#bleach transportation

[bleachbleachbleach]

[Bleach 285]

New theory: Mayuri patented the wheel, so only 12th gets to use wheels. And the Royal Objectsmobile, which has to pay Mayuri for the pleasure. Gotta fund the lab somehow! (Inuzuri does not heed Seireitei patent law.)

[autism-corner]

the girly...... my wife.....

(yes. it is that miku figure.)

[skbeaumont]

"Make Me Wanna" | Jackson!Joel x Reader oneshot

Song: Make Me Wanna - Thomas Rhett Summary: Joel fucks you in the back of a truck. That's literally it. Tags/Warnings: MDNI, 18+, porn with a smattering of plot, smut, PIV, dirty talk, pets names (baby, darling), kind of dom!Joel, established relationship, Jackson era Word Count: 3.2k A/N: As always, the lyrics have been worked into the story, so if you can listen please do!

There are two working vehicles in Jackson. The school bus – a large van that serves as transport for the kids in the winter, when the paths freeze over and the snow falls too thick to walk through – and a ’75 Chevy Cheyenne. It’s the keys to this that Tommy hands Joel one early morning, the dry Wyoming summer heat already pushing the mercury up into the eighties.

The rest of the town are still asleep, but you, Joel, and Tommy are outside in the square, your conversation chorused by the call of the town’s raggedy old rooster. Joel’s having trouble concentrating on his brother’s instructions, his eyes flicking like the hands on a clock to the way the dress you pulled on this morning clings to your ass and hips, the thin cotton leaving very little to his imagination.

He’s sure you’ve done it on purpose; there can be no other reason to wear such an impractical outfit when you’re heading out beyond the wall. Sure, it’s an easy run – up to the dam, check everything’s in order, head back – but Joel’s not sure how he’s even going to make it there with you in that ridiculous damn dress, curves calling out to him. It makes him wanna-

“Joel, are even you listening?” Tommy’s voice cuts through his reverie, has him shaking his head like he’s trying to clear it of flies.

“Yeah, yeah.”

“What was the last thing I just said?”

“Uh,”

Tommy rolls his eyes and Joel looks at you for help, but you just smile at him innocently with dimples in your cheeks, batting your eyelashes like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing.

“Jesus Joel, can’t you concentrate for two minutes?”

Tommy relaunches into his lecture about the dam and the route, and Joel tries to pay attention to the words, tries to ignore the way you’re gliding a single finger across the small of his back, hand dipping under his shirt to reach the hot skin there. It’s such an innocent gesture, the pad of your finger caressing him gently, without urgency, but it sends electricity coiling up his spine.

For your part, it’s all you can do not to jump him here and now. Tommy’s early morning wakeup call disturbed what was shaping up to be a very pleasant morning in bed with Joel, and there’s an insistent warmth in your belly at the memory of his rough stubble on the back of your neck as you lay together in bed not an hour ago. You’re wondering how far you can push him, how riled up he’ll have to be before he sacks in this run and takes you back to bed.

Finally convinced that Joel’s taken on board at least some of what he’s said, or perhaps fed up of trying to talk to him while he’s clearly so distracted, Tommy leads you both to an old barn where the vehicles are kept. The chevvy is a faded, sun-bleached red: a worn leather front bench up front, large enough for three or four people to sit in a line, with an open bed in the back. You climb into the cab next to Joel, shuffle yourself over so that you’re almost in his lap where he sits at the wheel.

“Wanna explain what this is about?” He asks as he starts the engine, gesturing to the dress with his free hand.

“I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about.” You reply, and you can hear him rolling his eyes, hear the tight, whispered Jesus Christ as he shifts the truck into gear.

It’s a slow drive through Jackson; the narrow streets aren’t built for vehicles. Joel steers the truck around the chicken coops and picnic benches, taking you to the front of town where the gates are. Here, the watchers on the duty lever open the corrugated metal wall that separates Jackson from the wilderness outside, and Joel guides the truck through.

You haven’t had much of a chance to spend time outside the walls since your arrived in Jackson some four months ago, but even so, you find it hard to take in the countryside and wide, rolling hills with Joel sat next to you, his warm hand on your thigh. You trace patterns across the back of his hand, follow the lines of old scars and new scratches, let your fingertips trail higher, up to his bare wrist, over the prominent veins that sit just beneath his tan skin.

“I know what you’re doin’” He says, voice dark as he squeezes your thigh in his grip, a warning you’re bound to ignore.

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.” You repeat, letting go of his wrist to lean across in your seat, reaching for the glove box. You pull it open.

“Aha!” A cassette tape falls out into your hand, writing blurred with age but still legible. “County Sound FM.”

You slide it into the old cassette player set in the dash, hold your breath as it cracks and pops and then starts playing.

“Is this…” Joel turns his head slightly, angling so that the gentle rhythm and rolling melody can reach his good ear. “R.E.M.?”

“Man on the Moon,” You confirm, looking at the track listing on the cassette.

“Jesus.” He says, shaking his head.

He takes a right at the end of the main track up to Jackson, down a dirt road that’s overhung with dense trees. You let your eyes trace over his profile; the strong, curved line of his nose, dark stubble that’s flecked with grey. His jaw is set, but he’s nodding along with the music. He catches you watching him out of the corner of his eye and squeezes your thigh again, kneading the flesh there.

“You gotta stop looking at me that way, baby,” He says, shifting the fabric of your dress so that he can drag his hand further up your leg, the heat of his palm almost feverish against you.

You shift in the seat, open your legs wider, encouraging him to move higher still and then turn into him, press you lips against the juncture of his throat, inching your own hand over the front of his jeans where he’s already half hard.

“You know there’s only so much I can take,” His voice is gruff against the lightness of the country song. “You make me wanna…”

He trails off and you huff a laugh against his collarbone, move your mouth to his ear so that you can say, “make you wanna what, Joel?” into it.

“Pull this truck to the side of the road, for a start.” He says, turning his head to look at you.

His eyes are dark, expression serious, a frown creasing his brow. The hand he’s got on the steering wheel is gripping it tight, knuckles white against the dark leather of the grip. You can see the tension in his shoulders, his thighs when he shifts as you run the flat of your hand against his cock.

“If you don’t stop,” He says, voice catching in his throat, “I’m gonna- fuck, darlin’, Jesus Christ.”

He breaks off as you slip your hand suddenly under the waistband of his jeans, wrist barely squeezing between the buckle of his belt and his stomach. His cock jerks against your hand, smearing precum across your knuckles as you fight against the tight denim. “Gonna what?” You ask again, wrapping your fist around his cock, letting your thumb run over the silky tip of him. “Pull the truck over? Go on then.”

The truck veers to one side, brakes squealing out as Joel brings it to a stop at the side of the road, tree branches scratching against the windows.

“Slide on over, then,” He says, turning into you, leaning back and opening his legs so that you can climb into his lap.

His gaze is hot and hard and animalistic as you settle against him. You reach between your heaving chests to paw at the button to his jeans but he grabs your wrists, grins at you, eyes glinting.

“I’ll tell you what I’m thinking,” He says, wrapping two solid arms around and pulling you flush to his chest, mouth resting at the shell of your ear. “I’ll tell you everything I’m thinking.”

He buries his mouth at your throat, licks and sucks and nips at the tender flesh there, kneads your ass with his hands.

“I think you’re an impatient little thing who needs to learn some manners,” He says, his voice thick, “and I think I’m gonna take you to the back of this track and fuck you on the tailgate. How does that sound?”

He barely gives you a chance to answer, just tucks your dress out of the way so that he can reach down between your ass cheeks to the wet line of your panties, following the crotch round over your cunt to the hard nub of your clit, already swollen and throbbing under his ministrations.

“Joel, please,” You whine, as he teases you with two of his fingers, circling your entrance but not breaching it.

“You know better than to wear that dress, baby,” he says into your throat, “Oughta be against the law,”

He pulls back, fists a hand in your hair and drags your mouth to his. The kiss is heated and ferocious from the start; Joel pulls your lower lip into his mouth with his teeth, draws out your keening moans with a clever flick of his tongue.

“I need you, Joel, please,” You say, trying again to undo the button on his jeans.

“Ain’t room in here,” He says, reaching over the pop open his door, “in the back, like I said. C’mon.”

You follow him out and round to the back of the truck. He lets the tailgate fall with a soft clunk, takes his jacket off and spreads it out on the dusty metal of the truck bed.

“Hop on up,” He says, shooting you a grin that’s laced with mirth and heat, his eyes crinkling mischievously.

You do as he says, sitting up on the open tailgate. He steps between your thighs, presses them open with two large hands so that he can fit there. Running one hand up your chest to your breast, he presses his clothed cock against the wet line of your panties, circles his hips so that the rough denim catches against your clit and makes you moan.

When he pulls back he takes your panties off, dragging them down your legs with two fingers before pushing them into the pocket of his jeans. It makes your stomach clench, the sight of them peeking out, the pink lace a stark contrast to the worn dark denim, marking you as his. With them out of the way, Joel wastes no time in pressing two fingers into your soaking cunt, grinning down at you as you yelp at the sudden intrusion. It turns into a whimper as he bends them just so, the calloused pads of his fingertips searching out that tender spot inside that has you curling your toes and clawing at his shoulders.

“There she is,” He says, chuckling darkly, pressing the pad of his thumb to your clit and applying a steady, gentle pressure.

It’s intoxicating – the firm pressure of his fingers inside you, the sure, confident thrum of his thumb over your clit. It’s like being drunk on no alcohol, just Joel, his breathy sighs and warm scent enveloping you, wrapping you up in a haze of heady desire.

“Gonna come for me, darlin’?” He asks as he feels you start to tense around him.

He trails his free hand along the side of your jaw, drawing your face back to his so that he can kiss you again, swallow down your moans as you jolt and shake against him, the orgasm rising up suddenly in your belly, sending spikes of ecstasy through your quivering cunt.

“Good girl,” He whispers, drawing his fingers out.

He pulls them up to his mouth, places his fingertips against his lush bottom lip and slides his tongue over them, groaning at the taste of you.

“You wear this dress jus’ for me, baby?” He asks, fisting the fabric between his knuckles as he unbuckles his belt, “Know just how to turn me on, don’t you?”

You nod, watching him pull his cock out of the confines of his jeans. He drags the swollen, weeping head against your folds, drawing air in through his teeth as he does, hissing the breath back out.

“Good girl,” He keens, using the fist that’s clutching your dress to drag you forward in the truck bed so that he can line himself up. “Feel how hard I am for you, hmm, baby? Get me so goddamn worked up I can’t think straight.”

He presses the thick length of himself against you, covering his shaft with your slick. He pulls back slightly, places the fat head of his cock at the entrance of your cunt, curses through his teeth as he inches inside, a drawn out, breathy “fuck, baby”, that has desire coiling up your spine. A muscle jumps in his jaw as you watch his face, watch his eyebrows pull up as he sinks into you, the slight tilt to his mouth, a steady slow breath pouring out of him with the effort of not slamming into you in one hard thrust.

“Okay?” He asks, holding himself still when he bottoms out, waiting for your confirmation that he can keep going.

“Move, Joel, please, God.”

A chuckle echoes deep in his chest at this, and then he wraps his arms under your thighs, pulls you firmly into him and drags himself out before slamming back inside. He sets a punishing pace. It’s all you can do to grip onto his shoulders, dig your fingernails into the firm muscles of his back and let him fuck you, his cock kissing your cervix with each thrust. You watch the beads of perspiration rise on his forehead and cheeks, trace them as they roll down his face to his neck, the tendons there straining as he continues to pound into you. He’s quiet, mostly, grunting and cursing in a rasping voice, fuck, that’s it and Jesus Christ, baby.

“Got the softest pussy I’ve ever felt, darlin’.” He praises you, pressing kisses to your forehead, the side of your neck, groaning as he drags his teeth against your jaw, “gripping me so fucking tight.”

A familiar heat is coiling up inside you again, making your stomach clench and your toes curl in the boots you’re still wearing. Joel knows, can tell by the way you squeeze your eyes tight shut, hands gripping his forearms where they hold your thighs up. He changes the angle, shifts his hips so that his cock hits that spot inside you that has you seeing stars, spikes of pleasure sparking in your cunt right through to the tips of your fingers. You come around his cock, fingernails digging into the hard muscles of his arms, no doubt leaving indents that will mark him as yours when you return to town later.

“That’s it, baby, comin’ all over my cock like a good fuckin’ girl.” He presses his lips to yours, licks his tongue into your mouth, teeth biting into your bottom lip, pain blossoming into pleasure.

He slows his thrusts as you come down from your high, dragging his cock against the roof of your cunt and running a hand up your side, over the curve of your hips up to your breast. He pinches your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, soothes your moans with his mouth on yours, swallowing them as they fall from your lips.

“I know, baby, I know.” He says, picking up the pace again, snapping his hips to yours, fisting his hand into your hair. “Can you give me one more? One more and I’ll come in this perfect cunt, hmm?”

He reaches between your writhing bodies, presses his fingers to the bundle of nerves above where he’s thrusting into you and draws circles over your clit. The pressure is firm and fucking perfect, Joel’s fingers confident and sure in what they’re doing. He knows your body like the back of his hand, has spent hours learning how to make you come. It only takes a few minutes before you feel yourself tightening around his cock again, eyes squeezing shut, but this time he lets go of your thigh with his free hand and grabs your chin.

“Eyes open, baby, I want you to look at me while I make you come.”

And you do, locking your eyes onto his. His pupils are blown wide, eating into the chocolate brown of his irises. His brow is furrowed with the effort of fucking you, making the lines that paint his face stand out. There’s a bead of sweat sliding down one cheek, and he bites his lip between his teeth as you come, cunt clenching around him.

“Fuck, that’s it baby, good girl” He keeps circling his fingers as you come, drawing out your orgasm, his voice vibrating in your chest. “Jesus Christ, I’m gonna come. Shit.”

He groans, holding himself still as he spurts inside you, ropes of come painting your cunt as you contract around him. You’re both breathless then, panting and holding each other, your fingers pinching his skin, his hand tangled in your hair.

“I can’t believe we did that.” You say, suddenly laughing as you realise how reckless you’ve been, out here in the middle of nowhere, Joel’s gun long since forgotten on the back seat of the truck.

“Well, you know better than to wear that dress,” Joel says, pressing his lips to your cheek, the corner of your mouth, the side of your neck. “You make me wanna…”

[5sospenguinqueen]

Love To Hate | Daniel Ricciardo x Gasly! Reader

Summary: Daniel Ricciardo is known for bickering with Pierre Gasly's older sister online. The fans love it but they suspect there might be something more behind it.

Warnings: Swearing. One sexual innuendo. Female reader.

Takes place in the 2022 season so Daniel is with McLaren.

Main Masterlist

━━━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━━━

mclaren just posted

liked by oscarpiastri, alex_albon and others

mclaren spot the difference #MonacoGP tagged: landonorris, danielricciardo

2,446 comments

YourUserName the one on the left can actually drive

→ User 1 wtf does she know about f1

→ User 2 um, her baby brother is a GP winner so…

danielricciardo @ YourUserName coming from the woman who failed her driving test twice

→ YourUserName @ pierregasly you weren’t supposed to tell your little racing friends that!

→ pierregasly do not drag me into this nonsense.

landonorris @ YourUserName thanks pookie

→ danielricciardo more like pukie

→ YourUserName you’re just mad that he gets bitches and you don’t

→ danielricciardo okay, cradle snatcher

User 3 mom and dad are fighting again

danielricciardo here’s to a good weekend 💪

→ YourUserName ass licker

→ danielricciardo you wish.

→ maxverstappen1 can you guys not do your foreplay privately

━━━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━━━

YourUserName just posted

liked by arthur_leclerc, lilymhe and others

YourUserName soaking up the sun before the madness resumes (01/06/2022) 🌻

2,488 comments

danielricciardo i need to bleach my eyes. please cover you up before you mentally scar someone else.

→ User 5 he says like his jaw didn’t drop when this came across his timeline

User 6 how to become y/n gasly

→ YourUserName have an annoying brother and endure his equally insufferable friends

lilymhe the only reason i’m still with Alex is so i have an excuse to spend time with you in the paddock

→ YourUserName we could get married and then you could see me all the time??

→ alex_albon it’s a good thing I’m used to this or i might cry

→ georgerussle63 don’t lie. i can hear you sobbing from my hotel room.

MaleFriend wow 🥵 → danielricciardo try harder (comment deleted)

━━━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━━━

PierreGASLY you’re both certified yappers. it’s why the two of you together is a nightmare

User 7 hmm, okay but why were you two together in the first place if you hate each other…

→ danielricciardo I was bullying her

→ YourUserName pierre ditched me to talk to a pretty girl and daniel was making fun of the fact that i got lost

→ LandoNorris i wouldn’t have left you… just saying 👀

→ YourUserName i’m 10 years old than you, boo.

→ LandoNorris age is just a number

━━━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━━━

danielricciardo just posted

liked by mclaren, scottyjames31 and others

danielricciardo preferred mode of transport... fast

6,443 comments

YourUserName title of your sex tape “i'm in love with my car”

YourUserName someone’s clearly compensating for something

→ danielricciardo omg why are you so obsessed with me. get out of my comments, stalker

→ YourUserName let’s not forget you stalked me first

→ danielricciardo where’s your proof

→ pierregasly here. you begged me for her instagram until i gave in

→ danielricciardo and then i realised what a bitch she was

→ YourUserName just ‘cause i wouldn’t blow you

→ pierregasly i need you to delete this

User 1 this man is so fine

User 2 i’d like to ride

→ YourUserName you’d have more fun with the car

→ User 2 omg hi queen

━━━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━━━

liked by charles_leclerc, francisca.cgomes and others

YourUserName last race of the season today. just wanted to say a big ‘well done’ to my baby bro. so proud of all you achieved this season and i know you’ll go on to kill it next year! 🍾 #AbuDhabiGP

3,323 comments

YourUserName yes, i know one pic has daniel. no, it’s not an announcement of our friendship. i just like how scared pear looks

User 8 i have never been more attracted to a frenchman before

danielricciardo and who is that handsome man

→ YourUserName there is not a single handsome man in this post; charles was sulking out of the frame

→ pierregasly 1) i am very handsome, 2) stay away from charles, he’s too nice for you

→ danielricciardo and too pretty

→ charles_leclerc stop it or i will fall in love with all of you

→ YourUserName @ pierregasly i’ll stop if you promise to get rid of daniel so i don’t have to see him again

→ danielricciardo and deny you of my bakery 🍑

→ User 9 it's cake, honey, but you tried

User 10 anyone catch the camera panning to y/n when daniel’s car spun out in qualifying

→ User 11 talk about delulu

→ User 12 because he almost crashed into her brother so obvi they would show her

pierregasly just posted

liked by francisca.cgomes, yukitsunoda0511 and others

pierregasly a huge thank you to my support system. je t'aime grande soeur 🌸 (she forced me to post this, please send help)

5,222 comments

YourUserName you’re such a liar! you were legit crying to me last night about how nice it is that i still come to all your races and then said you wanted the world to know

→ pierregasly don’t expose me!

→ landonorris come sit in my car instead. rub a little luck on it

→ User 12 never beating the no rizz allegations

danielricciardo @ landonorris probably best she doesn't, she’s clearly a curse, mate

→ YourUserName and how many races did you win this season?

→ danielricciardo i hope pierre pushes you off the plane tomorrow

→ YourUserName i hope you get run over in the pits

alphatauri we love having you in the garage

User 1 agreed. her hair looked so pretty today and he ruined it

User 2 only for him to then completely forget what he was saying when he realised she was wearing a white shirt? yes! it’s been playing in my head

→ User 3 can’t say i blame him. i too was no better than a man 👀

User 4 but the way he covered her body with his the second he realised to stop the camera focusing on her see-through top

→ User 5 and then gave her one of his shirts because she was walking around in a mclaren top until pierre yanked her into the alphatauri garage

→ User 6 guys, this is bare minimum. him being hot doesn’t make this extra chivalrous

User 7 another angle of that video showed it was an accident. he can be seen saying sorry a billion times and after that, they put a border around the fountain

YourUserName posted a new story

danielricciardo reposted your story

━━━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━━━

YourUserName just posted

liked by carlossainz55, georgerussell63 and others

YourUserName happy 4 year anniversary to my professional car crasher tagged: danielricciardo

7,114 comments

User 1 i knew it! they all called me crazy

danielricciardo delete this. you said you would be a nice. i’m a champion! how many trophies do you have, huh

→ YourUserName depends on how many i steal from the trophy case in our living room (plus, those are replicas)

→ User 2 our?!?!

charles_leclerc but i thought you loved me?

→ YourUserName i do, citrouille. but, daniel and pierre are keeping us apart.

User 3 4 years? this means they were together when he was still at red bull! what did you think about him leaving?

→ YourUserName i'm not allowed to talk about that

landonorris congratulations, mum and dad

→ alex_albon congratulations, mum and dad

→ georgerussell63 congratulations, mum and dad

→ YourUserName i didn’t sign up for this responsibility

→ danielricciardo they’re a package deal, babe. they come with me

maxverstappen1 oh, thank god. It was so hard keeping this to myself in interviews

danielricciardo just posted

liked by maxverstappen1, kellypiquet and others

danielricciardo contrary to popular belief, pierre is not my favourite gasly

6,998 comments

YourUserName aww, mon coeur, you actually used nice photos

→ danielricciardo don’t speak french to me, you know it turns me on

→ maxverstappen1 i miss when you publicly hated each other

pierregasly you take that back!

pierregasly that’s it. you’re off the Christmas card list

francisca.cgomes wonderful, daniel, now he’s sulking

→ YourUserName you get used to it. they may seem cool but all f1 drivers are essentially big crybabies

→ danielricciardo hey!

→ charles_leclerc hey!

→ pierregasly hey!

→ alex_albon hey!

→ landonorris hey!

→ carlossainz55 hey!

→ georgerussell63 true

━━━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━━━

Please request if you have any ideas you'd like to see, and I'll do my best to bring them to life <3

[covid-safer-hotties]

With the toll of new COVID-19 infections regularly topping 1 million a day and weekly deaths creeping toward the 1,000 mark, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) has launched a campaign aimed not at protecting the public from this ongoing pandemic, now in its fifth year, but at washing its hands of responsibility.

CDC Director Dr. Mandy Cohen held a press conference August 23 to review the state of the COVID-19 pandemic and encourage the public to get their winter COVID-19, RSV and flu vaccines once they are made available. While bluntly acknowledging that “COVID is with us,” she tried unconvincingly to assure reporters and viewers that “we have the tools to protect ourselves.” She then added, as a way of shifting the blame, “We just need to use them!”

Dr. Cohen was silent on who was responsible for the failure of most Americans to get booster shots or otherwise protect themselves from a disease, which can be fatal for many and cause lifelong debilitation for many more.

She could have named the Democratic administration of Joe Biden and Kamala Harris, which ended the COVID-19 emergency more than a year ago and treats the pandemic as a thing of the past. She could have named Republican presidential candidate Donald Trump, the promoter of quack remedies like ivermectin and bleach, who recently welcomed into his campaign the anti-vaxxer and enemy of science and public health, Robert F. Kennedy Jr.

And if she had been equipped with a mirror—and a conscience—she could have pointed to herself and other top CDC officials, who have collaborated in the anti-scientific rampage to shut down both mitigation efforts and even elementary data collection on cases of illness, hospitalization and death.

Most importantly (and therefore least likely) she could have acknowledged that within the framework of the capitalist system, the profits of giant banks and corporations are far more important than the lives of human beings. That is the meaning of the incessant claims that schools, factories, public transportation and facilities must be kept open, to save “the economy,” despite the inevitable spread of the infection as a result.

Dr. Cohen, like her predecessors and colleagues at the top of the public health establishment, puts political pressures above science and medicine. The nearly hour-long briefing was simply political theater, where a panel of experts attempted to place the public health agency in the best light despite acknowledging the monumental number of daily infections that have seen hospitalizations and fatalities climb.

Meanwhile, schools across multiple states have announced closures—affecting thousands—just as the new academic year has begun, in response to mass infections among faculty and students.

So far this year, more than 26,000 Americans have died from acute COVID-19 complications, and more than 800 per week are being killed by a preventable infection, a figure 20 percent higher than last year this time. At the current rate, it is expected that between 50,000 to 60,000 Americans will die from COVID-19 in 2024, a rate two to three times higher than fatalities from flu. However, these do not take into consideration excess deaths, and given the complete dismantling of the reporting systems, these figures are known undercounts.

Such figures could only appear low in comparison to the colossal death toll of the first three years of the pandemic, when 352,000 died in 2020, 464,000 in 2021 and 260,000 in 2022. In 2023, 76,000 COVID-19 deaths were recorded. All these numbers are underestimates, as excess mortality figures are considerably higher. The cumulative death toll from COVID-19 is likely well over 1.4 million in the United States and approaching 30 million worldwide.

Neither did the panel address any concerns over the fact that millions continue to suffer from Long COVID, which has taken a significant toll on the health of Americans and the world over. It bears mentioning that a recent study noted that 410 million people across the world have had Long COVID with a $1 trillion impact on global GDP. Yet, no treatment for this condition exists. Without health insurance and means, issues of brain fog, chronic fatigue and sleep disturbances become part of one’s physiognomy.

Much about Dr. Cohen’s characterization of the ongoing COVID-19 pandemic is deeply flawed and should have been taken up by the press, who remained silent on the matter. First and foremost, her claim, in response to a direct question that COVID-19 “is endemic,” is completely misleading.

An infection is endemic when it is contained, not spreading uncontrolled and not causing significant impact on the society. COVID-19 is none of these. It remains a pandemic, with new waves of infections where millions are being infected daily by a virus whose mutation far outstrips the efforts of public health agencies and pharmaceutical companies to provide vaccines, medicines and mitigation practices. It continues to cause large-scale social disruption, economic loss and general hardship.

The opposition of both capitalist parties to any significant effort to fight the pandemic was on display last week. The Democratic National Convention, like its Republican counterpart in July, was a massive superspreader event, with thousands of delegates and media personnel congregating in an enclosed arena, where there was continuous cheering, shouting and singing. There are already anecdotal reports of widespread sickness in state delegations returning from Chicago.

As for the Republicans, Trump staged his appearance with Robert F. Kennedy Jr. on Friday afternoon, beaming as Kennedy announced he was folding up his independent presidential campaign and endorsing the ex-president and would-be dictator. Kennedy said he was working with Trump on staffing agencies like the CDC, NIH, FDA and USDA from the standpoint of ending the “chronic disease crisis.” By this he means, of course, ending efforts to fight diseases and letting children, the elderly, and the entire American population suffer the consequences.

Fundamentally, all large epidemics and pandemics are serious social issues that require broad-scale infection control in place to disrupt and prevent disease. And with respect to COVID-19 and all future pandemics, these require an international collaborative perspective.

In 2024 so far, 179 million people were infected in the United States, a total that is eventually expected to surpass 2023, when more than 248 million Americans, or three-quarters of the population, caught COVID-19. SARS-CoV-2 wastewater levels throughout the pandemic suggest that there have been more than 1.1 billion infections in the United States, between three and four for every person in the country.

This begs the question how are those most vulnerable, such as the elderly, immunocompromised, and those with chronic disabling medical conditions, which represent a significant portion of the population, to protect themselves from perpetual mass infection?

For the CDC director to present public health efforts as a matter of individual, personal choice is a gross falsification of reality. The policy of mass infection has been forced on the population.

As for having the tools to protect themselves, what is being offered are simply vaccines and more vaccines as a means to prevent COVID-19. As the WSWS recently noted, “Despite the limitations, the uptake of the vaccines is vital for the health of the population. The shots have a strong, proven safety record and do prevent severe disease and potentially reduce the risk of Long COVID, as studies have indicated. However, they do not prevent infections and the immunity they offer is short-lived given the constant mutation of the virus.”

The vaccines by Pfizer and Moderna carry a cost of $120 to $130 per shot. In some regions, these can be as high as $160 or even $200. However, the rescinding in March of $4.3 billion from the Department of Health and Human Services in COVID-19 supplemental funding means access to free vaccines for the 26 million uninsured and tens of millions more underinsured, essentially all from working class families, will only mean that the vaccination campaign will simply languish as it did last year when only 7 million Americans accepted the boosters within six weeks of their delivery to pharmacies.

As for other tools in their toolbox, Cohen refers to anti-viral treatments like Paxlovid, which are regularly being denied to patients by their physicians or when they actually are given a prescription, face the daunting price tag of $1,300 to $2,400 per course because their insurance denies them coverage. Meanwhile, repurposed medications like Metformin, a drug that treats diabetes, which has shown anti-viral properties and shown in randomized trials to reduce COVID-19 viral loads and decrease risk of Long COVID, remain unmentioned. In particular, this raises the question of why there are so few tools in the toolbox, and why some are being removed, such as the ability to wear N95 masks in public.

The arrest of an 18-year-old New York man in Nassau County on Tuesday who was wearing a black ski mask utilizing the recently passed mask-ban legislation will only embolden police departments and threaten the public who face possible detentions and arrest simply on charges of police suspicion.

At the Democratic National Convention, guidance was issued forbidding mask wearing by attendees unless “it was necessary due to a disability” and this at the discretion of security.

[hbdttg]

Part 1 / tag list below the cut

“I’m quitting,” Eddie declares, “I’m out. Call me a tree, ‘cause I’m leaving. Call me a banana, ‘cause I’m splitting. T-t-t-t-that’s all, folks!” he adds, doing his best impression of Porky Pig’s signature stammering.

Chrissy’s laser focus doesn’t stray from her monitor, even when Eddie bodily throws himself into the chair across her desk with a long, strangled groan. Wordlessly, she raises her left index finger at him in a silencing gesture. With her brows furrowed in concentration, she drags her mouse around on its pad and double-clicks something on her screen before nodding decisively to herself. After another few clicks, she finally lowers her finger, raises her eyes, and meets Eddie’s gaze.

“Would you mind grabbing what I just printed? Please?” she asks, smiling at him imploringly.

Chrissy could ask Eddie to bleach his hair and shave off an eyebrow and he’d do it. She’s actually who he has to thank for landing such a cushy job with HHH—a referral from a trusted associate like her goes a long way in a place like this.

And despite Eddie’s many complaints about becoming a corporate sellout, he can’t deny that it certainly has its perks. The office is only a ten-minute commute from his apartment, the compensation agreement he signed amounted to more money than his last two jobs combined, his benefits package is frankly ridiculous, and he gets to work with one of his best friends in the world. Overall, not a bad gig.

Even so, he makes a show of sighing, loud and longsuffering, before doing as Chrissy asks, leaving her office to grab her job off the printer. Eddie knows she works in HR and some of her stuff can get pretty confidential, so he doesn’t even try to skim the contents of the page as he walks it back over to her.

“Here,” he says, thrusting the paper at Chrissy facedown.

“Thanks!” she says. She makes no moves to take it from him. “That’s for you, actually.”

Curious, Eddie takes the paper back and flips it over. In the center of the page is a graphic of safety sign one might find in a cartoon factory, though Chrissy had edited the original from “[___] Days Since Last Accident” to “[___] Days Since Eddie Last Threatened to Quit His Job”. There’s a big red zero in the counter box.

Eddie tries to glower down at Chrissy, but it’s sort of hard to maintain when she bursts into laughter. It’s been years, but the sound of Chrissy laughing like this, all bright and breathless and unrestrained, never fails to transport him back to his (third) senior year of high school, when they first became friends over a failed drug deal.

“Don’t be cute,” Eddie says with a laughable lack of authority, dropping heavily back down into the chair.

“Do you know who you’re talking to?” Chrissy counters, brow raised archly.

Eddie rolls his eyes, crumpling the page into a ball and lobbing it in between them.

Chrissy lets the ball land harmlessly on her desk before sweeping it into the trashcan by her feet.  “Just so you know, I’ve had that saved on my desktop since Monday—and I haven’t had to edit the days count a single time.”

Eddie scoffs, but it’s hard to defend himself when this current visit marks the fifth day in a row he’s floundered into her office, vainly announcing his resignation. “Yeah, well,” he says weakly, “printing it seems like a gross misuse of company resources.”

“What are you going to do, report me?” Chrissy says with a mischievous sparkle in her eyes.

“Let me guess: you’re the one who receives those reports?” Eddie says dryly.

“Yep!” she says cheerfully. “Now, go on and tell me about your latest trainwreck of an interaction with Steve Harrington.”

“Christ, Chris!” Eddie hisses, leaping to his feet and immediately spinning around to check if anyone was around to hear her damning words. The coast is clear, luckily, but he still scrambles to shut her office door before falling back into his chair. “You can’t just go around saying his name all willy-nilly.”

“He’s not gonna suddenly appear if you say his name three times, Eddie. See, watch. Steve. Steve. St—”

“Don’t risk it!” Eddie squawks loudly, cutting her off.

“You’re an absolute mess,” she says through a laugh, shaking her head at him.

And well, Chrissy’s not wrong.

Eddie’s been a mess since Monday morning, when he unknowingly produced, directed, and starred in The Roast of Steve Harrington. He blames his shitty memory for forgetting what floor his new office was on—if he’d known he was sharing the elevator with someone he could have potentially worked with (let alone someone whose surname made up a third of the company name), he wouldn’t have opened his big, fat mouth in the first place.

When he finally gathered the courage to make it back down to the fifty-second floor and show his face at the HHH office, he kicked off his onboarding with Chrissy with a strangled, “I know it’s my first day and I technically just started ten minutes ago, but I quit. Thank you for the opportunity and good-bye forever.”

Chrissy, the traitor, spent a full five minutes laughing in his face over his shamefully recounted story before patting him twice on the head and informing him he wasn’t allowed to quit for at least six months. The overly saccharine tone of her voice alone told Eddie there was no room for argument there.

Still, that didn’t stop him from following her into her office after the all-hands meeting on Tuesday, all the while whining in her ear, “I can’t thrive in these conditions, Chrissy. Please, I beg of you—accept my sincere and humble resignation from this cursed hellscape.”

‘These conditions’ consisted of any rooms and/or conversations that contained Steve Harrington. Eddie hadn’t been expecting to see the guy doting over the catering when he walked into the conference room that afternoon, and he certainly wasn’t expecting his supervisor and trainer, Murray, to lead him over to Steve to introduce the two of them (though that was likely just an excuse to head straight for the sandwiches that were laid out for the meeting).

While Eddie choked on his own tongue trying to spit out some generic, inoffensive greeting, Steve merely watched him with an amused smirk before thrusting his hand out and offering a perfectly friendly “It’s nice to meet you, Eddie, I’m Steve”, as if Eddie didn’t have Steve’s name and face (and stupidly fit body—who the fuck looks that good in a pair of khakis?!) burnt into his memory from the day prior.

Afterward, Murray, who most assuredly did not have a filter of any kind, bluntly commented on Eddie’s awkwardness, then spent the next five minutes trying to determine if it was normal, strangers-meeting-for-the-first time awkwardness, or something more sensational. Eddie stubbornly kept his mouth shut until the meeting started.

Wednesday followed a similar pattern, with Eddie flouncing into Chrissy’s office with a dramatic “I choose to break my blood oath. At this point I’d welcome the sweet release of death if it meant I didn’t have to work here anymore.”

Chrissy just corrected him, patiently explaining that he was employed at-will, rather than by blood oath, and that if he left before his sixth month, she’d personally skin him alive. Eddie had to pause and weigh the pros and cons of being skinless. Surely it couldn’t be worse than his latest exchange with Steve—via email this time, mercifully.

He’d just learned how to field helpdesk tickets and received one from Steve Harrington himself. It was a simple enough software request ticket, so he assigned it to himself and replied with next steps, asking Steve for a code so he could remote into his computer and install the program.

Steve replied back, asking where he was supposed to find the code. It was an innocuous enough question, but then Eddie noticed something a little off about his email signature: his last name was bolded.

Eddie ignored it, assuming it was a stylistic choice—nothing to read into, surely—but then Steve sent another email shortly after to let him know to disregard his last email; he’d found the right app and was just waiting for it to generate a code. This time, Harrington was bolded and at least two sizes bigger than his first name.

Then, in Steve’s third email, sent not a minute later with the requested code, Harrington was bolded, two sizes bigger than his first name, and highlighted yellow—a tactic Chrissy found so hilarious that she had to shoo Eddie out of her office with tears in her eyes so that she could compose herself and actually get some work done.

Thursday was a blessed reprieve from Steve’s unique brand of psychological warfare, but Eddie still somehow managed to royally humiliate himself in front of him. After he slunk into her office and silently pushed a scribbled-on napkin across her desk—

Please accept this letter as my formal resignation from my position as Systems Analyst II at HHH, effective immediately. Effective yesterday. In fact, I’ll pay you back the entirety of my wages earned if we just forget I ever worked here.

—Chrissy tutted at him sympathetically before taking the napkin and reaching over to dab it at the large wet stain on his shirt.

He’d been walking back to his desk from the breakroom when he rounded a corner and bumped into Steve in the hallway. Literally bumped into, bodily contact and surprised yelps and everything. And it probably wouldn’t have been such a big deal, really, if not for the fact that he had a newly refilled mug of coffee in his hand.

“Eddie, oh my god, are you okay?”

No, Eddie wasn’t okay, because he just splashed himself with hot fucking coffee and now Steve Harrington was worriedly fussing over him and tentatively trying to mop up the liquid with his own fucking hands for some reason, and he was embarrassed (and a little turned on?) and he had to get the fuck out of there now.

“I’m okay, sorry, it’s fine—” he managed to squeak before whirling around and scurrying to the bathroom.

So yes, Eddie’s been an absolute mess the past few days, and today is no different.

…Actually, scratch that. Today is different. Today is worse.

“Okay, now spill,” Chrissy says. “What happened?”

With another drawn-out, pitiful groan, Eddie sinks down in his seat and lets his neck hang off the backrest, blinking up at the ceiling.

“Talk to me, Eds,” Chrissy says, concern starting to bleed into her voice. “If he’s actually bullying you, you can file a complaint. I have a form here somewhere.”

Eddie hears her open one of her desk drawers and reluctantly sits up. “He’s not bullying me, Mom,” he says with a huff. “We actually…we talked.”

“You talked?” Chrissy asks, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah, about the elevator. Buried the hatchet and everything. I said sorry, we laughed about it, it’s over and done with.” Eddie’s gaze darts around Chrissy’s desk, searching for something to distract him from the warm and fuzzy feeling growing in his stomach at the memory of their conversation.

“That’s great, I’m so proud of you!” Chrissy says cheerfully. “But wait, if you two are good now…”

Eddie doesn’t want her to ask what she’s about to ask, because the answer might be more embarrassing than all of his other Steve stories combined.

“Why are you still going on about quitting?”

Eddie drops his face into his hands, feeling totally and utterly pathetic. “Um, because I think I’m sort of, kind of, just a little bit…in love with him?”

-------------------------------------

tbh I didn’t think I’d be writing a second part, but if strangers on the internet validate me enough, I guess I’ll do anything~

Y’ALL. I’m blown away by the response to part one of this silly lil au. I didn’t reply to any of the lovely comments or tags, but please know if you engaged in any way (or even if you just read the fic and snorted a little through your nose at a bit you found funny) I love you with my entire heart and you’ve made my entire life.

[Now for the tag list, which I’ve never done before. Sorry if you didn’t actually want to be on here! Or, sorry if you’re stumbling upon this post on your own after asking to be tagged and I missed you oops.]

@messrs-weasley @n0-1-important @bornonthesavage @thing-a-ling @eddiemunsonswife @changenamelater @ispyblu @thesuninyaface

@invisibleflame812 @4nemo1egend @ikolanatari @mavernanche @songbird-garden @trashpocket @original-cypher @over7joyed 

@commonxsenss @justdyingontheinside @mojowitchcraft @maya-custodios-dionach @justmiiriam @imzadidragonfly @lillemilly @gay-stranger-things @child-of-cthulhu @bleedingoptimism @lemanzanabizarra @melaniehere91

@iswearitsjustme @silver-snaffles @csinnamon-fox @paint-music-with-me @epicsteddieficrecs @sweetcreaturetm @hxneyfarms @bossyknow-it-all @vecnuthy @stevethehairington @anything-thats-rock-and-roll @nburkhardt

@gayngerthings @patchworkgargoyle @violetsteve @henderdads @2btheanswertothequestion

[andreawritesit]

Fandom: Bleach

Pairing: Aizen x Wife!Reader

Warnings: none really.

----------------------------------------

Prologue: Here

Chapter 1

Time had passed. Hinamori had recovered almost fully and the Soul Society was starting to regain the peace that had been disturbed by the treacherous captains. Head Captain Yamamoto had finally issued a statement regarding the betrayal and the ex-captains. The three squads left without their captains were being monitored by their lieutenants for the time being. After trying really hard to ignore the memories, you had finally taken up on Ukitake’s offer and moved to another room. Aizen’s face haunted you day and night. Not the one you were used to, the one with glasses resting on his nose and a kind smile on his face, no. The face that had taken over your dreams was the one he unveiled while leaving the Soul Society; the one that no longer had strands of hair decorating it, the one that had discarded the kindness from itself. With the vast lifespan shinigami had, you wondered if any amount of time would ever heal the scars he had left on your soul.  Whatever short amount of time you had felt peaceful was once again destroyed by Aizen’s schemes. Orihime Inuoe had been on her way back to the World of Living when she disappeared halfway. Every possibility was taken into account and an emergency meeting had been scheduled with the Captains and lieutenants present in the World of Living. Upon hearing that Orihime had apparently healed Ichigo’s injuries, Yamamoto had decided that she had defected on her own and declared her a traitor. That hadn’t stopped the orange-haired man from heading to Hueco Mundo by himself. All that had led to this:

You were currently with Kisuke Urahara, the banished ex-captain of squad 12. You were helping him with transporting the real Karakura town to Soul Society as word had spread that Aizen would be attacking the town shortly. You had nearly lost your mind by this point. After all, you’d be seeing him again. You were sitting on the roof of a house, thinking over how your reunion with your traitor of a husband would go. Would he even acknowledge your presence? He hadn’t hesitated to stab his loyal lieutenant. What if he had also never cared for you, even once? What if he decided to kill you too? Would you be able to strike him back?

“Ahem.” You turned around at the sound of the very obviously fake cough. Ukitake stood behind you with a warm smile gracing his face. Maybe the cough wasn’t so fake… 

“Captain Ukitake, I’m sorry I didn’t notice you there.” He laughed and sat beside you. 

“Of course you didn’t. You were lost in your thoughts.” His voice was gentle. 

“Yes. I was thinking about…”

“About Aizen?” You sighed and held your head in your hands. It was so obvious how rattled you were with the situation. Ukitake didn’t say anything but wrapped his arm around your shoulder and gave you a light pat. The white-haired captain had been by your side throughout these turbulent times. His calm presence had been a silent shore in the loud sea of your emotions. Even now, when there was an inevitable war looming over your heads, he had found time to sit down and reassure you, knowing that the upcoming confrontation would be the hardest on you. 

“What if I won’t be able to stand against him? All this time, I’ve been telling myself that I’m strong enough to keep my emotions in check and stand for what’s right. But what if I’m not? What if when I see him, I’ll fall back into his arms? What then Captain?”

“I understand why you feel that way. We have known Sosu-Aizen for a long time. His betrayal came as a shock to all of us. But you shared a deeper bond with him. You have known him in the most intimate ways. I say I understand but the truth is that I will never be able to feel what you do. To have someone so beloved abandon and betray me… I’m not sure I would’ve been able to go on as you have. You’re stronger than you believe you are. And even if you do fall weak to your emotions, there’s nothing wrong with that. He is your husband; you have loved him more than anyone. It won’t be unseemly if you want to run to him in a moment of emotional vulnerability. Just don’t let him use your love as a weapon.”

You didn’t say anything in response. Every word he said was true and yet there was still doubt lingering in your mind. Not because you thought Sosuke might sway you to his side, but because if you did show emotional attachment to him still, you might lose everything else. Yamamoto had been very strict in his words when he had said that anyone found to have any sort of contact with the traitors would be counted as one and dealt with as such. You were torn between your feelings and your duties. And yet all you could do was wait. Wait until he showed up there.

Ukitake sensed your despair and hugged you sideways. You wanted to hide away in his embrace but he let go of you quickly. Getting up, he offered you his hand.

“Come on now, get up. Time to meet up with others.” You took his hand and stood up. He was right. It was time to get up. 

-------- at Urahara’s shop ---------

The meeting had gone by quite quickly. They all had their orders. You were sitting next to Urahara who was busy tinkering around with something. At first, you focused on the teacup in your hand. But soon curiosity got the best of you and you glanced his way. You almost wanted to facepalm when you saw what he was doing. Kisuke Urahara, in this time of war, was fixing his fan. You put the cup down and tapped his shoulder. He turned around quickly and gave you his signature stupid smirk.

“Oh, is the beautiful miss interested in my doings?” you couldn’t help but chuckle at the man’s words.

“No sir, not quite. I’m only wondering how your poor fan got broken like that.”

His smile turned upside down and he let out a dramatic sigh. “How kind of you to ask. This is the doing of Yoruichi sama. She’s so careless around things. She has broken my delicate fan four times already.”

“How impolite of her! Breaking a man’s fan like that!”

“Exactly! And when I request her not to be so reckless with my things, she just hits me in response. She has no regard for me or my things.��

His words bring out laughter from you, a sound you hadn’t heard in a while. Kisuke looked at you with a gentle smile and went back to fixing his fan. After a few moments, you finally stopped laughing and stood up.

“Hey Kisuke?”

He turned to look at you and you nodded at him. “Thank you.” 

“For what?”

“You know for what. I’ll be with the Captains and lieutenants now.”

He tipped his hat at you and you left the room. After looking around for a bit, you finally found the others assembled on the roofs of some houses. You went to them and stood next to Ukitake who welcomed you with a smile. Shunsui was sitting on a roof, looking as bored as ever. Upon your arrival, he stood up and walked to where you and Ukitake were. 

“Well well, if it isn’t the one who stole my best friend!” he commented as he nudged you with his shoulder. You smirked back at him and hung your arm around Ukitake’s shoulder. 

“It isn’t my fault if I’m better company than you, isn’t that right Captain Ukitake?” The Squad 13 captain just shook his head at you both. 

Your little banter was suddenly cut off by the abrupt presence of dense spiritual pressure. And soon enough, a Garganta opened right above where you were standing. Everybody rose up into the sky and readied themselves to unsheathe their zanpakutos. You stood between Ukitake and Shunsui, hand on your own zanpakuto. You were trying your best to calm your nerves and then you felt it. He was here. Surely enough, three people walked out of the opening. Your eyes went straight to him. Aizen. He was standing between Ichimaru Gin and Kaname Tosen. His eyes almost immediately found you and you both were locked in each other’s gaze. He looked so different yet so familiar. His hair was slicked back, with only a few strands falling across his face. His glasses were gone and he looked taller than before, if it was even possible. While observing him, you felt someone grab your wrist. You saw Ukitake from the corner of your eyes as he squeezed your hand to reassure you.

This wasn’t missed by Aizen’s keen eyes as he saw Ukitake’s hand grab yours. An unexpected emotion flashed in his mind and he had to look away. Had you finally moved on from him? With the Squad 13 captain? He scoffed at his own assumptions and summoned Gin to him. 

“Anytime now.”

Gin understood his captain at once. After all, they had come to this wretched town for only two things, the Oken and his captain’s wife. But before they could even move an inch, Yamamoto used his Ryujinjakka to trap them inside the burning fire. 

You watched in awe as the Head Captain conjured a fiery prison for the traitors. As the fire encircled them, the last thing you saw sent chills down your spine. Aizen had smiled.   

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

tag list @fabulouslyflamboyant5 (let me know if anyone else wants to be added) ---------------------------------------------------- Next part: here

[user211201]

Identity Death

--- Originally posted on 2024-04-12 by dumb-and-jocked. ---

As directed by @mrrharper

“Endless war will end our world!” Alan shouted.

“Stop funding our military!”

Alan was amongst the hundreds of protestors at the courthouse fighting against the proposed budgetary reforms. Schools, roads, transportation, parks, environmental protections agencies–they were all on the line. Through the presented bill, thousands of institutions would be shut down as billions of dollars would be rerouted towards a single entity: the military.

“The military corrupts! Stop the brainwashing!” Alan spat. He had organized this event under his alias, a popular political blogger on multiple social media outlets. Although his voice was loud and aggravated, Alan's physical appearance was anything but. He wore a baby blue tee and white-washed skinny jeans. 5’7 with bleached hair. All he needed was a rainbow somewhere to perfect his twink look. But he was not here to make that kind of statement. He was at the protest to make another form, something that could gain traction. Peering across the crowd, Alan saw his chance. 

A few of Alan’s fellow protestors were bombarding one of the towering guards with jeers. They scrutinized him, although it appeared none of their words got through the soldier’s heavy artillery padding. In fact, the solider stood proud in his position, dominantly poised with his chest puffed up in pride. Alan approached the guard slowly, noticing he remained perfectly still as the protestors continued to insult him. Without thinking twice, Alan approached and made his move. 

“How about you show us what they’re really funding, dickhead?”

Alan threw a fist at the soldier, putting all his strength behind the movement. Due to the crowds, the soldier did not recognize the motion until it was too late. Alan’s knuckle dove right into the much taller man’s neck, ricocheting into the muscular, masked chin. Instantly, there was a cheer from the crowd at the successful blow, but it was quickly hushed.

“You pathetic cocksucker,” the soldier growled. In a flurry, the once peaceful statue became a merciless brute, swinging down and dragging Alan out of the crowd. Before he knew it, Alan found himself handcuffed with the soldier escorting him off into the enemy’s territory.

“You can’t do this! This is illegal!” Alan cried out. 

“Shut your whiny mouth.” As soon as they were out of public sight, the soldier slapped Alan hard across the face. The warmth of blood soon filled his cheeks where the bruise began to bloom. Alan made sure not to react, but he could not hide the worry in his voice.

“Where are you taking me?”

“The barracks, you fairy prick.”

The soldier brought Alan to a building not too far from the protest lines. He guided them down numerous hallways, Alan losing track before they even made it halfway there. There were checkpoints, various nods, and some curt conversations with other soldiers, but nobody questioned about Alan or the situation. Eventually, Alan was tossed into a small makeshift bedroom, only holding a cot and a pile of unwashed clothes.

“Get undressed,” the soldier demanded.

“Why should I listen to you?”

Alan was met with another forceful assault, this time a punch to his gut.

“Cause I’m First Sergeant, maggot, which means out of the two of us, I’m in charge.”

Alan scoffed. “Is that your name: ‘First Sergeant’?”

“First Sergeant QF24,” the soldier gruffly shot back.

“That’s not a name either,” Alan replied. 

“Been in service so long I don’t need a civilian name.”

Alan wanted to jump on this, make a point about how this was evidence of the dangers of the military, but First Sergeant continued.

“While my identity is real, I assume the one you were about to give me is not. What do you go by, something like that 'AlanActivist' snot?”

Alan blushed, believing that his pseudonym had been cool and unique.

“It’s about time you considered that maybe it is not the military that enforces this ‘identity death’ you all are so worried about, but your own belief system.”

“You can’t be serious,” Alan snarked, surprised at the soldier’s intelligent argument. First Sergeant was however humorless, once again pointing to the pile of discarded clothes.

“Get dressed, degenerate.”

The soldier placed one of his giant, gloved hands behind the twink’s back and pushed him towards the pile. It appeared to Alan as a giant heap of army green and camouflage. Slowly but hesitantly, he began to strip himself of his clothing, hoping to avoid any further hazing. Once down to his underwear, he silently pleaded that he would not have to drop anything else.

“Soldiers go commando, sissy.”

First Sergeant quickly appeared behind Alan before ripping his underwear clean off, exposing the twink’s bare bottom and small package to the world. Alan quickly covered himself up with one hand before leaning down towards the pile. He grimaced, his fear no longer overriding the powerful musk seeping from the military cloth. First Sergeant chuckled at his disgust from behind.

“Aren’t homos supposed to like that kind of thing?” he asked, before grabbing the back of Alan’s head. “Go on, get a better whiff of it!” Amused, First Sergeant plunged Alan’s head into the musky pile of clothes. Alan’s oxygen supply was cut off, forcing him to inhale the overpowering masculine fumes.

“You idiots never consider that being in the military is hard work. It’s not all fun and guns.” First Sergeant smothered Alan’s head further. “‘Bout time you realize what it’s like, standing on the front line all day, hot and sweaty and random strangers berating you for protecting their country, their freedom.”

The military body odor seeped into Alan’s system, numbing his body and clouding his mind. By the time he was pulled away, the naked twink struggled to form a coherent thought.

“Much better,” First Sergeant noted the lopsided smile on the twink’s face. “Now, fit yourself into some tactical gear.”

Without questioning it, Alan followed the soldier’s command. He did not know every single piece of equipment that went into the common soldier’s uniform, nor did he understand the procedure to follow, but somehow Alan managed to get the attire onto his body.

Combat pants, military-grade socks, gore tex boots. Camouflage button-up, hardshell jacket, belt with holster and magazine pouches. Shooting gloves, army print hat, face mask. It took a minute longer for Alan to place every minor piece of tactical protection onto himself, but finally his smaller frame was completely covered, dwarfed by the oversized gear.

“Looking like a real soldier there,” First Sergeant mocked. “Now let’s actually make you one.”

Already covered in the musky clothing, Alan’s intellectual ability had been dulled considerably. But when First Sergeant approached, clutching Alan’s head once more before shoving it into his wet armpit, his brain completely halted. Coming straight from the source, the soldier’s stench wafted past all Alan’s barriers, taking control immediately. Its first instruction was to keep sniffing, its second was to conform.

With a chuckle, First Sergeant watched as Alan’s body began to expand underneath his hold. The shrimpy twink grew inside of the tactical gear, filling it out properly in every direction. Muscular arms filled the sleeves of the jacket, meaty hands stuffing the crevices of the gloves. The vest became as padded on the back as it was in the front, juicy pectorals and rigid abdominals forcefully pushing against the fabric. 

Thicker thighs padded the pants, bloated feet crowded the massive boots. Two muscular buttocks crammed the seat of Alan’s pants. A lantern jaw and cleft chin became prominent underneath the face mask. Buzz cut hidden by the cap, deeper voice waiting to confirm with “Sir, yes sir!” First Sergeant even noticed the prominent padding his new soldier was developing beneath the belt. When he ultimately removed Alan from his hold, the man before him now stood at the same domineering height.

“Good, now just stand still for one moment.”

Even if he wanted to, Alan could not move. The musk was still lingering in his mind, holding him steady as First Sergeant deposited an obnoxious military headset onto Alan’s head. He then plugged the headset into a walkie-talkie before tuning it to an empty channel. A robotic voice began looping into Alan’s ears, along with a few simple tones to open up the receptive pathways in his brain.

“Ready to get back out there?” First Sergeant asked, knowing his fellow soldier could not hear him. With a smirk, he escorted the dumbfounded subordinate out of the room, pacing slowly as Alan absorbed the propaganda. It was simple phrases, nothing too complicated but through repetition effective on the psyche. “Military good,” “pacifism bad”. “Nationalism good,” “multiculturalism bad.” “Masculinity good,” “progressivism bad.” The messages were rudimentary, but deliberate.

Once they stepped back into the open, fresh air, Alan’s consciousness resurfaced. He tried to fight back against the rampant messaging, doing his best to tune out the audios as the First Sergeant led him back to the front line. Alan was being attacked on all fronts: his morals, his identity, his sexuality. Every time he turned away to defend one trait, it was like he lost another. He felt himself dwindling, chipping away.

Before long, the two stood directly in front of the courthouse, mere feet away from their first encounter. First Sergeant loaded the new soldier up, arming the man with a weapon and other items necessary in case of an emergency.

“Let’s see if you’re done cooking yet.” First Sergeant looked directly into his subordinate’s eyes, pleased with their reflective quality. He then removed the headphones.

“Name and rank, soldier?” he saluted. The other man fell into place, mirroring his actions.

“Private Aaron Steel, MH36 sir!”

First Sergeant smiled. The name change was a good sign of transition, but complete removal would have been preffered.

“Ready for the task, soldier? Will you be loyal and obedient to the greatest nation? Follow every instruction in the name of tradition?”

The soldier nodded his head quickly, “Affirmative, sir.”

“Alright then.” First Sergeant replaced the headphones back onto the private’s head, knowing a little more time would do the trick. “Dismissed. Get back to work, private.”

“Sir yes sir!”

First Sergeant strolled back to his command at the front line. The new private monitored the crowd, absorbing his commands as he scanned for any disturbances.

[elegy-if]

For the very first time in years, you’re met with the scent of fresh air. No antiseptic, no lingering smell of blood, still so thick you can practically taste it at just the memory of it. You’re not going back if it kills you. Which it very well might.

DEMO: LINK (UPDATED DECEMBER 8TH, 2023.)

Nemisi is an 18+ modern horror/romance/urban fantasy interactive novel WIP. Play as a customizable MC, who’s on the run from Vicelie Labs.

The struggle between cosmic deities — now worshiped (or abhorred) as gods — tore its way into your planet not long before you were born. Unluckily for you, you were one of the first generations to be born exposed to Excinate, the name given to the radioactive-like sickness that comes from being exposed to magic not of your world. As your symptoms slowly got worse and worse, you were promptly ripped from your family after a doctor’s visit ushered on by your concerned parents. Since then, you’ve been shipped around and transported from facility to facility to be poked and prodded at.

Until now. No, now you’re free.

Aside from that lingering hunger for flesh you’ve had since becoming infected, of course. Just a little side effect from the radiation, along with a mouthful of jagged teeth and a jaw that can unhinge like a snake.

THE CAST:

Refs for RO skin tones can be found here!

Felix (he/she, bigender + bisexual): Curt, blunt, and too tired to deal with this mess, Felix really had no reason to suspect the lab next to gas station he works night shifts at had anything to hide. It’s not like the screams he heard coming from that direction were anything more than some kids messing around late at night, right? Besides, she'd met some of the employees of Vicelie Labs, and aside from the occasional lingering scent of blood, they seemed like just fine people. 

Okay, so maybe she did have a sneaking suspicion something was up. Not like he could do anything about it. Not until you show up, at least, crashing through the gas station door in such a tizzy you’d nearly run into it.

Tall and lanky, Felix often has a scowl spread across her face. He has tawny brown skin, dark brown eyes, and poorly bleached hair with quite a bit of jet black root growth. His hair is styled into a shaggy wolf cut, and of course one can’t forget the shitty stubble she’s refused to shave since it grew in. Felix has a body that might often be described as scrawny, or perhaps even gangly. A strong gust of wind could knock him over. Felix is most often seen in casual clothes; hoodies, band shirts, and jeans make up the majority of her wardrobe. Has several piercings; a bridge, septum, both nostrils, snake bites, and two eyebrow piercings side by side. She stands at 5’11” tall. Felix is trans no matter what. He will always use both he and she pronouns interchangeably. Please do not use they/them to refer to her.

Dr. Eden Neal (gender selectable, M/F/NB): Kind, but awkward. A doctor who didn’t know what they were getting into when applying for a job with Vicelie Labs. Fresh out of med school, the harsh reality of the labs was too much for them. They were assigned to examine you, and though it was hard to trust them at first (and even now) they were essential in your escape. 

While Eden seems to be a kind soul, your bitter side can’t help but wonder if their assistance in your escape was some cruel joke.

Combined with their soft, rounded features, Eden’s dark hair is in long braids, often pulled back out of their face into a ponytail. They have large golden brown eyes with thick eyelashes, and their skin is a deep brown, with a hint of a cool undertone. More soft than muscle, though they still have some tone and definition to their arms and back. It’s not easy work lifting and moving those heavy vats around the lab, after all. Eden is most typically seen in a lab coat, though they lean a bit more business casual once they start meeting up with you for check-ins after your escape. They stand at 5’4”, regardless of gender. Eden is black, with dark skin.

Sable (gender selectable, M/F/NB): A bit of an outcast, Sable is an extremely shy mortician, and one of your (limited) options for getting the flesh you so desperately crave. They spot you sneaking into the morgue one night, half lucid and drunk with the need for blood and flesh on your tongue. They offer to cut a deal with you — they’ll give you all the scraps and leftovers that they can get away with, so long as you give them any information you’ve picked up about the consequences of using cosmic magic. 

Are they seeking power, or just simply curious about the consequences of magic from a biological standpoint?

Sable is one of the tallest RO’s, standing at 6’2” regardless of gender. They have a bright shock of long, curly ginger hair, and their near ghostly pallor is covered in freckles and beauty marks. Most notably, they have beauty marks to the right of their bottom lip, as well as underneath their left eye. They have a long, roman nose with a prominent bridge and blue eyes. Their body is on the heavier side, with a soft stomach and thick thighs. Sable doesn’t dress to impress as they’re mostly surrounded by dead bodies, typically wearing neutral colored slacks and skirts. They occasionally spice things up with an interesting vest or tie, but are much too scared to stand out to do so often. They have circle glasses. Sable is plus size, with a pear shaped figure.

Eris (gender selectable, M/F/NB): A hired killer, and the only other option you have for sating your hunger besides Sable. You meet Eris as you’re hiding away from Vicelie Labs in Eden's apartment, drawn to the smell of blood from them finishing up one of their “contracts” in the apartment next door. It’s a mess of guts and gore, and you can’t stop yourself from indulging. After a moment of awareness, you go to turn tail and run, only to find Eris still there. They have an offer for you — they’ll kill for you, and you can have at their fresh meat. Certainly an offer that’s hard to pass up, considering your current predicament.

Perpetually masked, you’re actually not certain what Eris looks like behind it. From what you can see, they’re very sturdy. All you can see besides their build is their hair, occasionally peeking out from beneath their hood. It falls to Eris’ wide shoulders, and from what you’ve seen is a dark brown. They stand at 6'0" tall, regardless of gender.

???: You’ve only heard of them in passing at the lab — someone who goes after rogue assets, like you. According to Eden, they’re after you, and with a vengeance.

Good luck.

[recurring-polynya]

I reblogged that great meta post the other day about Renji filled the role of a heart character, and then I happened to be flipping past this page, which I've probably read a million times before:

I think the takeaway from this panel is supposed to be some neat and ominous foreshadowing about Urahara's bankai. There's also sort of a recurring theme in Urahara's arc of regret that he isn't able to act directly (or perhaps that he has to send/endanger others on his behalf). Urahara-enjoyers can go run with that, if they want, because, as is my way, I will be talking only about Renji.

Bleach is a battle shounen, so of course there is a tendency to rank characters and to tally up Ws and Ls. Renji never fares well in these conversations. Orihime doesn't either, which is absolutely inane, because her primary power is *healing*, and none of the main cast would still be around if it weren't for her. It was suddenly interesting for me to read this line, and think suddenly think of Renji in the same light.

Urahara isn't the only captain who holds back using his bankai. Ukitake jumps into Kyouraku's fight with Stark because he doesn't want Kyouraku to have to go to bankai. Shinji can't use his when other people are around. Unohana went to the trouble of becoming one of the best healers in the series in order be able to fight with her bankai for more than 0.6 seconds.

On the other hand, shit starts to go down, and Hihiou Zabimaru is out, immediately. Hihiou Zabimaru is an accessible bankai, a familiar bankai. They can run down 16 Menos in a row, but they can also crash through a wall, or work as a mode of transportation, or you can even use them for a surprise attack. They are good for training and giving people strength, whether it's helping Chad learn his powers, or giving Ichigo something to beat on when he needs to work his way out of a depressive funk.

Color Bleach+ notes that Squad 6 admires Byakuya, but they like Renji. I think that's just a microcosm of a larger theme though-- in Bleach, power sets you apart, makes you remote, makes you something different from those around you. Aizen and Stark are noted to be profoundly lonely. Urahara and Kyouraku have to send people they care about to their deaths as they hold themselves back for strategic reasons. Gin and Hitsugaya poison their relationships with their favorite people because of their devotions to their own separate duties. The one-shot reveals that captains can't even go back into the resurrection cycle and have to go to Hell instead.

Renji gets pretty powerful by the end of the series. He even replaces Hihiou Zabimaru with Sou-oh Zabimaru, who is better for killing guys, but you can't hitch a ride on them. He never becomes a captain, though. The longer I've thought about this, the more I love this ending for him. He gets to marry the woman he loves and have a kid, he gets to keep running his squad with his weirdo captain/bestie, he still gets to go drinking with the other lieutenants. It's exactly parallel to Ichigo's ending, in the sense that he chooses his friends and loved ones over the pursuit of power. Like, Kubo was really not fucking around when he superimposed those images of Ichigo and Renji swearing on their souls as Renji is fighting Byakuya and decides that dying while doing his best to save Rukia was worth it, even if he never ends up surpassing Byakuya.

He doesn't die, though, he gets to live, and help out his friends and train people with his bankai and make them stronger and I think that is very fucking based of him.

[bleachbleachbleach]

[Bleach: DiamondDust Rebellion]

I’ve been losing my mind over this for almost 36 hours because I make casual mention of the fact that Soul Society doesn’t have wheels all the time and it turns out

THEY HAVE HAD WHEELS THIS ENTIRE TIME

LOOK AT THOSE WHEELS

THEY TURN AND EVERYTHING!!!!!

Granted, these wheels are not particularly functional, because they are not propelling this vehicle anywhere and are in fact mostly just rotating through thin air but OH MY GOD THEY HAVE WHEELS

[conceptofjoy]

[The doorbell rings and Dirk warps on to the transportalizer right next to the front door because walking is for chumps, and also because he lives in a fuck off massive mansion that he and Jake decided it was a swell idea to live in at the tender age of 16.]

[He sees a glimpse of bleached blond hair and purple and instinctively goes to close the door despite knowing who the fuck it is because this is Dirk Strider, of course he's got the best home security of all the other Gods of Earth C. A foot comes between his half-hearted attempt and he lets up just as fast.] [Rose and Dirk stare at each other appraisingly for a moment. His gaze flits over to the shoddy bindle she's holding, then to car parked directly on top of the mailbox out front. It wasn't seeing any use due to the fact he lives in the middle of fucking nowhere, an ironic gesture more than anything, but because of that same fact, it would seem that Rose had uncaptchalogued the car there on purpose and just flew here.] DIRK: Who's car is that? ROSE: My wife kicked me out. DIRK: Okay. ROSE: You don't think I have a car? DIRK: I respect the fact you alchemized a car just for the banished husband shtick. ROSE: The seats came pre-stained with cigarette residue and burns all over. I thought about camping there for the night parked at a motel, but the energy was too depressing. ROSE: Thought maybe a drastic change of natural scenery be more fitting of an crisis. DIRK: Isn't the point of exile as a punitive measure that you are supposed to reflect on your actions? ROSE: They put Napoleon on ST. Helena, did they not? DIRK: Are you comparing my house to a remote island right now? ROSE: I wasn't, but perhaps there is a point to be made here about your choice in local. DIRK: Not a great way to ask someone for a favor. ROSE: ROSE: I- [He steps away from the door and turns around, expecting her to follow in. She does, hesitantly.] DIRK: Call her tomorrow, it's best to clear the air as soon as you can. ROSE: I wasn't expecting a therapy camp. [He shrugs, points down a hall when she's close enough.] DIRK: Take a left then the fourth door down should have a clean room. ROSE: What's in all the other doors? DIRK: Stuff. ROSE: Oh, I see. DIRK: I'm coming by tomorrow morning. ROSE: Highly unnecessary, I'll be leaving by noon. DIRK: Where to? ROSE: I fail to see how that is any of your concern. DIRK: Perhaps. [He doesn't say anything more, and she takes it as a cue for her to leave. Her steps stutter when he speaks again.] DIRK: Don't immediately expect people to not want you around as soon as they show frustration. ROSE: Wonderful, well I'll be sure to pass that fortune cookie tidbit to the next person... [She turns around to find he isn't there anymore, peeved that she wasn't able to get the last word in.] [The walk there is stuffed with random objects, like if a geek store barfed all it's merchandise stock into an 8 foot wide hallway. She has to shimmy past a bust of Spiderman's head on the way, but she makes it to a plain room and a bed with orange sheets.] [She tosses the stick to the ground, and unties the cloth to fetch the small photo book she didn't have an opportunity to use as a prop for. She pointedly does not flip through the pictures she has of Kanaya and captchalogues it for safe keeping.] [Against her better judgement, she checks her phone messages and it opens to her last text with Kanaya saying she's going out to cool off, her text responded to with a single thumbs up. She contemplates jumping out of the window before opening the new texts from Dirk.] TT: http:/goo.gl/WjfJ2 TT: Marked everything you would need on the floor plan. TT: What's the large obstructed section on the bottom right? TT: Horse statue. TT: Naturally. TT: I'll be at your room by 9 AM. TT: Le sign.

[distant-velleity]

DEVIANT IN LOOKING-GLASS LAND - Yuuta Nakajima

A boy from another world with a foul mouth and a fouler temperament. He possesses the strange ability to manipulate lightning. However, even his short temper and strange behavior hide a heart of gold.

For the sake of a harmonized society, we suppress that which makes us “strange” and cast aside that which is “wrong.” However, if you can’t even do that—what then?

Yuuta has always, for better or for worse, been the black sheep of the flock. Even when transported to Twisted Wonderland out of nowhere, that doesn’t seem like it will change.

…Or will it?

Below the cut is more information about yet another “Yuu”~

PERSONALITY

Straight-forward, foul-mouthed, irritable, and hardly agreeable—these are all apt descriptions of Yuuta, a stereotypical delinquent. He sees no point in enduring what he considers to be meaningless, so more often than not, he calls things as he sees them. In the eyes of many, he tends to be a rebel without a cause, a brute with no respect for authority. Indeed, sometimes he does not look at the bigger picture and lets his temper get the better of him. 

His anger management issues and bitterness often battle for control or mix to result in destructive choices. He has an admirable ability to commit to things out of spite, but as expected, he isn’t one to plan for long-term goals. Still, in the heat of a fight, this makes him a powerful if dangerous and hard-to-control ally. 

Of course, Yuuta isn’t entirely unbearable. Somewhere beneath his grating exterior is a genuine ability to care for others and a strong desire for fairness. Once he’s accepted someone as more than tolerable, he’ll defend them no matter what. It just… takes a while to prove yourself worthy of getting past his walls.

…All the same, he is no stranger to being affable, people-pleasing, and friendly, but that’s a story for another time.

ABILITIES

Lightning: Born with the strange ability to call upon lightning/thunder, this—in Crowley’s eyes—qualified Yuuta to be a student at Night Raven College; one with accommodations, at least. Yuuta’s powers are partially dependent on his emotions, but because of years of practice, he is actually rather skilled with controlling his powers: if he grows angry or hostile outside of an actively dangerous situation, the worst result is generally just some static. He is also immune to lightning and lightning magic, as his body simply acts as a lightning rod/conductor when struck.

Fighting: On top of being physically fit, Yuuta also has a few years of getting into fights under his belt. Though not enough to face off against a professional, if you were to pit him against several others his size, he would be alright. 

TRIVIA

Yuuta was born and raised alongside a twin brother. If it weren’t for Yuuta bleaching his hair and possessing an entirely different demeanor, they would be almost identical. 

He has difficulty in most academic areas, and often requires the help of a tutor. However, he has a natural aptitude for fine arts, especially and specifically where music is concerned. 

The earrings he wears were a gift from someone he no longer talks to.

Inspirations: unOrdinary, Sasaki and Miyano, etc. 

———

taglist (ask to be added or removed): @thehollowwriter @theleechyskrunkly @elenauaurs @casp1an-sea @nahelenia

@boopshoops @skriblee-ksk @scint1llat3 @nemisisnemi @nyx-of-night

@sillyslipperybananapeel @beneathsakurashade @kathxrat-01 @lumdays @twistedwonderlandshenanigans

[schnuffel-danny]

Bleach x Danny Phantom has such peak crossover potential and I don't mean like "ooough Danny gets transported into an Alternate Dimension and it's-" no I mean the same shit dpxdc does where it's all the same universe just different locations please can anyone hear me hello is this thing on

[raspberrysmoon]

some little facts about pete spankoffski (and story notes) for a fic im writing :]

basically all of canon npmd happens and pete is like,, transported back to the morning directly before the bathroom scene as if nothing happened

- he remembers all of canon npmd. too well, if you asked him

- he can vaguely hear HIS steph talking him through things if (when) they get tough :( not very clearly, though.

- he can also hear the lib (tinky mostly) taunting him in scenes like the waylon place

- his blood sugar is fucked up dude. its bad. like hes having a bit of a rough time balancing it with everything else. he is SO stressed guys

- on a similar note, he quickly gets on emmas good side so he can maybe get his hot chocolate faster (it works)

- he purposefully keeps max off the stairs and when hes questioned he grabs a rock or and throws it (hard) and the stairs collapse

- max shares his beer with steph, ruth, and richie, while pete and grace (of course) stay sober. this happens repeatedly until richie brings better booze and pete joins in lol

- pete hates beer, but he can handle teds rum in very small amounts. he hates the taste of most other alcohols

- pete starts working out and gets as ripped as he can without anyone noticing

- he also starts actively talking to ruth and richie about ANYTHING he can get them to talk about. starwars, anime, games, sex, theatre, he doesnt care.

- none of ruths comments bother him anymore, either. no matter how aggressively thirsty she gets, pete gets to hear one of his best friends talk again. he doesnt mind what shes saying

- petes grades slip a little at first. ok maybe more than a little. his highest grade for about three weeks is a b. 84%

- nobody knows about this until steph gets a higher grade on a test and he cries a little in the bathroom. she got an 89 in math. he got a 76.

- he never actually fully recovers from the grade dip, and his gpa drops permanently from a 4.+ to a steady 3.8

- he chops and dyes his hair three days after the waylon place

- he actually bleaches it and dyes the tips a light redish color

- on a similar red note, he has a bit of a freak out (its a trauma response lets be honest) every time he sees anyone in dark red. especially max with his favorite, blood colored t-shirt

- he has consistent nightmares about shooting steph, and they get worse as the two of them get closer. again.

- she drops about 12 pounds of hints to try to get him to ask her out, but he never reciprocated. she assumes he's oblivious, but in reality hes actually just stuck on the version of steph that helped him dismember a body. the one that held him while he cried over his only friends graves.

- on a happier note, pete isnt beat up anymore :D

yeah anyway ask me about these guys im shaking them in a little jar rn

(this is a draft from december of 2023 😭 im STILL writing this fic. felt it was fair to show this to the world

[zabiume]

Could Orihime Reject Someone Out of Existence?

This is one of those statements that gets thrown around by Orihime fans a lot as a way to defend her strength, because Orihime's weakness has been a defining part of criticism surrounding her character throughout the early-mid 2000s (and even today tbh). And it's not limited to Orihime's fans either. I've seen a lot of people use this as criticism too ["Orihime could probably reject someone out of existence"...(hence it's bad that she didn't get the opportunity to do so)]. Nevermind the fact that there hasn't been a single instance where she felt a villain has even warranted that, or the fact that Soul Society goes absolutely ballistic on Quincies, who do wipe souls out of existence, I still find this to be an interesting discussion because it neglects to consider....anything we've been told about Orihime's powers. Granted, it's pretty scummy that Kubo elaborates on the structure/logistics of her powers only in extra-canon material like CFYOW (read by only a few dedicated fans) or Klub Outside (paid Q&A forum with restricted fan access), so I don't expect that everyone has done their required reading on this, but I still think it's a good excuse to actually talk about what she can and can't do.

What Orihime Can Actually Do (Basic Powers, Achievements/Growth)

At the start of Bleach, Orihime has three basic shields - 1) Soten Kisshun - the one that rejects damage within a particular area, 2) Santen Kisshun - the one that rejects any attack aimed at Orihime & her allies (AKA, a traditional shield), 3) Koten Zanshun - the shield that forms within an external object and basically blows it up. I've seen people say Koten Zanshun is a akin to a small knife or shuriken, but in classic Kuboscience fashion, we see that it actually creates a shield that disrupts the union of matter. Ostensibly, Orihime could blow someone up if she's angry enough, and it is fun to think about Orihime blowing people up, so I understand any disappointment on that front, but. Moving on.

In Chapter 43, the Shun Shun Rikka clarify that they're not really "fairies," but a manifestation of Orihime herself. They are a part of her. I assume this works similarly to zanpakuto spirit manifestation. And IIRC, she is the only Fullbringer that has this type of manifestation (object affinity + spirit), when most Fullbringers only have an object affinity. They also mention that she needs two things to activate her powers: 1) her Heart, and 2) chanting the kotodama. I think point #1 should already make clear to us that Orihime won't be abusing her powers to hurt anyone any time soon, not unless she loses her 'Heart' like Ichigo did as a Vasto Lorde in Las Noches. Bleach signifies this as an Objectively Bad Thing. Whether we agree with that or we don't, it is the underlying mythos that sets apart our hero characters (Ichigo & his friends) from our villains.

So what can Orihime do, at this point in canon? She can regrow limbs and shield people from attacks, which she does extensively throughout the Soul Society and Hueco Mundo arcs. Here she is a) using two of her shields at the same time, and b) trapping Ichigo (the strongest guy in canon at any point in time) within her shield.

Over time, she develops Shiten Kosshun, a way to incorporate Tsubaki into an offensive technique without actually compromising on her distaste for excessive violence. Here's why that's a big deal. She can also use her Shun Shun Rikka long-range, which you can see when she's a) healing Chad post-Yammy (sorry for the random color screenshot, I got it off Twitter because I couldn't remember the exact chapter), and b) in 686, when we learn she uses them to keep an eye on Kazui. She also uses Santen Kesshun as a transport service throughout TYBW, which is not something she could do during the Lust arc, since she needed Uryu's help to get there. She also does not need to say her kotodama to activate her powers anymore, which is the result of constant and continuous training with Rukia pre-HM arc and Chad post-HM arc.

Since Orihime isn't a shinigami, it might get a little difficult to measure her "growth" the same way we do with characters who attain bankai (the Bleach standard for strength). But in less than three years, Orihime developed a new shield, got faster at healing, and found new and inventive ways to use her powers every arc. She was already at lieutenant-levels of strength in terms of healing way back in the Soul Society arc, if Ieumura's testimony is anything to go by:

So...what can't Orihime do? This is what I think I've seen a majority of people scratch their heads about, thereby making her seem ridiculously overpowered but severely underused.

Like any Bleach character of significance, Orihime is ridiculously overpowered, but I don't think this translates into "Orihime can do everything" and its implied "but she chooses to do nothing." We'll get into Orihime's choices and my opinions later, but I think now is a good time to talk about Orihime's natural limitations.

What Orihime Cannot Do

Two of Orihime's major limitations that I wanted to highlight are from Klub and CFYOW, like I mentioned earlier. You can read about them below.

To summarize: 1) Orihime can't recover spiritual pressure/is very slow at recovering spiritual pressure because of the tremendous strain it puts on her body and the fact that she can only heal what she can see, 2) Orihime can't heal someone with fatal injuries if "enough time has passed" (AKA if she gets to them too late after they've been injured). 3) Orihime can't actually revive someone if they've been evaporated. She needs a physical body.

These limitations are important, because they imply that she can't actually wipe someone out of existence. Interacting with reiryoku puts a strain on her. I once wrote that she could probably "reject" an egg that's just been fertilized by a sperm (we love a pro-choice queen!), but I doubt she could zoink a 20-year-old out of existence, because again: there is a time limit within which she has to act, or her powers won't be able to work. The only rejections she could do with people are abortions, and even then, I don't think she could do late-terms. And even then, if you can't see a cell with your naked eye, I doubt she could do those either. I've seen people wonder if she could cure cancers and my honest answer is: probably not until the symptoms were obviously visible.

The Shun Shun Rikka can't actually undo something if a certain amount of time has passed, so I highly doubt she could undo one's physical body, one's spiritual pressure...one's entire being. Even if she could, I doubt that would cleanse the spirit and send it to Soul Society. Instead, they would disappear/evaporate, which destabilizes the balance of souls (the way Quincies do it).

The reason I obsess about this is because limitations are a good thing when you're exploring a power system. There's always been this misconception that Orihime can basically "do anything," but that doesn't...mean anything. Orihime can't do everything, which means she is, like every other Bleach character, limited. Even Aizen's zanpakuto had a shortcoming, so I don't think Kubo necessarily nerfed her, and I think it does help contextualize what she can actually do vs what people expect her to do for no good reason.

Even if Orihime Could, Should She?

I enjoy powerscaling as much as the next guy, but I think the thing I like the least about it is its complete lack of literacy. Specifically literacy of the narrative.

In stories like this, heroes don't win over villains because they're objectively stronger. They win because they push an ideal that, in some way, represents the core values of the series. You were stronger, but I had the power of friendship on my side. You turned your pain into violence, but I turned mine into compassion. The entire point of Ulquiorra's arrogance was that he believed in what he could see – Aizen's strength. But he lost because of what he couldn't see – Ichigo & Orihime's hearts.

A part of the Arrancar saga is the long philosophical battle between Ulquiorra and Orihime, where Ulquiorra has faith in Aizen's watertight plans, his formidable army, his impenetrable kingdom. Meanwhile, Orihime has faith in her five scrappy best friends who invaded said kingdom overnight and have,,,,,only the slightest idea about what they're doing. Aizen's entire force operates under the belief that because they can do something, they should. Because they have power, they should use it, and if they can, seek more of it. Ichigo and Orihime, as a contrast, use their discretion and seem really upset about having to fight anyone at all. People point this lack of killing intent out as an exclusively Orihime thing, but it is very much an Ichigo thing too. Ichigo looking down at Grimmjow with pity-filled eyes is an exact parallel to Orihime looking at Ulquiorra with the same expression. People wanted Orihime to be vengeful against the Arrancars because they're her abusers. But Orihime sees them as victims. She pities the fact that they know nothing but brute violence — and that this is their reality. She sees them as someone to be saved.

But lest we think she's an irrefutable saint who gets off way too easy, it's clear she has some regrets about her place in the friend group and her dependency on Ichigo in particular. But, post-HM, she doesn't ask him to save her at all. Rather, the first time we see Shiten Kosshun, she's the one protecting him. I don't think Orihime has ever needed to kill someone to prove that she's a dimensional character in a series where even Ichigo hesitates to murder the guy who killed his mother. I think it's interesting that Orihime and Ichigo are largely sympathetic towards their villains unless they really, really fuck up, in which case Orihime has lashed out in appropriate doses (see: Ginjou, Yhwach.). I don't understand what vengeance would add to her character that compassion hasn't tenfold.

A last point I want to note is about weakness and our reaction to it. Many of us are shonen-brained to a point where we divide a story into victories and losses, battles won and battles thrown. But Orihime's character arc has never been about her victory over anyone but herself. Orihime can't reject someone out of existence, and even if she could, would she want to? Would Ichigo? Throughout the story, these two have been set to contrast characters who can and did. While their enemies sought to escape their own weaknesses (which Bleach conflates with being human) through transcendence, Ichigo and Orihime chose weakness constantly. They chose to be merciful, to be kind, to be vulnerable. I've seen countless jokes about how Ichigo loses 5 times before he can win for good. I've seen Orihime get her fair share of setbacks. But they come out of it victorious anyway, against all odds. And they aren't stronger because they have the power, they're stronger because they have the heart. I simply couldn't bear losing out on character writing like that.