go out to the store already!" He’d idly translated this, before saying "Guáng  jiē", repeating the verb to indicate he'd do as he was told.

    He'd only ever spoken Chinese with his mother and grandfather, and both of them spoke like that to him. Was that all it had taken?

    Illumi started walking again; his steps short and angry. No, that was quite impossible. He'd worked very hard to remove such needless extremities from the brutal, exact machinery of assassination. Emotional blindspots were a luxury he couldn’t afford. The six dozen needles he kept lodged in various parts of his body were supposed to help with that.

    He stopped, before digging his heel into the dirt with force enough to fold sheet metal. He was pouting, he knew he was pouting and he was basically stomping and whining, but it was a Command. A command he had listened to. He never wanted that to happen again, that's why he did any of this. Power is just the ability to say No.

      Mito was halfway down the glass before she caught herself. She was thinking about the boys again, about Gon and Killua. Apparently her hands had grabbed the bottle and a pair of glasses from the cupboard. Scotch. She licked her lips, trying to chase it’s cruel taste away. The scotch laid plans on it’s own; oiling the inside of her skull to send her brain skidding across it.

    They were probably in the forest somewhere, having an adventure. Chasing rumors and stipulation through the wild places. She scoffed at her own fantasy: it would be nice if the world worked like that, but it didn't. There were people out there, intelligent motivated people, who only wanted to hurt people. As she thought this to herself, she saw Illumi crest the top of the hill, gaunt form holding a gently swaying bag. He might kill her.

    She took another drink and her eyes watered; at the taste, at the smell, but mostly at the fact she hadn't been strong enough to dump out the glass. 

    She could still see his silhouette from the road. He was tall, must have been more than six feet. His hands, fingers long thin and agile, sprang into her mind. It was easy to imagine them slipping gently around her neck. She gripped the front of her dress and tried to make that a scary image.

3

    She was sitting at the table: brown skin and freckles, soft red hair cut short and strange. He gestured with the bag. She smiled at him.

    "Thank you."

    He made a noncommittal noise and nodded his head.

    She stood, before walking closer, but he cut her off, stepping smartly to the counter's edge and placing the bag down on it, before looking at her.

    "Yú."

    Mito nodded, and took one or two slow, lumbering steps to the counter. He couldn't be bothered to count for once, he was busy watching her face.

    You were supposed to be able to learn alot from watching someone's face, but Illumi had never quite got the trick of it. He could tell you what a face was like, if he liked looking at it and what it was doing, but had no idea what it was supposed to mean.

He could see the redness of her cheeks. The glassy, watery look in her eyes. Her eyelids were puffy as well, agitated and swollen. She took a short glance at him, before turning back to her fish and cutting board. 

A moment later she said, "If you're just going to stand there gawking, go and close the door."

    Illumi was halfway turned around when he caught himself. There it was again: that emotional blind spot. He turned back to her.

    "You keep doing that. Do you mean to?"

    Mito’s knife dug in at the base of the fish's spine, and froze there. Her eyes went wide looking at it. Fear was an expression he knew, but it was a volatile thing: it melted into other expressions and emotions so quickly it was useless to identify.

    "No." She said, after a pregnant pause.

    Illumi considered this, rolling it around in his mind, this way and that.

    "You're lying," he concluded.

4

    Fear pounded at the back of Mito's mind. She would have a headache from it later, if the scotch hadn't already taken care of that. He was looking at her like a child inspecting an ant. She wanted to be angry about this, but she was just scared. He could kill her.

    She mustered the will to look him in the eyes. They were dark brown,  she'd mistaken them for black from a distance. His nose was small and pointed. His mouth pressed into a thin, expressionless line. She looked away, back to the fish before deboning it.

    He was tapping his finger on the counter. His body was contorted, bent at nearly every joint to put his face next to hers. His hair drooled down onto the cooled burners, and his eyes bore a hole in the side of her face.

    She realized he was offended, and was waiting for her to apologize. She, an ant to his eyes, had told him to do something, and he'd done it. This was an affront to his power and oh, he's a boy. Roughly her age too, by the look of him. Boys never liked to be bossed around by a girl their own age; they were sensitive about that sort of thing.

    Her mother and father had met in a similar way, albeit less veiled threats and mysterious intentions. She had walked into the wrong house, and was halfway through making herself a snack before she noticed. From her father’s perspective, a beautiful woman had wandered in and started eating his food. 

It was like that, the scotch told her, before she tamped the thought down. The giddy feeling still bubbled up out from under her heel and let out of her in a soft teary giggle.

    "What's funny?" He asked finally.

    His tone was calm, speaking like the sound of an iced over lake cracking. Mito's brain whirred, and her hands gutted the fish on instinct. 

    "I was just thinking this almost feels like a date."

    She shouldn’t have said it. She should have kept it to herself, but the sickening taste of booze made her tongue eager to move.

    Illumi took a step back from her.

    Oh. Oh. Why had he never thought of that? He had never considered she could be useful. He was daydreaming instead of planning. After he'd puppeted Killua, after his father retired as head and Killua succeeded him, Illumi would need to sire the next heir. 

    She had clearly raised a capable son. She would, as was tradition, kill his mother and take her role as matriarch and teacher. He could sculpt the next generation through her. It would be so eloquent. The same person he used to establish his power would solidify it.

    Illumi sat at the table, brushing away imaginary dust.

    "I suppose it is." He said finally.

5

    They had never said a word.

    Illumi had sat across from her, taking seconds and thirds without a moment of eye contact or conversation. He seemed to be judging her by the food, taking a moment or two sometimes to slowly chew, or try a sauce in isolation. He didn’t speak, perhaps waiting for her to crack. She could feel him watching her when she looked away. It was like the feeling of a spider crawling up your back.

    Mito hadn’t spoken either, but she had no idea what to say. Her drunken suggestion had been taken all too seriously, and she really didn’t know what to do now that she had been taken up on it. What was she supposed to say? "Why do you want to kill my son?" The answer was obvious: Gon had stepped in Illumi's plans, sprinting down the muddy road towards Ging. He must have done it a hundred times on his journey.

    And what about Illumi? What did he want in any case? Why sit down to dinner? She had decided not to ask based on a parable Abe had once told her, about asking a tightrope walker how he kept his balance. If you asked the wrong question, someone could die.

    She dabbed at her mouth, cleaning the sauce and fat from the edges of her lip. Illumi looked up, fork laden with breaded fish and seared vegetables.

    "Can I help you?"

    It wasn't a rude thing to ask, and she was genuinely interested in the answer. He was on his third plate in any case, When someone's belly was full was the best time to ask probing questions.

    Illumi set his fork down.

    "Do you live alone here?"

    Mito stood sharply up, turning to wash her plate. His hand was around her wrist. Her brain sloshed angrily around in her head as she jerked to stop, mashing into one side and the other. The back of her eyes hurt too, stinging and aching in turns. She tugged against his gripping fingers, the joints in her arm threatening to dislocate as she pulled

    "You're very strong." He commented.

    She looked back at him.

    "Yes, I am. Those who live on Whale Island are hardy."

    She tried to spin the inflection so that it sounded like they were a community. The truth was that she was so strong because she worked the pole barges and row boats by herself, refusing to split her wages with anyone. They'd needed that money once; doctors were expensive on Whale Island. Now that Abe was gone, she did it for the principle of the thing. 

    "You're angry." He said, slightly accusing.

    "Never touch a woman without permission, you're liable to lose a hand."

    He looked at her, and then cracked into a smile. She tried to not to be fascinated by that smile.

    "You know I live alone," she finally answered.

    Illumi nodded, saying "yes, I suppose I did. I was waiting for you to lie to me."

    The anger and fear were mixing with something in her guts, probably the alcohol, and the mixture made her stomach froth with undigested butterflies. 

    “I don’t lie.”  she said, lying.

    “Then perhaps you’ll tell me the truth this time. Where is Gon Freecs?”

    He wasn’t squeezing her arm, just holding his hand in an implacable shape around it; only touching her skin when she pulled against him. She tried to think, but found her mind stumbling back and forth over the warm pressure of his hand around her wrist as she pulled. She was still drunk, the processes of her mind mummified by alcohol.

    “Do you really expect me to sell out my child?”

    Illumi hummed.

    “I hoped you would.”

    Mito snorted, “You don’t know me very well.”

    Illumi nodded, and said “I suppose I don’t, but I think you could be useful.”

    He added, after a moment, “I could make you tell me.”

    For the first time, he tightened his grip slightly around her wrist. It wasn’t a painful grip, like sailors would use, it was nearly promissory; implying he could squeeze much, much harder if he had to.

    She could struggle, but part of her suspected he would tear her arm from the socket and that would begin the pain. He’d reacted well to an offer of dinner, perhaps he would be willing to sit through more. Or he would get tired of the charade and break her arm. The heavy meal was sobering her quickly, and aggressively apparently. She licked her lips, and tried to pitch the tone right.

    “Drink with me.”

    Illumi browsed over her liquor cabinet, and she busied herself with the dishes. Her pulse jumped when she suggested it, which meant she may have poisoned them. At the same time, he had no idea what he was looking for, and it’s not as though poison would do much. There were bottles of various heights all crammed into the cabinet, and at least a dozen of them were identical and unlabelled: frosted glass and rounded edges. He tapped a finger on his chin, and turned to look at her by the sink.

    She was humming to herself. It was sad, and the tone tilted and swayed like a ship in the sea. He could feel his emotions stir inside their cage. One of the pins in his chest twinged, regulating his heartbeat. He looked back to the cabinet, before pulling out one of the identical bottles from the middle of the pack. He set it on the table as she wiped her hands on her apron.

    "You can pick one of the nicer boozes." She said lifting his bottle to  inspect it.

    Illumi cocked his head to one side.

    "Isn't it what you use the most of? I imagine you'd be less likely to poison those. Not that poison would do much mind you."

    She scoffed, and delicately bit the cork and pulled it loose with her teeth.

    "Boaster."

    She made a good point. Why had he told her that? It served no practical use to mention, it was better to wait for the taste of poison. His father had once mentioned that he believed everyone could be seduced by power. This probably wasn't the seduction he meant, but Illumi supposed it would work. He could show his power to her, informing her the differences of their abilities.

    Gently, he slid his fingers between hers, around the bottle. She turned slowly to face him, her other hand frozen while rooting through a cabinet for glasses. He took the bottle, pressing the mouth of it to his lips and drinking.

    The taste was unpleasant.

    He set the bottle on the table without looking at it. Her eyes were hazel, not the pure brown of her son. They were looking at him the way Hisoka looked at everyone, though perhaps not exactly the same. She wasn't like anyone else.  After having this thought, Illumi realized two things. 

    One, his mother should have trained their tolerances for poison more broadly. She had insufficiently trained them for what she called "low poisons," or poisons people generally used for entertainment. This would be rectified when Mito was matriarch.

    Two, whatever they were drinking was, at least legally speaking, unfit for human consumption. It had more in common with disinfectant alcohol than anything most humans could safely drink. Perhaps Gon's remarkable tolerance was genetic.

     She looked him in the eyes as she turned her head slightly away from him, lifting the bottle and pressing it to her lips. She drank silently and greedily, and when she turned back to him, her mouth smelled of pungent moonshine. He wanted to kiss it. Instead, he took the bottle back from her, feeling the skin of her hands a much as he could before she relaxed the neck into his grip, and took his own drink. 

    Chasing the imagined taste of her lips, he drained the bottle through his Adam's apple, feeling it burn in the backs of his eyes and the weight of his stomach. He hadn’t been truly poisoned in such a long time, the feeling was nearly pleasant. He sat at the table, deliberately and carefully setting down the bottle with the care of someone who doesn’t trust his fingers. He adjusted his ass, having apparently missed the chair the first time. He looked up at Mito expectantly.

    She grabbed another bottle, and a pair of glasses, before sitting across him, apparently less drunk. She poured each of them a generous glass of ethanol flavored like sulfur. She drank first, taking a long shallow drink of the stuff. He matched her pace, drinking less steadily and more deeply. He could feel the tight pressed spring of his instincts and reaction time starting to loosen. It made him feel vulnerable, insecure. 

She was pouring him another glass, hardly looking at him. He furrowed his brows looking at her, trying to read her face.

    “What are you thinking about?”

    The clear, reeking liquid stopped in it’s journey to his glass, the bottle turned at an angle to stop it. She chuckled slightly.

    “Gon and Killua,” she said.

    Another needle jammed into the base of Illumi’s throat twinged, stopping a hiccup before it formed.

    “He would be safer at home,” he said.

    Mito chuckled.

    “I don’t think Killua would see it that way.”

    Illumi shook his head, before taking another few swallows of the stuff. It hurt, and the needle he’d used to stop hiccups would twitch every few seconds, hurting him to inform he was drunk. The tears dried behind his eyes made it clear they wanted out.

    “ I’m not talking about Killua. Gon. The boy. Things would be easier for me too if he was home.”

    He finally drained the glass again, and as he set it down Mito refilled it, expression blank, staring off at his chest.

    “We want the same things,” he ventured finally.

    She chuckled. It sounded like windchimes 

    “Do we?”

    He nodded, ignoring the pain of bouncing his head.

    “Safety for the people we love. A future full of choice. Power.”

    She chuckled again. It sounded like rain tapping on the roof.

    “You’re a very sad man Mr. Zoldyck.”

    Illumi shook his head, making himself briefly dizzy.

    “Nuh-uh.”

    “Drink up.” she said, in that ordering tone of hers.

    Illumi pressed the rim of the glass to his mouth, and paused.

    “You’re poisoning me.” he said after a moment.

    Mito hummed a questioning sound.

    “You’re poisoning me.” he repeated.

    “No,” she mused, “you’re poisoning yourself.”

     He surged to his feet, but drunk he was too slow. Glass shattered and her hands were wrapped around his throat. She had to stand on tip toes to reach him. He could feel the cool edges of her fingernails scrape the skin. She’d overpowered him. A needle he’d stuck into his hip twinged, keeping his cock flaccid. They froze for a moment. 

    “What now?” he asked, airways unrestricted.

    Mito looked him in the eyes, before finally answering, “you’re drunk.” 

    Illumi nodded limply.

    She pushed and he keeled backwards, losing balance like he’d never had it to start. His view of the world sloshed and slid, like his eyes were made of water.

    Why had he played this game? He would have never challenged father, or Killua, or even Gon to it’s like. Perhaps his mother. Perhaps any other woman. Did the Zoldycks have blindspots just the same as everyone else? That was a worrying thought.

    Fortunately, his head impacted the floor a moment or two after he’d had it.

6

    Mito tried to find her balance, her equilibrium apparently as drunk as she was. It swayed and tottered as her feet danced the sailor’s two step, then five step, then steadied her. She’d had to put her full strength and weight into shoving him over. His skull had dented the flooring. She wound one leg back and swiftly kicked him between the legs.

    He didn’t make a noise, just rocked slightly in place. Then he was good and unconscious. She waddled drunkenly to his other end and tried to weave her arms under his armpits. It took a few tries, between drunken guesstimation and catching, vinyl fabric of his clothes. Once she had a grip, she crouched low and heaved. His body dragged and Mito took it with her as she took a few clumsy steps back.

    His ass caught on the doorframe. She hadn’t actually thought this out past this. What was she going to do with him? Drag him out to a sandbar and leave him to drown at high tide? Drop him face first into a puddle? Somehow it all felt cruel. He hadn’t hurt her, and the fact he would if he could was hard to hold against him, seeing him laid out. In any case, he had to get out of her house.

    She relaxed, letting his head hit the porch wood. She stretched out her back, wishing she hadn’t been so damn hard on her body when she was younger. She looked down at him. His shirt had hiked up to reveal skin across his stomach, equal parts toned and scarred. He clearly hadn’t had a terrific childhood either. He could just be a victim of circumstance.

    She stepped carefully around his sprawled arm, grabbing a tacky high heel shoe with each hand before stepping back. She heard his head impact the wall as she tried to rotate him through the door, watching his body curl to fit. With a last, less-than-safe heave, she pulled him though. He would likely be in a lot of pain tomorrow anyway. Would a hangover and mountain of bruises not suffice?

    She squatted low again, and a little sobered by the work, she tried to lift him. Carrying it like Abe’s bags of sweet trout, she laid him across her shoulders. He was dangerous, that much she could be certain. She could write a note, explaining he would be killed next time she saw him. But he was well mannered, human even, under the odd clothes and blank expression. She started waddling to the port. She wanted him off her island at the least.

    She found a secluded jetty, a few rowboats with sailor’s most complicated knots tying them to the docks. She picked hers, farthest inland and threw, as best she could, 200 pounds of murderer into it. He landed feet first, the boat keeling and splashing as his full weight hit the bow. In a moment of surprise, she found her hands reaching for her apron tie, ready to strip the excess fabric and dive in to save him. The boat steadied. 

She stepped in, carefully to avoid stepping on him. She let out a sigh. What now? She could row him to the Gzana, drop him at one of the hotels near the port. She hadn’t brought her coins, and she couldn’t risk him coming too while they were halfway there. She sighed, looking back at him.

He was pretty, and that might be the hardest part about killing him. It was a shallow reason to be sure, but she couldn't shake the feeling it would be wrong. The world would be a better place, but it wouldn't be the right place. She traced her hand along the line of his jaw, feeling the steady pump of blood. She hadn't killed people before, and it was supposed to change you to do so.

He was very pretty, lips softly parted and long black hair splayed out like an angel's halo. It mingled with the water, cast across the boat like the shadows of night. His eyes, wide and disconcerting, were closed.

She leaned down, careful to keep balance in the small row boat, and kissed him. Then she clambered back onto the pier, taking a sharp breath to bring down her blush.

One hand on the dock’s pillar for support, she got down on her knees to unmoor the boat, and, as an afterthought, snatched one of the oars, before gently shoving the boat out to sea with a bare foot

The tide around Whale Island is different than it is around most land masses; the sea seems to ignore it, like a sandbar or a sea stack. On clear night at low water, it's as good as riptide for getting out to sea. Mito watched as the horizon, blurred by fading moonlight, swallowed her small boat.

7

    Illumi awoke to the scream of seagulls and the piercing pain of his headache. There were other aches and pains, spread out like paint smears across his body. Without open his eyes, fearing he would be blind with pain and sunlight, he stuffed his hand in his pocket and withdrew a needle, sticking it carefully between the ridges of his spine. The pain stopped, and he dared to open his eyes.

    A sky blue dress with clouds of bleach and flour.

The needle in his spine was not something he liked to use, he was liable to forget it was there, and pain was useful for keeping track of damage, but worst of all it stopped his other needles from hurting. The only way he knew his heart rate picked up was the feeling of it, hammering in his chest. He sat up.

The ocean surrounded him, featureless. He might have imagined it was heaven or hell if not for the smell; too imperfect to be either. He withdrew his phone from one pocket, turning it on to ascertain his location.

He’d missed messages from his father. That would be trouble, but it could wait. He flipped on the GPS, and tried not to sigh. He was nowhere near anything, floating in the international waters between Azia and Yorbia. He looked around, trying to take stock of what he had. One oar, an empty tackle box, and his phone.

Only one oar. Quaint. It left him unable to row his boat, only to meander in circles. No doubt it was a popular way for amateurs to kill, they generally don't enjoy the crunchy parts of the work.

For a moment, he considered calling his family for help, but he knew better than that. He took a few minutes to braid his hair, holding the phone in his teeth, before stripping and folding his clothes in the boat. For a moment he took the phone in his hand, ensuring he understood the direction he had to go, before smashing against the floor of the boat. It would never survive the journey.

He tried not to think about her, and found it vexingly difficult. She could have killed him. She should have, by all rights. He was a danger to everything she held dear. He cracked his neck, then his shoulders, then his back.

She should have killed him. Why hadn’t she?

He dived.

[nervousladytraveler]

The Distance Between Us

A quickie, inspired by social distancing fanfic prompts courtesy of @jomiddlemarch   This chapter contains: bleach, handshake, home, song, toilet paper, quarantine (soap, social, & kindness implied). 

A/N: Covid-19 related, so if that’s too raw for you, I get it, scroll on by. Also “Do It Clean” is by Echo And The Bunnymen ℗ 1980 Warner Music UK Ltd. 

Listen here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wjbTCI8o0X4

Chapter One: Deep Clean

Ross Poldark turned the key in the lock then tossed his case inside ahead of him. He was exhausted. Tired of working fourteen plus hour days, tired of international flights longer than that, and most recently he’d grown tired of worrying about the uncertain state of the world around him. But whatever dangers he’d been exposed to over the past week, he currently showed no signs of illness, and most importantly he was home. Now he could self isolate, pour himself a nice single malt, and just be alone.

He stepped into the hallway of his flat but whatever comfort he might have derived from being in his own space was immediately deflated. The place reeked of citrus and bleach, sharp and cloying smells that tingled in his nose and caught in his throat. The windows in this high rise block only opened a few inches but surely the cleaning woman could have still managed that or thought to air the place out some other way? A fan maybe?

Of course she wouldn’t. Ross hadn’t much faith in Prudie, the woman who’d been cleaning his flat for over a year, and had grown accustomed to her shoddy work. The truth was he felt somewhat sorry for her. On the first day she arrived she spilled her life story--she worked long hours at crap pay to support an alcoholic husband. Ross suspected if he gave her a poor rating with the service who sent her, she might get sacked, so instead he said nothing. To his chagrin they interpreted that to mean he was satisfied and sent her regularly from that point on. But it mattered little. Ross lived alone and was generally a tidy person so there wasn't much she really had to do week to week. In fact he was somewhat surprised she managed to be as thorough as she had today. Then again he had put in a special order with the service for a deep clean.

“And she’s left the lights on too,” he grumbled. He moved further into the flat and saw they were blazing in all the rooms. That’s when he heard it.

“I've been here, there, everywhere

Here there nowhere

Iszy bitzy witzy itzy everywhere

I've been here and I've been there…”

A voice, high and sweet was coming from another room. Mostly on key, with only a little wobble on the harmony, that was immediately followed by a giggle then spirited humming.

Ross followed the song to the small but well-appointed galley kitchen down the hall. That’s when he saw her.

A woman, most certainly not Prudie, was down on her knees, wiping the sparkling tile floor, her backside facing Ross as he stood in the doorway. He felt a tinge of shame that his initial thought was that whoever she was, she had a rather attractive bum, noticeable through the jeans she wore. She had a tangle of red hair twisted back into a loose knot but a few soft curls had escaped and moved when she did. She had earbuds in which is why she hadn't heard him creep up on her but must have sensed she was no longer alone and turned her head with a start.

“Oh!” she said loudly, then promptly lost her balance and fell, the beautiful bum now planted on the wet floor. She yanked an ear bud out and stared up at Ross with wide, scared eyes. He noticed they were the same sparkling blue as the bottle of Windolene she was still holding.

“Sorry to startle you,” he said at once and stepped forward to offer her a hand, then stopped himself. He didn't want to sully her impressive work with his dirty shoes--and he had to get it through his thick skull that hand shaking was absolutely a thing of the past. “I’m Ross Poldark. I live here. I assume the service sent you?” he added, eyeing the red pinny she wore over a long sleeved black t shirt.

“Oh, Mister Poldark,” she said quickly and got to her feet. “So sorry, sir. We weren’t expectin’ you until Tuesday,” she said apologetically. “But I’m almost done and I can be out of here shortly…”

“No worries,” he tried to reassure her. “I had to cut my travels short because of the…”

“Yes, of course. Flights are all mostly cancelled I heard. You’re lucky you made it home at all,” she said, apparently no longer terrified he was an intruder. He was glad to see her smile, and curiously felt a warmth wash over him, a light relief that he hadn’t felt in days.

“You’re not Prudie,” he said.

“No, sir, I’m not. She was feelin’ poorly so she was told to stay home,” she explained.

“Prudie’s sick?” he asked, concerned.

“No more than a sniffle. Nothin’ to be worried about, I’m sure.” Now she was reassuring him. “I’m Demelza,” she added.

Ross recognised her accent the more she spoke. It had been a long time since he’d heard such rich Cornish tones, and he felt a homesickness he hadn’t experienced in years.

“Well, I’m sorry to have interrupted your work, Demelza,” he said and managed a smile.  “I’m going to unpack and then take a hot shower. That is, if I won’t be in your way?”

“Oh, no sir!” she said brightly. ”I’ve already cleaned the bathroom. Deep clean, just as you requested. And you needn’t fret about running out of loo rolls, Mister Poldark--you’ve got plenty,” she winked playfully.

“Please, call me Ross,” he said. “Being called ‘sir’ just makes me feel old.”

“No one likes to feel old.”

She’d replied with such a knowing sigh that made Ross curious of her own age. It was hard to gauge. The shapeless pinny would make anyone appear frumpy, though her pretty face--completely free of any makeup--looked young. Perhaps she was a student who also did cleaning to get by. But she’d been listening to Echo and the Bunnymen, which suggested she might be older than he’d initially thought.

“Well it was nice to meet you, Ross. Welcome home.” She smiled again and Ross wondered how he might diplomatically arrange to have her as his regular cleaning woman, instead of Prudie.

----

Still knackered but nevertheless relaxed, Ross walked into the dim living room dressed only in a towel. He regretted leaving wet footprints on the polished floors but at least his bare feet were clean. He was finally alone and ready to bask in the solitude he’d been craving for days. The solitude that was necessary given his potential exposure over the past week. How many conference rooms and airports had he been in since last Thursday?

As much as he had enjoyed his brief encounter with the new cleaner, he regretted that he’d had any contact with her under these circumstances. But there was most likely nothing to worry about. She’d been wearing marigolds and he’d kept at least six feet away from her.  Still, perhaps he should reach out to let her know the risks all the same. Would the cleaning service even give him her number? Most likely not but they could pass on a message.

He’d been around countless airport security agents as well, and then there was the taxi driver--so why did Demelza feel different to him? Was it that they were nameless or that he’d met her in his own home?

He poured the whisky he’d also been craving but before he took a sip, heard his mobile buzz.

Damn! This is getting very real, very fast, he thought when he saw the message that had scrolled across his screen. He took a drink, only now it wasn’t a sip but a hearty slug meant to offer some courage.

Then the doorbell rang, shattering the silence. It was unexpected and unwanted. He didn’t relish the idea of having to dress or see anyone. Well, whomever was calling would not be invited in. He was unwavering on that score.

Ross pushed the button on the video intercom system and was surprised, and also a little pleased to see just who had rung.

“Demelza!” he said and threw open the door without hesitation. So much for his resolution.

“I’m sorry, Mister Poldark..erm, Ross, so sorry!” She was near tears. He stepped aside to allow her in, carefully maintaining his distance.

“What is it? Are you hurt?” he asked, wishing he could touch her arm or even hold her hand to offer consolation. She was clearly distressed.

“The Underground. And the buses,” she began breathlessly. “All public transport has been shut down, and I...I don't have any way to get home. I was gonna start walkin’ but it’s so far, it would take hours. And then the streets were so empty and I just felt really...unsafe. I didn't know what else to do, where else to go...” Her voice wobbled and her eyes were wet.

“No, no. It was the right thing to do. Come in, please,” he said, then suddenly grew aware that he was wearing just the towel. That didn't seem to faze her though, she’d been so rattled, caught off guard by how suddenly things had shifted. And he had other news to share with her, another turn of the screw.

“Demelza, you are welcome to stay here. Well, I mean you have to stay here. There’s just been a declaration. We’ve all just been asked to stay home. Required in fact. All of us are..”

“Like under house arrest?” she cried.

“Quarantined.”

“Oh,” she said, still reeling from the shock.

“There’s only one bedroom--and only the one bed--but you can have the sofa,” he offered. “I need to be honest with you. I’ve just come from the States--the west coast--and so as a precaution I’ll need to keep away from you.”

She said nothing but bit her lip as she puzzled out her next move.

“But then again, you of all people know the flat is clean,” he tried laughing.

“Well, then,” she said finally. “I’d better go wash my hands.”

------

[rainandhotchocolate]

Tension - Part 3

A/N Hello all! Here is part 3 to Tension :)) It’s a bit of a filler but I promise there is more sirius time coming hehe enjoy!

~~~~~

Remus was released from the hospital wing three days later, though his curtains remained closed throughout the time he spent there, in case anyone noticed him missing each evening.

Y/N leaned against the doorway to the hospital wing, her hands tucked into her sleeves to avoid the cool breeze that was drifting in through the windows. Fresh air my ass, Madame P she thought, her teeth beginning to chatter.

“You ready, Remmy?”

“As I’ll ever be,” Remus said the most clichéd thing he could think of, stepping out from behind the curtains and giving her finger guns.

“Ready to gorge yourself on pumpkin pie?”

“Yep, just need Pomfrey to sign me out.”

“Ugh, she always takes 3 years.”

“Yeah well you better make yourself scarce, we don’t need her knowing that you know that –“

“Yeah I know, don’t worry. I’ll meet you at the Great Hall,” Y/N shot him a grin, “Better hurry though I’m also craving mashed potatoes.”

“So help me merlin, if there’s no mash left I will forget to go into the shack next month,” Remus teased, his eyes narrowing. Y/N winked at him, turning away to walk towards the smell of roast wafting towards her from the Great Hall.

Remus met her at the Slytherin table 20 minutes later, his face flushed from the cold wind coming in from the front doors, squishing himself in between Y/N and Olivia Greengrass who had been telling Y/N about the fight that had broken out the night before between Severus and Lucius.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen Snape that determined to stand up to him, he must really have a thing for that Gryffindor girl.”

“Man, I wished I could have seen that,” Y/N shook her head at Olivia, giving Remus a smile as he sat down.

“Seen what?”

“Apparently Severus and Lucius had a little tiff last night over his friendship with Lily going against their pureblood manifesto,” Olivia had dropped her voice at the last few words, clearly worried they might be overheard teasing the self-proclaimed death eaters and their ever terrifying views on the blood traitors throughout Hogwarts.

“Doing the right thing for once at least,” Remus reasoned, scooping heaps of mashed potatoes, green beans, broccoli, and lamb onto his plate.

“I don’t know if sparing one muggle-born for being pretty is exactly doing the right thing,” Y/N murmured, grimacing.

“Either way, I’m very sure Lucius nearly hit him, but it seems that Severus has a little more hold over him than we expected,” Olivia leaned in again, clearly loving how Y/N and Remus were lapping in the gossip.

“Well, that certainly is new information.”

“Yeah, I wonder if perhaps our theory about – ahem – youknowwho” Olivia looked around momentarily before speaking the name almost too fast for Y/N to understand it.

“Hardly a theory, Liv,” Y/N snorted, “You were at the last fun ol’ purebloods ball, Bellatrix was basically gripping onto his arm for dear life.”

“Let’s keep hoping he isn’t recruiting 16-year olds, can we?” Remus sighed, still scooping large buttery spoonfuls of mash into his mouth. Y/N gave him a sour look but changed the subject regardless, asking Liv whether she was still dating the Yaxley boy in the year above.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning felt like a blur. Remus was energetic for the first time in a week and had made her quiz him the whole way down to breakfast and in between their Potions and Transfiguration classes.

“Ok, how do you duplicate an object,” Y/N placed her bag behind the wooden chair at the front of the class, where Remus preferred to sit for his favourite class with Professor McGonagall.

“Geminio, but you need to focus on the size in order to ensure that it doesn’t shrink or enlarge when duplicated,” Remus reeled off, grinning a little superiorly at Y/N, “Gotta have something a little harder than that.”

“You quiz yourself then,” Y/N grumbled, taking a seat and pulling out her books as Professor McGonagall began writing across the blackboard.

“With OWLs coming up and career sessions with your head of house this week, the other professors and I have decided that it would be a good idea to start increasing some inter-house comradery. To do this, we will be putting you all into groups of four, with two houses in each, to compete together for a common goal – completing the best project across the core classes.” Professor McGonagall watched them all closely from behind her glasses as if daring someone to complain.

“Will there be a prize?” Sirius called out, elbowing James in the ribs with excitement.

“Can we choose our team members?” James followed turning around to wink at a very annoyed looking redhead that Y/N recognised as Lily Evans, James’ obsession.

“I would feel sorry for Lily if she wasn’t beating you in every class,” Y/N whispered to Remus, sniggering when he shot her a look.

“Since you, four seem to be so excited about this project, why don’t you become my first group,” Professor McGonagall spoke sharply, but Y/N was sure there was a twinkle in her eye. Regardless, Y/N felt her shoulders droop, and Remus’ tense beside her, obviously remembering their reaction to his affliction a few nights ago.

“Keep your enemies closer right?” Y/N muttered to Remus who was taking deep calming breaths, staring at the place where McGonagall had begun writing names up on the blackboard.

“What if they tell people? They looked ready to attack me if I hadn’t passed out.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll hex them so hard they’ll not leave the Hospital Wing for several weeks if they so much as make a joke about it.”

“I can’t not worry, they –”

“Are not worth your time. We just need to get through this project and can go back to ignoring them ok? If anything I bet we will end up doing it all ourselves.”

Remus seemed to calm at that, but with the full moon’s effects still very present within him Y/N couldn’t help but grip his hand tightly under the table.

“Can all groups please now introduce each other? We will be explaining the tasks this afternoon once they are finalised.”

Remus and Y/N turned to face Sirius and James who were gathering their things to join them at the front of the classroom.

“So, team full moon at it again!” James grinned down at the two of them, throwing his bag carelessly on the floor beside them.

“Can you please shut up for one second, Potter,” Y/N rolled her eyes at him, hoping her expression gave an air of annoyance.

“Oh, last name basis, we’ve been downgraded,” Sirius pouted, bobbing down so that he could place his two arms across their desks and lean his head over his hands.

“Can we please just organise a time to meet about this project,” Remus said exasperatedly, pulling out his diary and pen, watching them expectantly.

“Alright, I have Quidditch practise Mondays and Wednesdays, and potentially Sunday nights if Prewett has another panic attack before the semi’s.”

“I’ve got practice Tuesdays and Thursdays,” Y/N bit her lip, looking apologetically over at Remus.

“Well I’ve just got tutoring on Mondays,” Remus hummed, writing the dates down with a furrowed brow.

“And we can’t do the next two Fridays,” Sirius elbowed James who was about to protest and shut up quickly. Y/N opened her mouth to ask why but Remus cut her off.

“Ok, whatever, so that leaves Saturdays to work on this thing.”

“Or we could just do this separately and combine at the end?” Y/N smiled hopefully but saw McGonagall narrow her eyes at them from the front of the classroom.

“I expect better than that from you Ms Malfoy.”

“Yes, Professor,” Y/N mumbled, turning back to the page Remus had used to write down all their commitments.

“We definitely don’t want McGonagall thinking poorly of us,” James winked again, this time at Y/N who scowled.

“Well, I don’t know how we are going to get this done on one day with all our other work.”

“Why don’t we split it up between us – Y/N and me will do some on Mondays and Remus and James can meet on Thursdays? Then if we have anything to add we can hang on Saturdays, even though I’d much rather be in Hogsmeade,” Sirius had stood up and slung his bag over his shoulder as if anticipating McGonagall’s dismissal of the class.

“It’s not even a Hogsmeade weekend,” Remus huffed, closing his diary, “But yes ok that sounds ok.”

“It’s not Hogsmeade weekend for you maybe,” Sirius waggled his eyebrows, “Great, Y/N I’ll meet you in the library after dinner on Monday.”

“Great,” Y/N forced a smile, picking up the rest of her books.

“Class, I expect you have gotten to know each-others names and timetables so you can find some time to work together on this project. Expect to see each professor’s tasks on your house notice board by this evening or tomorrow morning latest – Dismissed!”

“Well that went terribly,” Remus watched the two boys saunter out of the classroom, chatting animatedly about something that was likely a semi-dangerous prank.

“I mean if anything it went as good as expected,” Y/N snorted, “And worst case, we know we could out-prank them any day, so if they screw with us we screw with them.”

“Deal,” Remus barked a laugh as James began overtly staring at Lily Evans whose arm was looped into a girl with bleach blonde hair whom Y/N didn’t recognise.

“Come on, let's find your chocolate stash, I think I heard Narcissa mention that a new David Bowie album was released, I bet we can steal it from them for the evening.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Monday came around much faster than Y/N had hoped, and as she trudged towards the library after waving Remus off to his tutoring session she felt her stomach curl. This would be the first time in, well maybe in forever, that she would be spending one on one time with Sirius Black. If anything, this was the first time she would probably have a conversation with him since all those dinner parties before they set foot in Hogwarts.

“Ahhh, you came!” Sirius smiled at her, looking up from the book he was reading as she walked in.

“You were expecting otherwise?” Y/N had the sudden thought that he might be just as awkward as she was in this situation. Though he was the one who’d ignored her that first day on the train.

“Of course not,” He continued to smile, pulling out a chair for her and sitting down opposite. It was a little unnerving watching him be so nice to her, considering her last memory was him essentially telling her to fuck off, and ignoring her at pureblood events ever since.

“You ok?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile that much,” Y/N laughed, pulling out her notebook and a couple of books she’d borrowed the day before to get a heads up on the project.

“Well you clearly haven’t seen me in very enjoyable environments,” He barked out a laugh and pulled the books over towards him, “I see you’ve been doing your homework.”

“Well, this is a school project.”

“Mmmm, so have you and Remus already decided on what we are doing?”

Y/N rolled her eyes at him.

“We are aware this is a group project, I promise.”

“Good, cause James and I have some great ideas as well,” He winked, flicking through the largest book sitting in front of him, Watching the World: Charms in Government.

“Nothing super legal I’m sure.”

“They may bend the law a bit,” Sirius grin seemed to curl across his face, his eyes twinkling and mischievous.

“Alright let's hear them,” Y/N sighed, pulling out a pen and readying herself for an onslaught of ridiculous.

“Ok, so you know how the project requires us to pick either a creature to take care of, or a spell, or a potion to create.”

“I did read it through yes.”

“Ok, ok, but what if we did something that would tie two of them together. Hear me out! Ok so what if we make a spell that can track all the animals within the Hogwarts grounds? Something that would let Kettleburn trace of where they all are since he seems to lose them all the time.”

Y/N stopped herself from staring a little bit, shocked at the interest that came like a wave over her. It was a genuinely intriguing idea and was kind of similar to her own thoughts, but more to track Remus when he wandered the gardens, keep him safe and away from harm's way. Or putting someone else in harm's way.

“What?” Sirius looked a little concerned, the idea obviously, something he had been genuinely excited about.

“No, nothing. It’s a really good idea.”

“Oh, ok cool,” Sirius looked excited, and not in the way that she’d seen previously when he was waiting and watching for one of his pranks to happen in the Great Hall. There was something else in the way he was looking at her, something she thought that she recognised from another time, a way he’d looked at her when they’d been forced to converse at a dinner party and he’d snuck her a chocolate bar under the table with a discreet smile.

“Alrighty then, let's get started.”

Taglist:  @averytruerayofsunshine @siriuslyjanhvi @blushingskywalker @blackpinkdolan @thebabblingbookworm @cherrie511 @imlukesnirvana​ @avengersassemblee​ @maraudersandco​ @sly-vixen-up2nogood​ @katbernoulli @sirius-lysad​ @evyiione​ @minerva26love​ @aikeia​ @gollyderek​ @greatwombatblaze​  @songforhema​  @your-typical-giggle

@desideriaenigma

  @laue-bb  @fk12b @slytherpuffgal   @fairtaldes

@j-brielmalfoy

[marshmallowbirb]

Leader of the Pack

Title: Leader of the Pack Series: Bleach Rating: PG 13 / K+ Summary: Grimmjow and Nel stop by the human world, and this time Ichigo is the one to get the surprise. Pairing: IchiHime, GrimmNel

The sky was nearly cloudless that September afternoon. Kurosaki Ichigo leaned back into the park bench as he watched the birds fly soundlessly overhead. His lovely wife leaned against his shoulder, his arm slung around her back. Orihime watched their four year old son, Kazui, run along the grass after the dragonflies, wielding a stick as a zanpakuto. He'd been cautioned against yelling “bankai" in public,  but it was obvious to Ichigo what the boy was doing anyway.

Normally Orihime brought Kazui out to the park by herself, but this time Ichigo had come along with them on her suggestion. It was the weekend and he had nowhere better to be. Furthermore, apparently Orihime had set up a play date with one of her friends and their son, and figured Ichigo would want to meet them, too. She was being strangely tight-lipped about who they were meeting, but Ichigo didn't think too much of it; she probably thought he'd be pleasantly surprised. In that case, he was content to play along with his bubbly wife's antics.

Just as Kazui had persuaded a dragonfly to land on his “zanpakuto", Ichigo saw the boy suddenly look up towards the sky. Just a split second later, he felt it too. Someone had opened a garganta nearby. Although it was masked – poorly, at that – he could clearly feel the presence of multiple Arrancar. Just as he was about to stand up to investigate, Orihime covered his hand with hers.

“Oh, it looks like they're here!” she said with a smile. Ichigo sat back onto the bench and gave his wife a curious look. While he trusted Orihime implicitly, sometimes she was just a little… flighty. Most of the Arrancar in Hueco Mundo were peaceful enough now that Aizen was confined beneath Soul Society, but that still didn't explain why Orihime had apparently scheduled a play date with them in the human world. Ichigo had precious little time to ruminate on the question before the Arrancar in question had reached their bench.

“Well, well!” the all-too-familiar voice growled, much to Ichigo's chagrin. “If it isn't Kurosaki Ichigo! I've been waiting to see you for a while!” If anyone else had said it, Ichigo would have almost been flattered. But considering who was speaking, he was mostly annoyed. He'd be lucky instead if this didn't end in a fight.

“Grimmjow,” Ichigo huffed, failing to notice Orihime's smile and small wave. It wasn't Grimmjow that she was waving at, though.

“Hi, Ichigo! Hi, Orihime!” At this, Ichigo actually looked up to see who else was there. It was Neliel, who gave a little waggle of her fingers in a wave when he looked at her. Neither one were dressed for combat. Grimmjow wore a black leather jacket, a white tank top, jeans with a couple of chains dangling from the pockets, and the black steel-toed boots he'd gotten right after he started working with Urahara. Neliel wasn't dressed much differently, although she naturally looked less like she was about to terrorize a small town on a modded motorcycle. Needless to say, Ichigo was at least a little confused about why these two had appeared.

“Hi, Nel,” he said, brows puckering. “…I don't get it, Orihime. You said this was a play date.” Grimmjow turned his head with a “tch", but Neliel’s grin grew brighter. Just at that moment, as Kazui reached them to investigate, something popped up behind Grimmjow's shoulders. Ichigo's eyebrows quirked as he processed what he was seeing.

Judging from the piece of bone mask on the top of its head, it was an Arrancar. Underneath its little bone crown was a messy head of mint-colored hair, and peeping out from underneath those sprigs was a bright pair of green eyes. Ichigo wasn't exactly sure of the specifics of Arrancar genetics, but it was hard not to see the strong resemblance between this kid and the tiny Nel that Ichigo had first met in Hueco Mundo ten years ago.

“What the hell,” Ichigo muttered under his breath, earning a pout from Orihime.

“Language,” she reminded him quietly, tossing a glance at Kazui, who was grinning. Ichigo looked nervously at his son, whom he just knew had stored that swear for later. He suspected the Arrancars cared much less, though.

“Surprised, Kurosaki?” Grimmjow said with a sinister grin. What was undeniably his child giggled and bounced a bit, undercutting his intensity considerably. Ichigo, knowing that any onlookers might see him gesturing to thin air, sputtered and waved a hand in the Arrancars' direction.

“How… How did that happen?!” Grimmjow's grin got wider, if that was even possible, and Neliel got a mischievous twinkle in her eye. Ichigo realized immediately that he was in dangerous territory. “Never mind, I know how it happened, I just didn't realize Arrancar could… you know!” This reaction was probably exactly why Orihime had decided to spring this on him.

“Daddy, Mama!” Kazui brought Ichigo's attention back down, where the child was tugging at his knee. “Can he come play?” Completely defused, Ichigo turned towards the Arrancar with his eyebrows arched in an obvious question. Neliel responded with an expression of open joy before turning to pluck the child from Grimmjow's back.

“Sure!” she replied, setting the smaller hollow on the ground. “Have fun, Stinky!” Grimmjow visibly bristled.

“I told you, that's not his name!” The Arrancar boy ran towards the open field Kazui had been playing in, oblivious to his father's barking.

“Come catch me!” he called behind to the redheaded boy. As they recessed into the field, their parents were free to talk.

“Is that his nickname?” Ichigo asked skeptically. While Grimmjow sneered, Neliel seemed perfectly chipper.

“Yes!”

“Nope!”

“I think it's cute,” Orihime chirped, suppressing a giggle. Ichigo could see that this topic irritated Grimmjow, so of course he decided to press it.

“So what’s his real name?” He could barely keep from smirking himself.

“Leorides K Jaegerjacques!”

“Stinky Vol Odelscwank!”

They answered at the same time, each as loud as the other, and then immediately began arguing. It was entirely predictable and reminded Ichigo of the time he'd first met little Nel with her brothers. Grimmjow had apparently been assimilated into their family, probably not entirely willingly.

“I told you, woman! ‘Stinky' is not a name fit for a future king! My son has to have a name he can be proud of!”

“It's perfectly fine! He can pick one for himself later if he doesn't like it. Besides, it's descriptive!”

The more-or-less human couple watched with interest. It was obvious from the lack of reaction of the other families in the park that the Arrancar hadn't bothered to wear gigai today, for which Ichigo was exceedingly grateful at that moment. But he also noticed something else. Although Grimmjow was sneering and snarling and as angry as Ichigo had ever seen him, his spiritual pressure was no more intense than it usually was. Was this for show, or was there something wrong with him?

“Hmm,” Orihime hummed, distracting Ichigo from the two hollows (one of whom was resorting to biting). “You don't think we should let Kazui-kun choose his own name when he gets older, do you?” Ichigo quirked his eyebrow. It seemed that Neliel and Orihime might have somewhat similar parenting styles.

“I'd hope he'd be proud of it and want to keep it,” he mused in return. “I mean, it's got the same character as mine and his granddad's, you know?” Orihime looked thoughtful.

“That's true,” she said. “He might come up with something better, though!” Ichigo smiled at his wife.

“Well, if he does, he can decide on it,” he replied, patting Orihime's knee. The altercation beside them had drawn down into a headlock, with Neliel having Grimmjow in a submission hold on his knees. Finally, the two hollows regained Ichigo and Orihime's attention, who both regarded them impassively.

“Oh, did you work it out?” Orihime chimed cheerily. Grimmjow growled and Neliel beamed. In that moment, it all made sense to Ichigo; probably the only one who could get Grimmjow in that position was Neliel. Smiling, Neliel released her grip on her partner, who rose to his feet. Ichigo mentally noted that he didn't look like he wanted to continue.

“Tch,” Grimmjow spat quietly. “If we were back home, I'd have shown you a thing or two.” Neliel shrugged him off breezily.

“Don't worry about him,” she said cheerily, “He's grumpy sometimes. Anyway, it's great to see you both again! And your kid! He's so big now!”

“It's great to see you, too!” Orihime chirped, leaning forward. “Oh! I have a great idea! Nel-chan, let's go get ice cream!” Neliel’s expression changed then; it was almost imperceptible, but Ichigo caught it. His eyebrow rose, but he said nothing. Neliel’s eyes darted from Orihime to Grimmjow and back quickly.

“Grimmjow?” she said hesitantly. Grimmjow rolled his eyes.

“Do what you want,” he groused, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I'm not gonna start a fight.” The tone of his voice suggested they'd had this conversation before. Neliel hesitated for another second before smiling towards Orihime.

“Okay!” she chirped, traipsing over to Orihime to pull her up from the bench. “I've never had ice cream before! What is it?” The two women began to walk as they chatted casually about what kind of ice cream to get. Ichigo would have felt sorry for Neliel, but he figured she might have the same tastes as Orihime. Not for the first time, he quietly marveled at his wife's ability to befriend anyone, hollow or not.

“Huh,” Ichigo puffed as he watched them recede down the sidewalk, “Arrancar can eat normal food, too, I guess.” Grimmjow huffed as he flopped onto the bench in the place Orihime had just vacated.

“Of course we can, dumbass,” Grimmjow tsked. “Aizen used to make us sit through these lame-ass tea parties whenever he called meetings. At least the tea was good.” Ichigo probably had the wrong mental image, but the idea of Aizen hosting tea parties made him nearly snort. Still, that brought up another point that Ichigo found interesting.

“You get to talk like that around the kid?”

“Neliel is worse,” Grimmjow replied with something bordering awe for a moment before his normal demeanor returned. “Not in the same way, though. I mean… you know how she is.” Ichigo was immediately reminded of how upsetting the constant dick jokes were when he first met the smaller Nel. More than that, it was almost eerie how… normal Grimmjow seemed, talking like this. Like a normal dad, dealing with normal adult life. Knowing Grimmjow like he did, it was deeply surreal.

“Speaking of that,” Ichigo said slowly, eyes narrowing, “You're good to her, right? You don't hit her or anything, do you?” If it had been anyone else, Ichigo would never have phrased it that way. But it was Grimmjow, so subtlety was off the table. Grimmjow snorted and didn't seem terribly offended either way. If Ichigo had to guess, the Arrancar probably had no concept of “domestic violence". Still, Neliel was his friend and he wanted to be sure Grimmjow wasn't treating her badly.

“What are you, her dad?” the blue-haired man shot back, rolling his eyes. “Any time I try to fight with her, she shuts me down. I know I could take her, but she won't even let me try!” Ichigo's expression turned flat, but he relaxed anyway.

“That… wasn't what I asked, but you answered my question anyway,” he deadpanned. It was pretty clear that the two Arrancar didn't have the same kind of relationship he and Orihime had, but it seemed like they were alright together. Grimmjow looked thoroughly unimpressed.

“Whatever,” he grunted, crossing his legs. “Just ‘cause you got all flabby and lazy doesn't mean we all did.”

“Hey!” Ichigo protested, honestly feeling just a bit insulted, “I'm not flabby! I just have a job and responsibilities and all that boring adult crap now!” Grimmjow seemed to be pretending not to have heard him.

“I mean, look at me!” he said smugly, pointed canines glinting. “I still fight all the time, protectin’ our territory and shit.” Ichigo felt his eye twitch.

“You live in a place full of hollows that are constantly trying to eat each other,” he intoned flatly.

“That's what I'm sayin',” Grimmjow replied, rolling his eyes. “That's why humans are weak! You guys don't even chase each other, how are you gonna keep in shape?” As if on cue, their two sons ran right in front of the bench they were occupying, laughing raucously as they went.

“Konsoooooo!” Kazui shrieked, flailing his zanpakuto stick wildly. Leorides cackled while gasping for air, snot and tears trailing behind him.

“You'll never catch me, Soul Reapeeeeer!”

“Dammit, boy,” Grimmjow yelled, leaning forward on the bench, fists clenched, “Don't run! Fight back!” Ichigo didn't so much as lean forward. In fact, he almost wanted to laugh.

“Hurry and catch him, Kazui!” he called cheerily. “Don't let him get away!” Of course the kids didn't seem to hear their fathers. They retreated back towards the open field, shrieking with laughter as they went. None of the other human families seemed to notice anything out of the ordinary.

“Heh,” Ichigo smirked, leaning back on the bench. “He takes after Nel.” Grimmjow bristled as much as Ichigo knew he would.

“Yeah, but he's my heir, dammit!” Grimmjow snarled, barely opening his mouth. “He needs to be a better fighter already.” It was less a harsh demand and more a disgruntled complaint.

“C’mon, Grimmjow, he's like three.” Then Ichigo thought for a second. “Did you really become the King of Hueco Mundo?” Ichigo asked skeptically. “I thought Hallibel…”

“Yeah, yeah, she runs the place,” he shrugged. “I don't care about all that ‘government' crap, so we get along fine.” Ichigo had really begun to doubt that Grimmjow knew exactly what a king was or did, but he had suspected that for some time. He also didn't want to press the point.

“Hard to see you ‘getting along' with anyone,” Ichigo remarked, stifling a laugh.

“She doesn't bother me and I don't bother her,” he snorted as though it were the simplest thing in the world. “Neliel's always on my ass about one thing or another, so I have to make her back off. Not like that woman of yours.” Ichigo raised an eyebrow but let it slide; he doubted Arrancar really had much of a concept of marriage outside of maybe knowing the word.

“Speaking of,” Grimmjow segued, turning to look at Ichigo with a combination of barely restrained glee and maliciousness, “I guess that's why you've gone all soft, eh? You look just like any other human slob nowadays!” Ichigo was distinctly unimpressed.

“I have a job and responsibilities now, Grimmjow,” Ichigo said flatly. “I still get the hollows around town, but it's not like I'll be running off to Hueco Mundo again anytime soon.” Grimmjow snorted and Ichigo could tell that it rankled him. Now it was time to turn the knife. “What about you? You seem pretty low-key today. Can't imagine a family man like you giving anyone trouble nowadays.” The Arrancar's hackles raised and Ichigo could feel his spiritual pressure perk up. Oh, so he wasn't sick after all!

“The only reason I don't rip you apart right here is because you suck so much here I'd have to fight you in Hueco Mundo to make it interesting!” Grimmjow snarled. Ichigo would have been more concerned if he hadn't prodded him into that reaction himself.

“And Nel would get on your case, right?She'd be upset.” He tried not to smirk, but his mouth still twitched upwards just a hair. Grimmjow's face was growing redder by the second. It was a miracle he hadn't exploded off the bench yet.

“Are you sayin' I'm neutered?!” Now his spiritual pressure was spiking; apparently, those were fighting words somehow. Ichigo's eyebrows arched with the realization: this was a Grimmjow that had something to care about. His reflex wasn't to deny he cared about Neliel or their son; it was just to defend his pride.

And it wasn't that Ichigo doubted he had cared about his old Fracciones, either. Compared to how he knew other Espada treated their followers, Grimmjow was downright humane. In fact, he'd come to believe that Grimmjow had probably pursued him so doggedly, at least at first, out of the hurt and frustration of losing his gang. After all, a king with no subjects was just a guy with an ego problem.

That still wouldn't stop Ichigo from picking at him for fun, though.

“No, I implied it,” he responded, the smirk in his voice making its way to his face. Predictably, Grimmjow rose to his feet, hands balled into fists and Ichigo rose with him. It was probably inevitable that they'd get into it without their wives around.

“I don't care what Neliel said,” he growled, making the first moves to lunge at Ichigo. He stopped short, however, fist half-cocked. Ichigo realized he'd instinctively fallen into a defensive stance and consciously relaxed a bit. Grimmjow seemed frozen in place.

“Haha, got you!” came the perky voice from behind the Espada's back. Ichigo could see it then, the telltale signs that Grimmjow's shirt was being pulled tight from behind. Apparently, his son had tackled him from behind, but the tips of his hands and feet and only a few greenish-blue curls were all that was visible around Grimmjow's frame. Ichigo straightened, curious.

“Hey, where's…”

He didn't have time to finish his thought before Kazui slammed into his back in a tackle. Surprised to have been taken off guard for once, he muted his response to just supporting the preschooler's weight with his back. Clearly, the smaller Kurosaki had taken a leap from the park bench to get up that high.

“Hey, that's dangerous!” Ichigo protested. Even knowing his wife could basically raise the dead, he'd rather Kazui not try to find out first-hand.

“This is a rebellion!” Kazui yelled, laughing.

“Down wif the King!” Leorides responded happily. “You're outnumbered!” He had managed to climb his father's back and wrap his little arms around his neck from behind. Grimmjow gave a momentary smirk before his expression turned into an intimidating sneer. He clawed the air over his shoulders, intentionally missing his son at every turn.

“I won't go down that easy!” he roared, turning from side to side as Leorides clung on to his neck for dear life. The little Arrancar shrieked with laughter, legs flying out behind him as he swung.

Ichigo took this as his cue, falling dramatically to the ground so Kazui could “tackle" him effectively. The smaller redhead straddled his dad's neck, grabbing his short hair triumphantly.

“Tell your Mama… I love her…” he groaned before coughing and sputtering out one “last" rattling sigh. Kazui cheered for a moment before noticing his dad was suspiciously limp.

“Oh… Oh no, Papa?!” the four year old squawked anxiously. “This… This wasn't what our revolt was fooooor!” Ichigo never could tell if Kazui was genuinely upset or just really into his make-believe – kind of like his mother in that way.

Kazui's mother also coincidentally came into view just at that moment, carrying three ice cream cones. Neliel walked alongside her with three of her own, enjoying a chipper conversation with her brunette friend. Upon catching sight of the calamity unfolding in the park, the two of them paused and evaluated the situation. There was Ichigo, “dead" on the ground with Kazui crying over his “corpse". Not far from them was Grimmjow, swinging frantically back and forth and trying to dislodge his small son, who appeared to be dangling from the older man's hair.

“A-ah,” Orihime said before smiling broadly. “They're having fun!” Neliel grinned in return.

“This is much better than I thought it would turn out!” she replied.

The eternal night air zipped shut behind them as the family of hollows reemerged in Hueco Mundo. Neliel, being Neliel, was humming gently to herself. Grimmjow wore his perennial look of disdain. Leorides was asleep, clinging to his father's back as usual.

“That wasn't so bad, was it?” Neliel asked as they walked. Grimmjow grunted in non-committal response, rolling his electric blue eyes.

“The kid had fun,” he grumbled, avoiding the question. Like hell he'd admit he'd enjoyed himself. Not like Neliel wouldn't just assume it anyway.

“You liked the ice cream too, huh?” His lip curled in an almost imperceptible snarl. Neliel definitely saw it, though.

“It was alright, I guess,” he scoffed.

“You ate half of mine, too!” Neliel laughed, causing Grimmjow to growl and blush ever so slightly.

“But actually,” she said after a few more moments of walking, “It was nice to see you have fun.” Grimmjow tsked, but didn't correct her.

“Why're you so worried about me havin’ fun?” he grunted, looking straight ahead. Neliel's smile drew down a little, dampened as if by a cool rain.

“Ahh,” she said, eyes darting from her companion to the landscape stretching towards Las Noches, where Hallibel governed and they currently lived. “I worry a lot that you might not be happy, actually.”

“When have you ever seen me actually look happy?” he answered, looking down his nose at her. Neliel's eyes slid towards him and she opened her mouth to answer before he held up a finger to stop her. “Besides when I was tryna kill Kurosaki.”

“That's kinda what I mean,” Neliel returned quietly. “I always worry that this is – we are too dull for you. That you'd rather be out hunting on your own.” Grimmjow rolled his eyes, snorted, and looked back over the far away sands towards the home Hallibel had given them. Like hell was he going to get all sappy about things. Neliel was prone to that sort of thing, though. It didn't exactly bother him; she was pretty hot when she was distressed, but if it wasn't just for play it became a pain in his ass.

“If I didn't want to be here, I wouldn't be,” he grumbled. The taller Arrancar reached behind his back and easily dislodged his son, swung the smaller hollow around, and easily held him in his arms. The boy didn't wake at all. Grimmjow handed him off to his mother, who carried him just as effortlessly.  

“Eh?” she asked, securing the boy to her hip, “Did you get tired?” Grimmjow cracked his knuckles and flexed his shoulders, his expression remaining slightly bored. Then, he smirked.

“Do I look tired, Neliel?” he growled. Neliel stared for a second before she blinked her recognition. Her smile broadened in anticipation. “It’s easier to run when you hold him.”

“Eheheh!” she giggled. “I won't let you catch me! But you better at least chase me til I cry!” Grimmjow's teeth glinted in the stark moonlight. Without another word, Neliel took off in the direction of the palace, sand billowing in the wake of her sonida. Nearly soundlessly, Grimmjow sped after her.

What Grimmjow would never say out loud was that he didn't find being with her or their son boring at all. Sure, he sometimes chaffed when Hallibel or Neliel told him not to do something, but that was a different thing altogether. In reality, even though he was socially maladjusted, he was still a social creature. Just like the cat that he was, he enjoyed the companionship of his mate and cub. And like a cat, he didn't always make it clear. But he didn't mind a healthy chase now and then to let Neliel know.

You can also find this fic at FFnet and AO3:

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13096841/1/Leader-of-the-Pack

https://archiveofourown.org/works/16341713

[abyssiniana]

«Ride Home»

Purple Ranunculus, meaning “You are radiant”.

A gift for @dork-sen​ for the Sheith Flower Exchange ( @sheithbouquet ​ ) based of the song "Ride Home"by Ben&Ben.

I really hope you like it!! ;;;; 

Read on AO3 or under the cut

Prosthetic fingers drummed on the leather cover of the wheel with no rhythm in particular. A familiar song on the radio filled the car with a pleasant harmony, but Shiro’s ears were deaf to anything but his own thoughts, the mechanized movement of reaching for the gearshift barely processed by the Japanese man. Ahead of him, miles of deserted highway expanded into sandy canyons and red dunes; this was a trip he had done before, countless times, but gravity seemed to be weighing harder on him, twisting his belly into the complex pattern of boating knots.

Before, he would travel to the Arizona desert to pick up Keith, or to stay over at his boyfriend’s house for the weekend. This time , he thought, looking over his shoulder to the back seat, where a gym bag filled with clothing items and a backpack with personal possessions had been tossed, he was going home.

~*~

“Hey there, buddy! Looking to get inked?”

Shiro glanced up from his sketchbook to salute the boy who had entered his tattoo parlor, apparently started by the bell attached to the door. Under the purple neon sign that read “ Black Lion Ink ,” a young man with the full bad boy™ attire crossed his arms over his chest, onyx-colored hair styled in a mullet and indigo eyes piercing through Shiro with the intensity of a whole galaxy. His nose was rather perky, sprinkled with nearly missable freckles, the angle of his jaw sharp, peachy lips that suffered from obsessive-compulsive biting pressed into a thin line. He wasn’t very tall and seemed rather thin under a red leather jacket and skinny black jeans with decorative silver chains, but his attitude suggested he had a foot heavy enough to kick any condescending bastard to the opposite corner of the room.

Small but angry. Cute .

“Yeah, I guess,” was the response, as the potential canvas walked to the counter, eyes darting to the several frames of artwork signed by the Japanese man, exposed on the walls of the studio. He whistled and Shiro smiled. “You’re Shiro...? I uh… I’m Keith. I heard about your work from a friend.”

“Yep, that’d be me.” Absentmindedly, the tattoo artist ran his fingers through his bleached white forelock, pushing it back to blend in with the black strands before it stubbornly flopped back to his forehead. It wasn’t uncommon for former clients or fellow colleagues to put in a good word for Shiro’s work, be it vocally or via social media; he specialized in Japanese traditional, though he could pull off mostly any style with flawless technique and extreme precision. He wasn’t cocky, but he was confident in a healthy measure, and proud of his hard-won reputation. “What were you looking to get?”

“Don’t know, really. Can I see that?” He pointed at the portfolio that had been left open on a random page by the last curious customer; and the eldest noted the fingerless carbon fiber biker gloves Keith wore; stylish.

“Go on ahead.”

The dossier was promptly presented to the boy, who flipped through the processes of old, new, discarded, and formerly executed tattoo designs. Those that had been inked already were accompanied by photographs of the final result upon the skin and written reviews of their bearers regarding Shiro’s performance and care.

While Keith took his time to look over Shiro’s work, the latter seized the chance to examine him from a closer distance this time. He had very beautiful skin, dreamy, the perfect white canvas for any artist’s masterpiece. Clearly, this boy was no ink virgin, as the bursts of American traditional bright red and bold lines peeked through the collar of his shirt suggested. He must have more tattoos somewhere too; guessing from experience, those who got chest pieces had begun elsewhere, in less painful areas. Maybe the arms? The thought of asking his client to remove his jacket and T-shirt was suddenly charged with an erotic connotation that was better left away from his work hours, so he refrained.

“This one is neat,” he heard him say, after a silent while. “Can I get this?”

The artist chuckled fondly at the memory of the drawing he had specially made at the request of Allura’s dad. His first big project with over thirty redesigns and chronic back pain, resumed in hours of blood, sweat and tears, and a goddamned stunning backpiece. It could’ve been a disaster, but Alfor trusted him, from the beginning to the end of it. That red lion held a very dear meaning and the way he saw it, no one else would be fitting for that design but the sweet man who had welcomed Shiro into his small family as a son, even after him and Allura broke up back in senior year of college.

“Why that one?” he questioned, platinum colored eyes locking with the client’s.

“No reason. I like it.” a shrug. To that, Shiro held back and eyeroll and a sigh. Oh. One of these . What a disappointment.

“It goes against my policy to tattoo designs that are meaningless to the canvas.” he explained, with the utmost seriousness and professionalism of a lawyer. Keith didn’t seem too pleased, eyebrow raising in bitter assumption.

“You don’t know me.”

“But I will, once I figure what to tattoo on you.”

“I can just go elsewhere to get this done.” Keith snapped, open palms upon the marble of the counter as he measured the other with his eyes. “You’re pretty full of yourself, you kn--”

“You can leave, and you’re within your right to, but I don’t see you walking away.” Shiro smirked at his own remark, taking some sweet satisfaction in how the young boy glared at him with a pursed pout, boot tapping on the linoleum floor of the studio with childish impudence. After dragging the silence for long enough to savour what was already his victory, Shiro proceeded, “Look, Keith, I would love to tattoo you; I just want to make sure you won’t look at my work five, ten years from now and regret having it on your body. We can figure out a design for you, perhaps over coffee? I’m taking a break soon.”

There were long moments of ponderation, Keith’s face twisting as he mentally evaluated the possible outcomes of this situation (either that or he was remembering the first time he licked a lemon), and finally settled for an answer.

“... Fair enough,” that corner smile might have caused Shiro’s heart to skip a beat. “But you’re paying.”

~*~

Shiro parked next to a motorbike that had definitely seen better days, despite being loved enough that the owner refused to give up on the rusty pipes or poorly executed paint job. After turning the key in the ignition to cease the roaring of the powerful engine of his car, Shiro exited the vehicle to be greeted by the lean form of Keith Kogane leaning against the doorframe, up on the porch.

“Took you long enough.”

“Sorry, I was thrilled by the ever shifting landscape of the desert. I’m almost sure the single cactus near the road moved an inch to the left since last time I passed by, I swear.” there was heatless sarcasm in Shiro’s reply, but a smile on his face, as he picked up the luggage from the backseat. He walked to the entrance of the house, the wooden steps creaking under his boot, stopping mere inches in front of the smaller man in silent expectation, the bags dropped to his feet. He was about a head taller than Keith and had to look down at him, head tilting to the side. “Missed me much, is that it?”

“Hm. You know it,” Keith moved to cup Shiro’s jaw. The Japanese man couldn’t help but to smile at the tattoos that covered both of those hands, the first pieces that he had had the privilege to tattoo on this man two years ago: large twin purple ranunculus flowers, blooming on each dorsum. Keith’s nails carded across the identical designs that Shiro had recently gotten on both shaved sides of his head, pulling them closer to lean foreheads.

Ranunculus. Too gorgeous to be real, often present in wedding bouquets in their majestic, exquisite rose-like blossoms, layer upon layer of radiant beauty. That was Keith for Shiro, and Shiro for Keith. Their lips met halfway, in the stamen of their passion, arms engulfing them in the eternal petals of commitment.

Shiro was home.

[elsewhereuniversity]

Me and My Shadow, a Freshman Story

Alex couldn’t remember applying to Elsewhere University, that’s how it worked sometimes, but the course he was accepted on was perfect for him. He loved the feel of the liberal arts college, but their Computer Sciences department had a great reputation too, he wasn’t sure how he hadn’t been rooting for this school all along.

The suggestions for living on campus seemed a little silly, he mulled over them a few times, puzzled by the descriptions of salt and iron, and outright baffled by the need to use a fake name.  He spent the summer determined to ignore them. He would be a voice of reason amongst the student body, he thought, as he imagined parading around with his real name printed on a teeshirt, emblazoned on his backpack. Nevertheless, as the day of his departure grew ever closer, he relented, and packed a handful of iron washers, a large canister of salt, and a thesaurus to pick a name from. If he had to live by a pseudonym for the next 3 years, he wanted an impressive one. Alex hadn’t been popular at school, much more of a wallflower than the centre of any social circles. This year would be different, he wanted a name that stood out, a name that would bring an air of mystery.

By the time he set foot on campus, Alex was Shadow, and Shadow was cool.

The first few weeks of school, Shadow managed to keep his social profile higher than he ever had before. Parties every week, no embarrassing stories to follow him from high school. It was the best few weeks of his life and, while the following weeks never quite compared, Shadow built up a reputation. The cost, however, was his grades.

The first few projects Shadow handed in were graded poorly. He fought the feelings of embarrassment at the idea of failing, he had never gotten less than an A in his life, even at Elsewhere, it only took a couple of months before he was called before his Professor.

“ Look, Shadow. I didn’t want to say anything, I actually thought you had been taken. It was a bit early, but then thats when the most simple mistakes are made, but I had a quiet word with a few people and I hear you just aren’t putting the work in.”

Shadow was glowing scarlet. This wasn’t what he wanted, he had made a crucial mistake.

“ I’m sorry Professor, I really am. It’s all just been a bit overwhelming and I lost track of priorities, I’ll try harder.”

The Professor seemed unconvinced.

“ I want to give you a second chance Shadow,’ he removed and started polishing his silver glasses.

“ You’re grades have really suffered, it will take a lot of work to get back up to an acceptable level.”

Shadow was in full panic mode, he needed a second chance.

“ Can I redo the projects?” He gasped. They had a week free for study coming up, he could sacrifice his time then as a lot of his friends were heading home.

“ I will let you hand them in if you manage but, I have to say Shadow, it’s a lot of work, I don’t know if you have time.”

They agreed that the Professor would grade the papers again, on a reduced scale. It wouldn’t get him anything resembling an A level score, but he might scrape by with something respectable. He ran full sprint to the library, setting himself up in the computing department.

The EU Library was odd, but the computing department at Elsewhere University Library was odd in it’s own special way. Each shelf had a locked door, able to be opened only on presentation of a special ID card (made of iron, naturally). Apparently the campus had an ongoing issue with books about technology being vandalised at night. Far at the end of the room, one cabinet was sealed with, apparently, no lock at all. He asked in the first week about that shelf, the Librarian mumbled “Those books aren’t finished yet,” and somehow escaped from sight.

He gathered what he needed for his first project of the year, and got to work. It had been a couple of hours when someone came and sat across from him at the table, a young man, around his age, black hair, smart clothes. A few moments later, Shadow noticed the student was not doing work.

“ Can I help you?” he asked, looking up from his book.

“ No, but I think I can help you,” he replied. “ If you go upstairs to the 12th floor, theres a room. 17c. Time works weirdly in there, its good for concentration or something. “

“ I’m fine here,” Shadow mumbled, mildly irritated at the interruption.

“ Someone is about to come in and clean, it’s gonna get loud.” the stranger added. Shadow took the bait and packed up his stuff.

Shadow was sure there had only been 9 floors to the Library, but there it was, the button for floor 12.  17c was creepy. A single room, with a single desk. Olive green walls and a single pendant lamp with a heavy shade, making a spot of light on the floor and sending the dark corners into wild shapes.

The guy was right. Time went weirdly here, but so did everything else.  The room seemed smaller one minute, then huge, sound seemed echoey and then muffled.  Shadow was sure he had been there for a few hours when he realised it had only been 1. The light wasn’t still, so his concentration was being slightly disturbed by the shapes and figures rising from the shade of the area outside the light. It was getting too much.  Shadow got up and went to find a coffee machine, his study materials scattered over the desk. Including his favourite calculator. The one he used at school. The one with stickers all over it and his name scratched into the back.

The week dragged, Shadow felt like he had been living there for a month when the rest of the class came back from their visits home, but the work was done, and the grade came back good. He wouldn’t make that mistake again, and he cut his partying in half.  

One day, his room mate moved out without a word. Things had been weird between them since Shadow had been around more often, he figured the guy just didn’t like him. Their room was small, two single beds only a foot and a half apart. It was tough luck, most of the other rooms on campus were far better, but maybe the guy just needed more space.

That night, he remembered waking up with his leg out of the bed, his shadow stretching across the room to the sheet of the bed opposite. He must have been dreaming, because he was sure he saw his room mate asleep over there.

The next day, the bed was still unmade, and not slept in. He went about his business, enjoying the new independence, which made it all the more annoying when he came home from class that day and found a boy in his room.

“ Hi, I’m your new room mate. My name is Alex.”

—————–

‘Alex’ was startling to Shadow. He looked so like him it was unreal, though not identical, they could be brothers.

He was paler Shadow, with darker hair, but still blond. Their eyes we’re different colours, and where 'Alex’ was slightly taller, Shadow was slightly more muscular. Their faces were stronger and weaker in the same places, but the features did not match.

“ Wow, we could be twins!” the new boy exclaimed as his brown eyes landed on Shadow in the doorway.

“ I’m a late transfer, I hoped we could be buddies and you could show me around the place?” his eyes were pleading.

“ Yeah, sure.” Shadow replied, the guys chosen name alarmed him at first, but coincidences happen, and he would hate to be here so long after orientation with no friends.

They chatted for a while and realised they had quite a lot in common. By the time they went to bed, Shadow felt like the guy had been here forever. His other roommate had been boring, they had nothing to talk about and the guy was always so moody, Alex was a breath of fresh air.  A few weeks went by and life was starting to become a bit of a routine. The good kind.

Alex was always very busy through the day, arriving around 8-9pm each night, in time to socialise a bit before bed. It suited Shadow fine, he could spend the time between classes and Alex’s return catching up on his work.

The friends he made at the beginning of the year resented Alex a bit, the timing of his arrival had been around the same time Shadow had started taking his studies seriously again, so from their perspective, Alex was bad news.

The first few parties Shadow took him too had been pretty bad for Alex. Mostly ignored and left out, he had been resigned to the sofa while Shadow caught up with people he hadn’t seen in a while. Some crazy girl, who kept talking about glowing eyes in the darkness, sat next to Alex and wouldn’t leave him alone the first time. Shadow thought she was on Acid.

But over a few weeks, the group warmed to the new kid. Alex started to build friendships himself and Shadow felt a little relief. He really enjoyed Alex’s company, but he had started to feel like they were in a couple.

The end of semester projects were handed out in March. Shadows class groaned in unison as they realize the workload expected of them. The next party Shadow would be going to would be when they left for summer. Alex came and went, day in day out. They still hung out a few times a week, but the summer sun had come to Elsewhere and the classes had begun to move their study periods outside, he was getting a little tan and his hair was bleaching in the summer rays, becoming a brighter gold than before.  It suited him and he had been getting a lot of attention from girls and guys.  Alex was a busy man!

No one had warned him how much of his social life would suffer doing computer sciences. The coding and the technical aspects were so unpredictable he was up all night, most nights, trying to get his work done. His team had grown distant, he attributed it to stress, which meant that Shadow had started to work alone more and more often. He was starting to feel like the old Alex, the one he left behind and never wanted to meet again. The one he had worked so hard to get rid of.

Time passed, and projects finished. Shadow had been napping after handing in his full project, he had done most of it himself, when Alex woke him, face so close he could smell his breath.

“ Shadow. It’s done. Come party!” he whispered, before handing him a beer and sliding silently out of the room. He went to his buddies house, the party was raging as always ( he was half sure it never stopped), and people we’re everywhere. He saw his friend Jeff across the crowd, a rush of realisation at just how long it had been hit him as he waved and ran across the room.

But Jeff practically sneered before turning away. It was almost like he couldn’t see him, but what he had seen had really annoyed him. Shadow lost him in the crowd.

He saw Alex coming towards him. “ Hey,” he whispered as he grabbed Shadow’s arm.

He looked into his friends eyes, but saw only annoyance and frustration.

Alex’s mouth opened, it looked subtly different somehow, it had done for a while. Maybe it was the tan.

“ Alex, the others want you to leave. They said they don’t like flakes who think they can come back after disappearing and act like nothing has happened.”

Shadow took a second to realize Alex had used his real name on him.

“ No no, I’m Shadow. You’re Alex…”

“ Alex, I know you must be upset, but you need to leave!” Shouted Alex as he grabbed Shadows arm and escorted him out the front door. “ Now go, find somewhere you belong.” Alex grinned. Just before he slammed the door, his brown eyes shifted to a very familiar green.

Shadow… No, the other guy was right, he was Alex again now, wandered across campus. When he got to the dorm, his ID wouldn’t work, he couldn’t get anyone to pay attention to him and no one would help.

It took two days before he stopped trying to find where he belonged. Even then it was only because of a lack of options. He slumped next to a wall near the crows, the crows could see him, he could tell that much. How did this happen, he wondered? He had noticed his hands growing pale and he could not bear to find a mirror, he knew he wouldn’t like what he saw. His trousers were getting too short for him, he thought he had stopped growing.

A pair of purple leather shoes stopped in his vision. Shining inexplicably in the shade of the crows tables, and leading into a pair of olive green trousers.

“ I’ve been looking for you!” the new voice shouted, a growl to it that scared Alex, but not enough to snap his depression. He glanced up into the eyes of a creature that definitely wasn’t human. Dull grey skin, wrinkled and sagging so much it looked like folded tissue, a snub nose any pig would be jealous of, and a subtle green sheen to his skin that looked like he was coated in petrol. As disgusting as he was, the eyes that locked with Alex’s were vibrant and more beautiful than anything he had ever seen. At first they looked black from corner to corner, but then they flickered… constant flickers of blue and purples, spectrums and nebulas, all shining out of an inky black void.

“ Time has been catching up with my room since you left in that boys bag, I need the shadows to form the circle, you know that little shade.” he growled, “No one escapes from Gossamer,” he took hold of Alex’s collar, the grip was strong and somehow relieved the shade of all mass and weight it had left. Crumpling into something looking like a gauze suit, it was stuffed into a purple briefcase with no ceremony.  Alex smiled, as best he could.  The darkness of the case was home to him.  He could relax, he belonged. 

As Gossamer scurried back to the Library, his hulking frame moving far faster and more sprightly than should be possible, the layers of loose skin on his face split, blue lips curling into a tight twisted line. Time flowed like water around here if it wasn’t regulated correctly, and his circle had been suffering all year for being one member short.

Shadow Alex went on to pass with flying colours but, once graduated, disappeared.  He hasn’t been heard from by any of the alumni or staff since.

x