#but it feels less impressive

[shredsandpatches]

So if we hire a permanent choral director this summer--which I can't imagine we won't, all of the finalists have been brilliant and well-liked and I think there's probably a pretty clear favorite--all of the chorus members are going to have to reaudition, less because they're looking to drop people and more so that the new director will be able to hear all the individual voices they'll be working with. And I'm trying to decide if singing Schubert's "Der Tod und das Mädchen" is a good idea or a bad one. Because I think it shows off a lot of my strengths really well, and I can in fact actually do this:

But can I nail that D3 in the nerve-wracking context of an audition?

[skullism]

rereading aftg and realising just how oblivious neil was is truly hilarious

just a few pages ago renee told neil andrew is gay and neil literally had to lie down to process it, now he's admitting he watches andrew at the gym and is impressed by how much he lifts??? dude. you are down SO bad

[skeleton-squid-boy]

ever think about twelve being so sick of losing people, especially losing people because of their belief in him as a hero, like amy. so he strips off that mask and shows how cold and calculating he is willing to be with lives and he chooses a face that shows his age and stops hiding his danger behind a charming smile or a bow tie. he does it as a kindness, so Clara knows what she's getting into. and she does. and she gets into it anyway. and it makes him even more desperate not to lose her. so he breaks all of his own rules, everything he stood for because just once he didn't want to have to lose someone. he went to the end of space and time the long way round, he beat death and he betrayed the home he spent his life searching for to try save her. for once he chose what he wanted, her, over the universe.

and after all that, all he managed to do was make it so she lost him instead.

[riaki]

thrifted romance | megumi fushiguro x reader

synopsis: you’ve never really spoken with megumi before, so when your friends leave the two of you behind on a snowy night, you take the opportunity to get to know him.

wc: 6.2k... SO SORRY I GOT CARRIED AWAY cw: swearing, college au, noncurse au, i don’t thjnk there’s anything else ??

this got way longer than i intended it to be and i rushed to grind it out so it may not be coherent.. if so i apologize :’3 and this one’s late but i hope the content makes up for it ! enjoy meemow barely proofread!

it's a late winter evening when you meet up with megumi and your friends on the side of the street— cozied up in puffy layers and a long blazer stained with coffee splashes and a few hot chocolate smudges here and there.

fall had melted away with the slow gradient of leaves from the trees, sinking into fluffy piles on the sidewalk that soon became coated and replaced with light snowfall; the first of many problematic inches. midterms were just around the corner, and with it meant late hours spent pulling all-nighters that left you exhausted, eyes dark around the edges with a lack of sleep; breaths of minty hot chocolate and coffee from the amalgamation you'd concocted to at least pretend to get into the holiday spirit.

(a fruitless effort, though— if not for your failure that warned you to stay out of mixology, but the way your roommate's cat had knocked over your mug and ruined the flashcards you'd been wrestling with and looked completely smug with itself.)

really, though, there was absolutely nothing jolly about school, or exams. so when your favorite inefficient, sidetracking study buddy had offered to spend the weekend out, who were you to say no? nobara had offered to go find a club, but it was far too cold out to frolic around in skimpy clothing and your expensive winter coats were much too valuable to risk being stolen in the haze of drunken students and sweaty bodies. so, you'd decided to go shopping, because what else is there to do with her? besides the usual karaoke session with the upperclassmen she seems to like so much, of course.

turns out, it'd had been a group endeavor. or, more accurately— a group of four, unlike the duo you had previously thought you'd be going out in. yuji and megumi were there too— friends from separate majors; you'd heard that yuji was involved in the uprising surge of software engineers and computer science majors clambering for a shot in the world of big AI tech companies, even though he supposedly was about as computer-smart as your teetering old grandma ripe with age, permanently stuck in her rocking chair crocheting the days away.

megumi, on the other hand, was a mystery. you'd shared a few classes together; his chipped dark nails that shone the same blue as his esoteric eyes beneath the warmth of the glowing sun, and his inky black hair that spilled over the collars of his simple gray sweatshirts like effortlessly graceful calligraphy on paper had captured your attention as smooth and seamless as the daylight turned to darkness, days cut short by the onslaught of cold. even so, you'd never brought yourself to interact much— he seemed like he'd prefer to keep to himself, if the way he'd disdainfully scoot away from anyone who tried to approach him and turn up the volume of his headphones indicated anything. you had laughed to your friend and called it introversion to its finest, only to promptly shut up when his unmoving gaze landed on you, leaving you feeling like a clown on the stage, rimmed by rich dark red curtains and a wooden floorboard as the beaming spotlight shines upon you imaginary button nose, hot and glaring under his gaze. 

even though you'd approved of his music taste once you snagged a few notes by the ear, you'd really thought his taste in fashion was too bland to be the type of person to shop with nobara— her meticulous style and image were much brighter and more flamboyant than megumi's jaded attempts at a splash of color through the occasional blue argyle or layered turtleneck. still, those were better than yuji's paltry attempts at fashion; at least the myriads of color on nobara's figure were coordinated. the pink-haired boy with funny scars on his face would probably have been better off learning graphic design or art, with the disasters of clashing colors on his person.

and he'd gotten the opportunity to demonstrate his questionable tastes on the chilly evening, when black ice had begun to form on the roads and the soft light of boutiques with slow jazz flowing from the speakers filled your frost-bitten red ears as you walked up to the shade of a nearby lamppost. once you'd all met up, nobara had hooked an arm around your elbow and dragged you off, leaving the boys to follow along like it was walking dogs.

honestly, you wouldn't be surprised if you were— at least, with yuji. he carried nobara's bags like she was the next princess in line, without complaint and with the little fearful quivers that dogs get in their legs whenever their owners scold them for barking or misbehaving, much like how nobara would yell at yuji if he dropped a single cream linen sweater or ruffled pink cami.

megumi, on the other hand, was far too lethargic and quiet to be considered any kind of canine. although the weaved bracelet on his left wrist with a cute little puppy charm you caught sight of when he'd rolled his sleeve up implied otherwise. the only reason he'd even had to do that was to rub the sickeningly sweet orange blossom hand sanitizer nobara had spritzed on each of your palms after you took turns petting a stray cat, one that seemed to take a great liking to you and megumi in particular.

the night seemed to drag on forever; pale yellow lights and holiday decorations blurred into swathes and bubbles of color in your vision as the hours passed and the caffeine from the cute little coffeeshop you'd stopped at earlier began to wear off.

but there had just been something magical about that evening; spending time with friends (albeit, more like acquaintances) had granted you a much-needed break from cramming your mind with an overflow of information that was sure to spill out the moment you answered the last exam question. so, when it was almost midnight and it was time to retire to your bed, you'd insisted on staying out for just a little longer while nobara and the rest returned to their dorms to catch some sleep. yuji had complained something about his legs cramping, but you were feeling giddy, and the stars were twinkling just as bright as the light in nobara's eyes were when you told her you had to soak in the fresh air for as long as you could before being locked in to study again as she laughed and headed home with her pink dog-boy escort in tow.

megumi had mumbled something about staying with you since it was late and he wanted to make sure you were safe. you didn't think too much about it, because if you did, you were sure you'd end up with a faced even more flushed than it was frostbitten from the cold.

so, here you were, strolling down the quieter side of town, a brooding boy with inky dark hair and hands pale with blue veins shoved into the pockets of his jacket trailing behind you. he had one airpod tucked into his pierced ear; you assumed he hadn't brought his headphones because yuji would be there to prattle and babble. even so, you were content not to say anything, so there was plenty of opportunity for him to wear both. but he wasn't. you decided not to linger on it.

you'd just finished writing a silly little note out of the crisp snow gathered on the windshield of some stranger's car; the flakes were cold and biting on your skin, leaving it feeling numb with little droplets of icy water when you pulled away to admire your handiwork.

"actually, maybe i shouldn't be doing that." you decided after a moment, mumbling under your breath. it was just a little message with a whiskered smiley face, but the headlights on the car and the bumper seemed to form a frown at you when you stepped back, shaking its motorized head at your vandalism.

"you think?"

megumi's voice sounded from behind you, a little weighed down by the cold with a wisp of warmth leaving his lips like a powdery exhale, curling into the prickly night air. he was standing on the sidewalk, observing you all prickly-like as if you were some flagrant toddler he was babysitting. you still had to get used to the way his voice sounded after rarely hearing it; the few crumbs you got when your professors forced obligatory presentations onto struggling students had sent this warm, fuzzy feeling collecting in your stomach at the rich tone of velvet it held. not rough or overly deep, but smooth and reassuring. the kind you could fall asleep to; like there was a lullaby just waiting to be poured from his tongue with little scratches in the indent of his tone.

of course, you hadn't heard enough of it to make such an assumption, so when you heard the little quip framed with irritation at the edges, it wasn't all sugary sweetness like you imagined.

"yeah, well, sorry i like to live a little," you huffed, rubbing your hands together in an attempt to resuscitate some warmth back into them with a small little sigh.

"you call that living?" he scoffs a little, cocking an eyebrow at the vandalized toyota behind you. now, it just looked a little sad; imaginary eyebrows over the red lights droopy in disappointment. you followed his gaze, before looking back at him and making a sour face as you stepped onto the sidewalk.

"maybe we just have different tastes, y'know? doesn't mean we don't have to get along like this," you mumbled, shaking your hands out a little to get the remaining snow droplets off before stuffing them back in your blazer pockets. "just like itadori and nobara. one has terrible taste in fashion and the other doesn't, but they both like their bright colors." you feel satisfied with yourself for that one, but clearly, megumi doesn't feel the same. but the corner of his pink lips seem to quirk up just a tiny bit, and you feel pride blooming in your chest.

there's just something about the way it looks— an almost implausible smile coaxed onto his lips by something particularly amusing, reaching his dull blue eyes in a way that made their usual tedious apathy morph into something like fondness, or appreciation. adding a shine to his navy irises the lamp light overhead could only hope to mimic. then again, you didn't let your mind linger on it for too long like usual— so instead you chalked it up to the one other thing that had caught your eye besides the sharpness of his jaw and the handsome slimness of his face: his jacket.

you take back what you said about his style and its blandness before— it would be unfair to what he was wearing right now. just a simple black turtleneck (one that you were sure he'd worn to the early morning wednesday lecture you had a few days ago, when the sun was still bright enough to catch on the condensation of the cup of lemonade your white-haired, oddly sweet-toothed professor had), and black jeans, but the vintage racing windbreaker hanging from his shoulders brought it together in a way that was unfairly seamless; all dark blues and stripes of checker; a neutral grayblue that reminded you of the sky on rainy afternoons, trudging about the shopping districts in tokyo. there were a few brand patches here and there, some red bubble lettering of names you didn't recognize in patches of color that brought out the shade of his eyes. maybe the labels of those energy drink brands you often caught him running on when the shadows beneath his long dark lashes seemed heavier than usual.

all that to say he looked good. like, seriously good. you didn't know how you hadn't noticed all night— but now that you had, it was hard to keep your eyes from his slim and tall silhouette (not that he minded). the jacket really complimented it.

"that's a neat jacket. where'd you get it?" you asked after a moment of chilling silence; he'd probably noticed you looking, and you prayed he didn't think you were checking him out. although, if that meant getting your hands on one of those windbreakers, you wouldn't really mind. he glanced up at you, tearing his attention from the sad snowy toyota camry that seemed worn past its years at the newfound attention on megumi's racing jacket. he blinked a little, and you didn't miss the little flake of frost on his eyelash; probably caught from brushing past a windowsill earlier. by now, most shops were closed; even so, the street still felt warm and safe. well, maybe it was to be credited to a person rather than the concrete— but like you had been all night, you ignored it.

"oh, this?" as if he was wearing more than one jacket (it was cute), "i thrifted it." and for some reason, you didn't expect to be surprised, but you were. him? thrifting? the few western-fashion tailored thrift stores you'd been to with nobara had been lacking— not like you'd been able to stay in them long; the artificial ginger had this... beef with reused clothes. she liked her clothes clean and fresh from the press, even if you reminded her they could just be fresh from someone else's press. megumi must be familiar with the antiquated racks of varied worn graphic tees and frayed pants if he could fish something that classy from a thrift store.

then again, it's not like you had any experience to go off of at all.

"really? y'know, i've always wanted to go thrifting," you sighed, stretching your arms out, watching the fabric of your blazer wrinkle and curve to follow the movement of your muscles. a light dusting of snow coated the surface, like powdered sugar on tiramisu. that makes the coffee stains fitting. "but i feel like i'm bad at it." you said, stepping over a crack in the sidewalk, the rubber bottom of your sneakers brushing against a little clump of pine green weeds.

"bad at it?" megumi echoes, following you with a faint ruffle of smooth fabric, like the sound of a zipper sliding down. before, the world had been a cool shade of gray, like smoke rising from a cigarette or the blurry blue of the sky from the window of a speeding bullet train. but now, you let yourself soak in the sound of his voice, like grinded coffee beans and a smooth, soothing honey medicine for your throat on a sick day when you get to cozy up in your bunk bed and watch the clouds drift by.

it's nice.

"yeah. like, i wouldn't know where to go, or what to find, or what to look for..." you trailed off, rubbing your cold fingers together again as your breaths leave in little exhales of coagulating mist in the cold night air. now that it was late, it the temperature would only continue to drop.

you walked in silence for a little longer, listening to the scuffles of shoes against concrete, glassy with ice that had begun to creep up on the roads like a steady stream of seafoam from the tides.

"why don't we go thrifting now, then?" he asks out of the snowy blue.

you paused, and you almost smacked straight into a pole. "now?" you spluttered, turning around to face him. the look on his face was unreadable; a mix between exasperation, amusement, an attempt at stoicism, and something like affection in the corner of his lips as they curved upward. it was like a CPR compression; the smile that sent fuzzy electricity through your veins and reinvigorated your heart.

"yes, now." he said it like you were stupid, which you might just be, the way you stared dumbly at his face. "the place i got this jacket from is just over there," he said, jutting a ring-adorned thumb behind him. you had to lean up and peek around his shoulder to see it; you wouldn't've noticed if he didn't point it out. it was tucked between two buildings, a stairway downward into the store. the only thing indicating its status as a retail and thrifting store was the broken neon sign and painted red arrow that gestured towards the staircase.

"looks really shady. and it's late." you grumbled after you got over yourself, and he shot you an irritated look. that was all he really seemed to be doing tonight; that downward knit of his dark eyebrows and the slight pout weighing his lips down. not very suave, you think.

he swallows hard, and you aimlessly watch the bob of his adam's apple. "well?" he prompts, a hard edge to his voice despite the situation. you stand there for a little while, marinating in the growing cold until you cant feel the tips of your fingers.

"fine."

one accidental slip on the crosswalk and a few minutes later, you're stepping down the last wooden stair of the thrift store and into the building's basement; it's much bigger than you would've thought, with an expanse of layered clothing racks that obscure your vision, the corners of the walls clogged with cobwebs and years of dust build up. there's a faint lingering scent of cigarette smoke and cologne; something vanilla that you've caught clinging to megumi's wrists and neck on the rare occasion you brush past him. faint jazz spills from the speakers, something in a swing rhythm with the signature lilt of saxophone that makes you think you should be out enjoying a romantic fancy dinner instead of being cooped up between old wrinkly moth-bitten clothes. but you're here with megumi, so you convince yourself you don't mind either way.

"you sure this is the right place?" you asked, trying (and failing) to keep the obvious distain from your voice as you kick a folded 'floor-is-wet' sign from your path and step into the store. you can't even see the cash register from where you're standing.

"yes, i'm sure. can you stop complaining?" you can practically hear the eyeroll in his voice, and you're sure you could see it too if you just turned around. "trust me. it's not all shit." his voice softens, and you freeze up a little as he brushes past you; the corridors and margins are tight, so he has to turn sideways to fit. even so, a tag on your coat manages to snag on his jacket, and you hasten to unhook it before he can notice. he almost disappears into the racks, and you have to follow him, pushing your way through thick coats and worn graphic tees that have cracked logos and balls of lints clinging to them.

you're no thrifting expert, but you're pretty sure the store's supposed to be in better condition than this.

"hey." megumi's voice soon snaps you back into reality, and you look up from the mustard yellow top you were eyeing warily to meet his sedate gaze. "the good stuff's in the back. c'mon." he doesn't give you much room to argue even though it sounds like you're here to do drugs rather than find clothing, and before you can react he's reached forward to grab your wrist and tug you along. a yelp of protest almost spills from your lips, but you bite your tongue and let him drag you along, trying to extinguish the hue of cherry you know is making a home on the tips of your ears.

you brush past patchwork coats and a few leather belts that've tangled with the lace from the silk shirts next to them, but nothing really catches your eye, until you realize that he's let go of you only because of the lack of warmth around your skin and you focus yourself on the current again. you glance up at him, but he already has his back turned to you, sifting through a rack of black shirts that all look the exact same. maybe you have an untrained eye, though.

still, you can't help it when your gaze lingers over the back of his neck; one strand of dark hair has caught itself beneath the collar of his turtleneck, and it irks you. and you decide to do something about it because you'll know it'll bother you if you don't.

time seems to move in a liquid slow; things are blurring and there's no mothballs or ugly recycled coats to get in your way as you reach over and swipe your hand across his neck, hooking a finger beneath the strand and pulling it out of his collar. it takes you a moment to realize what you just did, and when you do, it's like there's a permanent mark seared into your index finger just from the touch of his skin against your own. you think he might have whiplash because he turns his head around so fast to catch your gaze before you can slink away, eyes wide and eyebrows knit, and you notice his bottom lip is snagged between his teeth.

he raises an eyebrow, but before he can utter a shaming word that'll only make you feel more embarrassed you shake your head vigorously, apologetically.

"sorry— it was bothering me. i hope you don't mind." you managed to say, the words spilling out in a rush before you turned away and slipped past him, disappearing into an aisle of dresses. you can feel his gaze burning cold holes into your back as you distract yourself.

you don't let yourself linger on what you just did— you seem to be doing a lot of that, lately, especially with him as you go through a few batches of clothing. by now, it's far past midnight, and you're feeling much more sluggish than you'd like to admit. you haven't seen megumi in a good twenty minutes save for the few times you picked up a few shirts and a cute diner jacket you thought would look good on him. he just thanked you bluntly, taking the bundle of clothing from your arms before walking away to the fitting rooms. you wished he'd stay to let you see the jacket.

you'd tried on a few things, discarding your blazer in favor of a cute knitted cardigan you grabbed, but nothing seemed to stick the way you'd like them to. it would be a great help if you had nobara to assist, but you were sure she was snoring away at home right now, and at the thought of your warm, inviting bed, your knees wobbled a little and you balanced yourself on the wall.

"hey— oh, you alright?" it's an unfamiliar voice; you lift your head up, looking for the source. it's a young boy— he looks to be about your age, maybe a little younger. there's a blue lanyard around his neck, and he's got a spattering of freckles on his hands, which are curled around the collar of a white linen shirt. he must be the one who's tending to the store.

"yeah, i'm okay. sorry," you said hastily, pushing away and rubbing the back of your neck. how embarrassing— he didn't seem to mind, though. he just smiled, big and bright and toothy. cute. reminded you of how toddlers would grin up at parents with those huge red lollipops in hand.

"no worries. i just thought i'd let you know that we're closing soon, since it's almost 2am." he said, shifting his weight on his sneakers. you nodded, about to give a hum of confirmation before another voice cuts through the slow jazz filling the stifling air above, all familiar in its smoothness.

before you could respond, though— "[name]?" megumi's voice rang out in the quaint little store, calling for you, and so you give the employee an apologetic nod before you turn and start toward the noise. you pass a mirror with a coat draped over the top, peeking your head around a tall rack of long skirts to catch sight of the raven head, in all of his glory. you notice that he's taken off his windbreaker.

"what’s up? we have to go soon," you reminded him, yawning a little and rubbing your eyes as you straightened up and stepped over to his side. there was another mirror in front of him, you noticed, with fading stickers pale in the dim yellow light stuck to the wooden rim. even so, with the smudges and the bare sheen of the silver, he looked good. that black turtleneck really suits him.

"i know. i just wanted to ask for your opinion." he said, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. you tilted your head curiously, and he held up a deep mauve sweatshirt, with some varsity logo branded on the fabric. it had a nice touch to it; a warm color that reminded you of red wine and slow evenings. you were sure it had been one of the pieces you'd picked out for him, but you were too sleepy to recall. "you should try it on. i think it'd look good," you said, gesturing toward the mirror.

you think you must've said something wrong, because he looks at you for a moment too long before he seems to catch himself staring and he nods, a choked little sound leaving his throat which he hides by ducking his head down and covering his face with his long bangs. you think you're hallucinating the pink on his cheeks.

after a moment, he glances at you. "hold this," he shoves his jacket towards you, and you have no choice but to take it. doesn't seem like he's used to taking no for an answer, but you're certainly not the one complaining when he tugs the sweater over his head, ruffling his soft black hair as he steps a little closer to you, observing himself in the mirror while straightening out the folds and fixing his turtleneck. you were right— it does look good on him. almost unfairly so— you don't know how he manages to rock granny clothes so well, like he was born a retirement home's runway model.

unlike him, you're not a reticent shut in— and although you'd like to say you have no problem telling him how good he looks, it's still a little difficult when the words feel like they're lodged in your throat in order to prevent you from making a fool of yourself again. but you ignore it and push on.

"you look great. i think it really suits you," you breathed, shaking your head as your hands tighten around his jacket in your arms. he blinks, adjusting the collar before glancing down at you. you take a moment to really appreciate the sight— him, bathed in the soft yellow glow of the chipped lights overhead. despite the dilapidated store and the antiquated, worn clothing surrounding him, he still manages to look like some ethereal angel boy you'd stumble upon in a bookstore on a dreary winter's afternoon and never be able to get out of your mind again.

ink black eyelashes flutter when he blinks, framing his eyes like the bangs falling over his face when he turns around again to observe himself in the mirror once more before he takes the sweatshirt off. it catches on his turtleneck, which rides up when he slips the mauve sweater over his head, tussling his hair and exposing the dip of his pale hips, all muscle and flesh and bone, and you pray he chalks up the red on your face to the cold. the end of his belt dangles from the buckle as you hand his jacket back to him, fingers almost brushing— just barely out of reach.

a meager conversation flows between the two of you; you follow him through the endless maze of used clothing until you somehow stumble upon the cash register and he buys his sweater; the only thing he manages to buy after all this time spent milling about in a dusty, dinky little retail store. the boy from earlier helps check him out, and the icy glare he receives from megumi when he glances at you seems to fly straight past your head as you pick at your cuticles. the tips of your fingers are still red from messing with the frosty snow earlier. you wonder when the car owner will find your message.

it's almost freezing when you get out of the dusty shop, emerging from the smoke-stained alleyway stairs and into the cold night air. your breaths almost seem to form a precipitate, and the thought reminds you of the chemistry conversions waiting for you on your desk beneath the lamp, and you cringe internally. staying out for a few hours longer seems way better than succumbing to the never ending stream of worksheets and documents calling your name. you wonder if your charismatic professor will let you get away with a few assignments if you call in sick. are papercuts excuse enough?

the click of a lock behind you signifies the store's closing— the employee left through a back exit, it seems. and you realize too late that you left your blazer in the dressing room when you turn around and a sigh falls from your lips. megumi, paper bag in hand, glances over at you.

"you okay?"

you almost forgot he was there, in his brooding vintage racing jacket glory. you shake your head, before sighing forlornly again. he notices this, making a little face; his lips press together and his pretty eyes narrow. he thinks you sigh far too much. you'd look prettier if you smiled some more. he likes it when you do.

"i left my blazer in there, but he just closed it and it's so fucking cold out," you whined, bringing your hands to your face and rubbing your eyes tiredly. you're cold and your fingers are going numb again, and there's light snowfall. so much for not losing your coat at a club. you can't tell which one's worse. "sorry to complain so much, but do you mind if we—"

you're promptly cut off; the words on your tongue left unsaid, burning with the taste of bitter black coffee. your gaze trails from megumi's hand, the clink of his silver ring against the zipper rail of his jacket as his fingers curl around the fabric, up his arm to the sleeves of his dark turtleneck, rounding the curve of his shoulders and up his neck to his face. he's not looking at you.

the words that leave his wet lips are so small and hurried that you think you're hallucinating them; when you inevitably looked back at this moment later, you'd realize that he was being shy. he mumbles something under his sweet breath, and you ask him to speak up.

"i said, you can use mine." he repeats, louder than necessary as he finally brings himself to look down at you from under his lashes, biting the inside of his cheek. his voice is a little strained, and a soft breeze carrying the smell of cinnamon and fresh ice rustles his hair. you blinked, feeling like a deer caught in headlights over a layer of thin ice, ready to shatter at a moment's notice.

"oh— okay. um, do you have anywhere else you need to go..?" you said tentatively, reaching forward to take his jacket again. it was exactly like how you'd done back in the thrift store, but the vague sense of deja vu you get is accompanied by an endless fluttering of warmth in your stomach that melts away the winters and tiring exams, and the night seems to become a soft warm orange, as if someone's drained the cool hues from the landscape.

megumi just shook his head, reaching into his bag and taking out the sweater he'd bought earlier. he slips it on again, adjusting it over his shoulders and refusing to meet your eyes as he crumples the paper bag in his hands. you notice they're slightly trembling as he does it, fingers digging into the material with much more force than is really needed. his hair follows each movement of his head; the strain of the muscles in his neck when he swallows again and gestures for you to follow him back down the empty street, past cars coated in melting snow and jaunty yellow lights twinkling over the awnings of closed store windows, shut down for the night. the sweater suits him really well, you think; not too loose, but tight enough in the right places to send your heart racing a mile a minute.

you pull his jacket over your arms, tucking your sleeves in and zipping it up. it's big on you— that's no surprise, and you can almost taste the vanilla on your tongue, his cologne lingering on every fold of the insulated fabric. it's warm, and it feels like being enveloped in a tight hug. in megumi's head, he hopes— prays its him you think of if you ever feel that way again.

you walk in a stiff silence; both of you want to say something, but you're dancing around it, letting your words linger unsaid until the other breaks the ice first. it's only ever cracked once you reach the dorms, where you part ways. there's light snowfall, and a thin layer of white has coated his hair when you turn to face him. you reach forward, learning onto the tips of your toes to brush off the ice. his hair feels unimaginably soft beneath your fingers, slightly damp from the snow. but he's the furthest from cold when you pull away; his face is burning up.

by now, you can't bring yourself to mind.

"thank you," you said softly, sighing contentedly. you move to take his jacket off your shoulders and return it, but he stops you, holding a hand up. the expression on his face is unreadable, but his lips are pursed together in a way that makes you think he's pouting.

"don't worry—" a pause. " you can, uh. keep it. i know you wanted one. just... give it back when you want, yeah?" he says, curt. almost prude, if it weren't for the way he was avoiding your gaze out of embarrassment. it was like trying to play the world's most difficult game of whack-a'mole, attempting to catch his eyes and see the iceberg that's melted into pools of warm glittering affection in his blue irises. at the thought, you wonder if he likes arcades, and you make a mental note to suggest an activity to nobara the next time she has the urge for an escapade.

you don't bother asking him whether he's sure, because you don't want him to take his words back. so you linger there in a moment of silence, letting it hang over your heads like a warm throw blanket, cozied in front of a fireplace with a mug of hot chocolate in your hands. maybe a coffee mix like you'd attempted before.

angel boy clears his throat first to speak, all honey that links the syllables together like christmas ribbon; rich like orange flavored dark chocolate. "i'll see you later, then." it's short and sweet, but your heart is already flying so high on euphoria you can barely bring yourself to care, or suppress the giddy grin that's spreading across your lips.

yeah, you're tired. yeah, you're still a little cold and you think you need to thaw at your desk for a week until exams, but at least you've got his jacket to accompany you when your study buddy passes out first and you're alone on all nighters. frankly, you can't bring yourself to care— your head is spinning with the events of the chilly night, from crude messages in the snow to thrift store mothballs and lanyards, to one checkered racing jacket. but you don’t think it’s so bad when it threatens to stick to your memory, like chewed up gum under your professor’s desk. whether it’s from the students or the professor, that’s a mystery you’ll never solve.

"yeah. see you around, fushiguro." you can’t say the same about the mystery that megumi is, though. in fact, you think you’re already one step closer when you turn around and part ways, catching sight of him in the reflection of a frosted window. he’s slipping both of his airpods back into his ears, crimson at the tips.

the sound of your shoes against the rug stairway fills your ears as you clamber back up to your dorm, eyelids heavy with drowsiness and face flushed a pleasant warmth. even when you finally get to bed, you can't stop your eyes from drifting over to the bundle of lapis blue fabric sitting on your desk, and your mind from the soft spoken boy with eyes like the night sky and inky hair like calligraphy.

you decide you don't think his style is too bad, after all. and when you tell him that the next morning when he's still sleepy and his lashes fall slow when he blinks the weariness from his eyes, you get to enjoy the steady flush that stains his cheeks and prompts a hoarse cough from his throat when he ducks his head away and grumbles something under his breath, probably about being offended you even thought he was boring in the first place.

and if you ever ask, the only reason he lent you his windbreaker that night was to replace the scent of mothballs and dust with your sweet-smelling perfume.

so, as it turns out, you're able to get your hands on one of those pretty vintage racing jackets— except, it wasn't a new one; it was his. nobara hasn't stopped pestering you with questions since you showed up to class the next day; the only thing you hear for the next week is how much she regrets leaving early.

apparently, it's all yuji's fault.

my (riaki) stuff. don’t repost and/or plagiarize !

[benevolenterrancy]

pet fish revenge fantasy

[cryptocism]

Since I think about clones like I’m getting paid for it, I've been rotating those alternate universe "what if Bart and Thad were actually raised together" scenarios in my brain, with Thad either post-redemption-arc or pre-villainy. Because adjusting Thad's character to fit an ally role while still keeping true to his core motives and personality is so so fascinating to me.

Like I think there's an immediate first instinct to slot Thad into a "bad" twin category: ie rebellious and prickly, doesn't get along with people, mean lil shit. And obviously it's not wrong bc we're outside the realm of canon, but the reading still feels a little left of center.

Because Thad is mean and prickly in canon. In the Impulse comics he belittles Bart and Bart’s friends/family constantly in his appearances. He loves to goad, and monologue about his own superiority and intelligence. He’s very Not Nice, and he causes many problems, and he even does it on purpose.

But, I think it’s important to consider the context. From the jump Thad knows very little about anything except which team he’s on and who he’s playing for. He gets his orders from an unseen authority and he carries out his tasks because success means his team wins.

For all his self-aggrandizing talk, everything he does is in service of an end goal that doesn't actually center him. He's trying to get revenge for grievances he's never personally suffered, retribution for actions never committed against him. Everything he does is on someone else's behalf.

Thad sees in black and white, us or them. Up until the final few issues of Mercury Falling, Bart and co. are Thad's enemies, of course he's not going to be nice.

So Thad's motivation seems pretty simple: Thawne Supremacy™.

But it’s in Mercury Falling where this starts to fall apart, and the real core of his motivation gets revealed. Thad pretends to be Bart and suddenly Helen is nice to him. Bart’s friends think he’s funny. Bart’s teachers are impressed with his grades. Max ruffles his hair and gives him hugs and tells him he’s done a good job.

If he was actually an inherently mean and standoffish character, if Thad actually had significant personal stake in the Thawne VS Allen conflict, the weight of such tiny acts of kindness wouldn’t completely break him the way that it does in canon.

Thad thinks his goal is superiority and revenge and Thawne Supremacy™, but he's chasing validation. Thad doesn’t have a personal stake in the Thawne VS Allen conflict. He wouldn't get much satisfaction if he actually destroyed Bart and his family. Thad's personal victory would be the recognition after the fact: the praise and attention from the other Thawnes (a group of people he has literally never met) for his success.

He wants validation. That's basically it. And the fact that he gets it so easily from Bart's family and friends doesn't align with how he's told himself things are supposed to work.

Actually tangentially, Bart and Thad’s respective relationships to authority is so diametrically opposed and tbh kind of subversive in a superhero narrative. Where the hero is the one carving his own path without regard to social or societal rules, no fucks to give what anybody thinks of it. And the villain is a chronic people-pleaser.

Just based on Thad’s reaction to simple praise and affection from Max I really think Thad’s motivation has more to do with the response he gets than whatever the details are of any given task. He has no actual personal convictions beyond getting positive attention, and whatever he did have crumbled as soon as Bart’s friends laughed at his joke one time. Which of course leads into the core of his whole conflict at the end of Mercury Falling. He cares too much about Bart’s friends and family now, he doesn’t want to kill them, but worse than that, he’s faced with the sudden realization that he’s on the wrong side.

The Allens gave Thad everything he actually wanted and needed, but his conception of himself is inexorably tied to the Thawnes: who gave him jack shit. These two facts are in opposition to each other, and he can’t reconcile the reality of it.

Anyway all this to say, in an AU where Bart and Thad are raised together or Thad gets an actual redemption arc etc etc, I think my personal take on Thad’s personality whether it be pre-or-post-villainy would be one that is extremely socially conscious. He is much more of a people-person than Bart. Whether he's actually accurate in assessing people's feelings and how to respond to them can be hit or miss, but he wants to behave in a way that gets people to like him.

Pretending to be Bart isn’t remarked upon as, like, a difficult task for Thad. In his internal monologue he’s literally bragging to himself about how easy it is. But what’s especially notable to me is where his act differs from Bart's typical MO. Everyone notices, and lots of people comment, and presumably if Thad didn’t have the excuse of Max’s illness to “motivate” Bart to do better he would’ve been found out immediately. And those things are, specifically: paying attention in class, doing his chores, staying on task, and being helpful around the house. The one thing about Bart he chooses not to emulate is Bart’s rebelliousness.

Thad wants to prove himself, constantly, to whatever authority he respects (probably Max in this scenario) and will do whatever it takes to make that happen. In contrast to Bart, who only listens to authority when the shit they're saying actually makes sense to him. It’s excessively difficult to convince him to go against his own interests. (And I think a key part of that is Bart’s security in knowing that no matter how much he fucks up or doesn’t listen, the people he loves will always love him back.)

Thad’s got the people-pleaser in him that has to deserve whatever he’s given. It’s why he’s happiest when he’s given a clear goal or objective to complete, because it gives him an opening to prove himself.

All this to say that if we are quantifying Bart and Thad as a "good" or "bad" twin, in the eyes of every authority: Bart is the bad twin. Bart is the bad twin, Bart is the bad twin. Bart is the one who doesn’t care about school and whose grades vary wildly depending on his personal interest. He’s the one who goes off to do dangerous shit for fun and gets in trouble constantly and doesn’t do his chores and is thoroughly unconvinced by any authority figure trying to sell him bullshit. 

Thad is the one who needs to know all the rules just so he can experience the joy of following them. Relentlessly obedient. He'll put all his effort into doing all the right things that’ll endear him to whoever he wants to impress - meaning he’s the asshole who reminds the teacher about the assigned homework. Bart might be the most popular boy in school, but Thad is a pleasure to have in class.

Like Thad can (and should) still be high-strung and short-tempered and sarcastic and edgy and mean, because he is. But he can’t be doing all that without rhyme or reason. Colouring every interaction has to be that one-zero binary of ally or enemy. He needs to have somebody he’s proving himself to: a team he’s on and a team he’s against. He’s not an inherently rebellious character. He can go up against The Enemy, whoever he deems as such, but it has to be in service of a hypothetical future in which somebody eventually tells him he did a great job.

And in the interest of continuing to beat a dead horse, it connects to their respective upbringings. Thad and Bart were both raised in VR, but Bart’s experience had the side effect of basically hard-wiring him against insecurity. His world was a playground tailor-made for him, and he was never made to feel bad or insufficient about any aspect of himself. His first interaction with a real human person was Iris moving heaven and earth to save him, without him knowing her, without her knowing him, with no reasoning for the act needed beyond Being Her Grandson. Which is probably a significant factor in why Bart moves through the world with frankly atomic levels of autistic swag.

Thad’s VR upbringing installed self-consciousness in his psyche before any other personality trait. As in: he is immediately made conscious of himself and his relationship with everyone he will ever encounter. He’s told two things: he’s a clone of someone else (inherently derivative, lesser) and that he was made to be superior (a status to achieve). Which is such an instant clarifier for Thad’s everything. Where superiority is a condition that everyone either has, or does not. It’s the one-zero binary again: are they better than me or am I better than them. Being above others is mandatory, and if his superiority is ever challenged by hard evidence or god forbid nuance Thad’s brain physically cannot take it. He needs to be better, to be worse is unthinkable, and there is no other way to be.

And this status of better or worse is, crucially, not up to Thad to decide. He needs The Authority to validate him. Bart never tries to prove himself because he has nothing to prove. Thad’s entire identity hinges on the self-worth he gets from doing a Good Job.

It is such an inherent part of his motives in the Impulse comics canon, which is why it always feels a little off when he’s interpreted as a jackass indiscriminately.

Like I don't think he needs everyone to like him. But I do think he has either one person or a set of very particular people that he needs to like him. Everyone else is either in that circle or outside of it.

(Which is why Bart is such a great foil for Thad tbh. There is no set of words or behaviors that’ll change Bart’s opinion of Thad, because Bart is unaffected by obedience or charm. So ironically Bart is probably one of few people that Thad doesn’t bother to put on even a little bit of an act for.)

While Bart goes with his instincts, his personal beliefs and convictions at all times, Thad is hyper-conscious of big-picture goals. They balance each other out that way. Thad's keeping track of whatever expectations he has placed on him, and how his actions reflect on him and the team beyond short-sighted solutions. He's a team player. AND he's an asshole.

[aroaceleovaldez]

Shout-out to both Nico and Hazel, immediately after their character introductions, explicitly cussing/telling another character to shove it. It runs in the family.

[umbrastaff]

wowww what kind of manners are they teaching over there on the ninth??? smh my head 🙄

[kirby-the-gorb]

[cheshiresense]

[Last Part]

Can't have a Yuzu POV without a Karin POV lol~

-0-

Karin makes it back before curfew with fifteen minutes to spare. Their brother had extended hers and Yuzu's curfew to 10pm since they'd hit their double-digits, and she's always been mindful to never break it. Yuzu isn't usually one to stay out late, but Karin likes her freedom to wander around without supervision enough that she isn't going to risk a grounding just because she couldn't be bothered to check the time. Besides, she knows kids her age don't get half as much trust or leeway from their guardians, so Karin isn't going to disappoint Ichigo's expectations by not following the few rules he'd set for them.

Not to mention she has exactly zero faith in her own ability - or honestly anyone else's - to slip under her brother's radar anyway. Only an idiot would think they could, and Kurosaki Karin wasn't raised a fool. Sneaking in late isn't even worth considering.

So she's back by 9:45 sharp, and she unlocks the apartment door to reveal a scene in the sitting room that's not entirely unfamiliar ever since dinner last Tuesday.

"Shoes," is Ichigo's greeting, and Karin immediately rallies.

"I rinsed them!" She insists defensively. "Thoroughly!"

She had. Karasu River, specifically that spot where their mother had died so everyone's avoided it ever since like they might get cursed if they stray too close, is a great place to get rid of evidence.

"And now you're thoroughly tracking water through the door," Ichigo points out dryly, which, oh yeah, she is, whoops.

Karin makes a vaguely sheepish face before quickly toeing out of her sneakers and leaving them outside to dry instead. Just her luck that Yuzu dropped a vial of her newest poison yesterday and burned a hole straight through the entryway doormat, and they haven't had a chance to replace it yet.

She shuts the door, drops her duffel bag against one wall, and ambles over to her brother for a hug and a cup of tea from the fresh pot on the kotatsu. Or rather, Ichigo goes about pouring her one while she slumps into his side with a content, if tired, sigh.

Ichi-nii has never really been one for hugs, even when she and Yuzu had been smaller, and that's no different now. Occasionally, on a birthday or new year or when - very rarely - something had made them cry, he'd dole one out to each of them, stiff and a little awkward, but genuine in a way Karin knows he'd had to learn just for them, and that alone had made it precious. Besides, he's never refused their hugs when they take the initiative to go in for one, and Karin knows full well that anyone else would be thrown across the room or tossed out a window, Mizuiro included, so that's just as good even if Ichigo doesn't often return them.

She leans against him now, and he endures it stoically, handing her tea and also casting a surreptitious eye over her for any signs of injury. There are none of course— Karin's been learning how to protect herself ever since her brother had become the undisputed head of the household, even if Isshin still remains determinedly blind to anything related to his son to this day. And on top of that, Ichigo's long since ensured their safety from most lesser predators in this town, so it's not as if they have anything to worry about.

Of course, there are still morons who slip through Ichigo's iron-fisted oversight - or rather, are allowed to slip through - either because they're new to Karakura or they're lured in from a neighbouring town, all of them deemed harmless enough prey for Karin and Yuzu to play with. They make for wonderful test subjects for Yuzu when she's getting creative again, and very convenient outlets for Karin whenever soccer and karate aren't enough to siphon off her excess energy. Unlike Yuzu, Karin really isn't made to sit still or stay indoors all day.

She blinks when Ichigo jostles her out of her thoughts with a nudge and a succinct reminder, "Greet."

Karin's pretty sure there's some kind of What Manners And Social Norms To Teach Your Kids So They Can Fit Into Society self-help book squirrelled away in Ichi-nii's room somewhere. Possibly even a series. Of course, her brother certainly doesn’t follow his own lessons on conduct, but this is one of those things that Ichigo has always implicitly expressed his preference for her and Yuzu to ‘do as I say, not as I do'.

So Karin can only swallow a forbearing grumble along with her tea before nodding curtly across the table, "Good evening, Hirako-san, Urahara-san."

Ichigo's already turned back to some papers in front of him, because bright side— her brother's number of fucks to give begins and ends with the most perfunctory of civilities, so at least Karin doesn't have to waste time on small talk. Yuzu, her crazier half, is the only one of them who actually enjoys that stuff. Karin sometimes can't believe they're related.

"Brat," is Hirako's response, and his voice says amusement but his eyes say caution. Well, amused caution, but Hirako seems to find almost everything a little funny, and it's not even some weird bravado because his reiatsu manifestation is constantly a glittering field of yellow-gold-blue that takes the form of a sunny beach. Usually.

On the other hand— "Good evening, Kurosaki-san," Urahara returns, perfectly polite, with a perfectly pleasant if distracted smile, perfectly suited for someone who's genuinely glad to see an acquaintance's sister home safe. Except his reiatsu manifestation is a fucking ocean of blood, deep and dark and completely still on the surface no matter what he says or does. The only times Karin's seen even just a ripple in it is when Ichigo is talking. Her brother at least seems to have a knack for taking Urahara off-guard. Nobody else though, and the external mimicry of human reactions - no matter how expertly crafted - doesn't impress Karin one bit when she can see the disconnect between his insides and outsides.

So she snorts and goes back to ignoring them both. Since the dinner last week, these two have come back a couple more times, mostly meeting with Ichigo for something or other, probably a ghost-related problem, with Urahara also dropping off a stack of books and scrolls for Yuzu, and they seem like they'll be sticking around for a while. But until Ichigo tells her that they're going to be part of the family, like Mizuiro, Karin's not going to waste her time on getting to know them. Honestly, just by dint of being people, and worse, troublesome ones, means that they're more likely to get themselves offed at the business end of Ichigo's swords than anything else.

"Ichi-nii," She says instead. "I have another away game on Friday. Can you sign me out of class?"

Ichigo makes a noise in the affirmative. "Leave the form on the kitchen table before you go to bed. Is it in Naruki City again?"

"Yeah," Karin makes a face. "Back-to-back matches against Hiromasa. Dunno why they even bother when they're not serious about it anyway. And they're so annoying. We always kick their asses but they still look down on us cuz I'm a regular on the team. What, a girl can't play soccer now? But we literally run the score up into the double digits every time we play and all they say is that they were going easy on us cuz we've got girls on the team!"

She stops and takes a deep breath. She's actually complained about this before, multiple times, ever since she'd turned nine and been deemed old enough - and tall enough - to play in official matches. Or as official as elementary school club competitions can get anyway, and being able to play against other schools was awesome, but that didn't mean some of their opponents weren't dickheads. At least she'll finally enter middle school next year and probably won't ever bump into this particular group of idiots on the field again, but until then, she's no doubt going to complain some more.

And her brother always listens with the sort of patience he wouldn't extend to anyone else's whining, which Karin likes to take shameless advantage of, but on occasion, she also needs other ways to vent, and that was really what today had been all about after enduring last Friday's game.

Right on cue, Ichigo asks without looking up, "Haven't you gotten it out of your system yet?"

Karin huffs and takes another long drought of tea before speaking. "Kind of? But the guy didn't even put up a fight! He even pissed himself, Ichi-nii! Before I even did anything! It was gross!"

Ichigo finally lifts his head just to level a look at her. "You play with your food too much."

Karin stares indignantly back at him. "I do not!"

"How long have you had your eye on this latest one?"

Since like, three weeks ago, but that's not Karin's fault! "It's not my fault he took forever to take the bait. You'd think it would've been easier with the way he stalked my jogging route every single day just to see me in a tank top and shorts. Besides, I was saving him for after last Friday's match! You know, as a treat."

"And now it's already Tuesday," Ichigo mutters, but he also pats her on the head in a vaguely comforting if condescending manner, like he's consoling her for a botched job.

Karin splutters. "Ichi-nii!"

Ichigo smirks briefly. "You're still young. You'll get better. There's no rush."

Karin pouts into her tea. Eleven - literally twelve in less than half a month! - isn't that young. She's definitely not a kid anymore. Ichigo was already scaring the crap out of half the town before he'd even hit his pre-teens. He hadn't even killed anyone yet back then but people twice his size would pick fights with him that he'd always win, and then he had started killing once he'd turned thirteen, which had only cemented his reputation. Karin and Yuzu had had to beg forever to get their brother to teach them some of the tricks of his trade, because they hadn't wanted to wait years to follow in Ichigo's footsteps, and Ichigo had thankfully agreed that it made sense for them to learn how to protect themselves.

Still, no matter how many bodies she and Yuzu have put in the ground - not that many actually, they've got a long way to go to catch up to Ichigo - Karin isn't so oblivious that she doesn't know that a good portion of the respect they receive these days is entirely down to their brother's looming shadow behind them. But everyone needs a goal or two in life, and one day, she wants people to look at her and flinch because she's scary enough all on her own.

"Did you clean up properly tonight?" Ichigo adds like an afterthought.

Karin rolls her eyes. "I would've called you if there was a problem. You know I have like three different cleanup crews and Mizuiro-nii on speed-dial."

She can't wait until she's tall enough to bag and carry adult corpses around on her own. It's embarrassing to have to call someone every time she - okay, she admits it - makes a bit of a mess. It's not an issue when Ichigo is there, and she just has to help him, but when she's alone, it pays to have extra hands in the aftermath, even if it feels kind of like she still has to be babysat.

"Cleanup crews?" Hirako suddenly interjects from where he's just been watching them and listening like he's never heard a single conversation in his life and it's somehow super fascinating. What a weirdo. "Where'd ya get those from?"

Karin squints at him. Why does he want to know? Shinigami old as dirt still don't know how to do their own cleanup?

"They're just local yakuza," Ichigo actually takes the time to answer, which seems exceptionally tolerant of him. He must really like this guy for some reason. "Someone always has some free time to lend a hand, and they don't mind sharing their dump sites."

Hirako arches an eyebrow. "They don't?"

Ichigo smiles lazily at him. "Not anymore."

Hirako stares at him for a beat longer before bursting into raucous laughter, except the sunny beach from before is shifting, sliding, fucking shimmering, and then it's no longer a beach even if it's still a field of yellow-gold-blue. Instead, sand dunes rise where there'd only been wild grasses and rocky outcrops before, an endless desert as far as the eye can see, while the sea isn't a sea at all but something that could be an oasis or just a mirage, now gone hazy behind a wave of heat, and all of it so deceptive and deadly that you might wonder how you could've ever mistaken it for anything remotely harmless at all.

And it's even worse beside him, because Urahara is sitting there, blandly smiling away from behind his fan, and he doesn't look much of anything, but the ocean of blood he's literally submerged in stirs for a minute like there's something large and lethal swimming in its depths. Karin can't see what it is though because the blood is so thick that she can barely even make out Urahara's face, let alone anything else.

She rubs at her eyes. They're giving her a headache. This is why she prefers baseline humans over ghosts. Ghosts naturally have more reiryoku than average living beings, and Shinigami have even more than that - way more - so Karin in turn sees a whole lot more than just flashes of transparent images when she has to look at them. And it would be bad enough if it was just that, but these two lie so much. She doesn't know if it's a Shinigami thing or Ichigo just attracts complications, although now that she thinks about it, Mizuiro had given her headaches at first too. It'd just been easier with him because when he'd started coming over to hang out, he didn't have anywhere near as much reiryoku as these two guys, and now Karin's just used to him so it doesn't much matter anymore.

But these two. She doesn't even know what Hirako's deal is, because as far as she's aware, he hasn't really lied about anything so far. His insides match his outsides, so to speak. But his manifestation also seems to imply that everything he says is as much a truth as it is a lie, or that it could be a lie just as much as it could be a truth, depending on the situation. Which doesn't make any sense, at least not to her.

And don't even get her started on Urahara. That man oozes shady vibes so it's not exactly a shock that his manifestation reflects that. It's just... who the heck has an ocean of blood representing their soul? It's not the fact that it's blood that confuses her; it's that the blood is all there is. Even if you kill a person a day for a thousand years, it can't be all that you are, right? Even Ichigo doesn't have something like that. Although to be fair, his reiatsu manifestation can probably come across as pretty disturbing too. But Karin basically grew up with it so she can't really say for sure. It's certainly never frightened her. Not that Urahara frightens her either. It's just... weird.

Both of these old dudes are so weird. They're the first people she's come across whose manifestations are as complex as her brother's, but she doesn't really know what she can interpret from them because manifestations are different from emotions, and besides that, emotions are her sister's wheelhouse anyway. Yuzu is the one who can pick up what someone is feeling at any moment and extrapolate from there. Karin just gets a bunch of pointless shitty abstract art shoved at her eyeballs, and Shinigami are clearly the worst about it.

And just to make it really unfair, Yuzu says that emotions rarely get too loud for her. Karin doesn't know if it's because her sister had been born with natural talent when it comes to controlling her ability while Karin... hadn't, or if Karin's ability encompasses so much of one of the senses she depends on most in everyday life that it simply affects her more easily, but either way, if the manifestation is a powerful one, then the longer she focuses on it, the more it can overwhelm her.

It'd been almost unbearable at first when she was younger, all of eight years old and finally tapping into her portion of the family inheritance, except even a glimpse of another student with slightly above average reiryoku levels could wipe her out for hours. There'd been days where Ichigo had had to pull her out of school just so she wouldn't have to see anyone, living or dead, and she'd needed almost six months before she'd gotten a proper handle on it.

During last Tuesday's dinner, she actually couldn't even see what Hirako and Urahara's faces looked like until near the end of it. Their reiatsu is just that strong, which means their manifestations appear completely solid and three-dimensional, and that means that those manifestations are the only things Karin sees most of the time when she has to look at them.

She doesn't even get the benefit of practically being able to read minds like Yuzu can. Although Yuzu always says it's nothing like reading minds. Karin remains unconvinced. Emotions can reveal a lot, especially with context clues. Manifestations on the other hand almost never react to whatever is happening in real time. Unlike emotions, they're rarely a consequence of outside stimuli. Hirako's had changed earlier, from illusory beach to the real desert hidden underneath, but that's because his manifestation has always been like that, switching between the two when the mood - his mood - strikes. Even now, it's already settling back onto the beach scene. It may have been somewhat affected by what Ichigo had said - by cleanup crews??? - but it hadn't shown anything that hadn't already been there, part of Hirako's soul.

In contrast, Urahara's the real outlier. Karin doesn't even want to think about his manifestation, never mind look at it. It's not that his soul has become something new either - the whole person would have to be swapped out for that to happen - but she's never met anyone, ever, whose manifestation seems to hinge so absolutely upon one person before. She's not even sure if Urahara is aware of how... fixated he is. And she definitely doesn't know what it means. Ichigo doesn't even like the guy, and Urahara - inside or outside - doesn't seem particularly hung up on Ichigo. Except of course for the little matter of how his actual-facts immortal soul is doing the near-equivalent of placing itself in the palm of Ichigo's hand, which- what. Didn't they just meet like two seconds ago? If Karin actually believed in love at first sight, she'd say this might be what it would look like if it could manifest a physical form in the creepiest way possible, but she doesn't, so to her, Urahara's just insane.

Anyway, no one can blame her for not wanting anything to do with these crazies, especially when coupled with her ability. She wouldn't give it up if she could, because it's hers, and it makes her special like Yuzu, like Ichi-nii, makes her part of the family in a way no one else but the three of them can be, but at the same time, it's honestly a pretty useless skill. Manifestations are just... portraits of souls laid bare, which sounds all kinds of impressive and philosophical but is actually just a fancy way of describing a lifetime of squatting in an art museum with all its exits sealed.

It's terrible all around, made doubly so by their houseguests, and in Karin's opinion, the sooner Ichigo gets tired of them, the better.

The room has gone silent, and Karin only notices when the mostly empty tea mug is plucked from her hand. She's pinching the bridge of her nose with her other hand, eyes closed, but she opens them then to peer up at her brother.

"It's getting late," Ichigo says without much inflection in his voice, but he also pats her head again, and a flare of reiatsu floods her retinas like cold spring water on a hot day, washing away the pain. "Go to bed. Lights out by eleven."

Karin's more than happy to get out of there, away from Less Crazy 1 and More Crazy 2.

"Mm, I know," She gives her brother a quick hug before clambering to her feet. "'Night, Ichi-nii. I'll leave the form in the kitchen."

Ichigo grunts his acknowledgement, and Karin spares a moment to nod in the general direction of the Shinigami before wandering away, pausing only long enough to scoop up her bag before making her way up the hall and to the master bedroom. She and Yuzu still prefer sharing each other's space even though Yuzu is fastidiously possessive about her own belongings, so Ichigo had given them the biggest room when they'd moved in, while he and Mizuiro had split the single and study-turned-bedroom between them. The best perk of this is of course the fact that she and Yuzu get the en suite bathroom to themselves.

Her sister is still up, bopping to some music on her headphones while reading one of the scrolls Urahara had given her. She barely glances up when Karin comes in, although she wrinkles her nose plenty when it's clear Karin hasn't had time to do her laundry.

Karin rolls her eyes and shuts the door behind her. "I won't leave anything lying around, don't faint."

Yuzu glowers at her. "I don't faint!"

Karin snickers as she ducks into the bathroom. "Whatever you say, princess."

The thud of a pillow hitting the bathroom door is her reply. It's actually pretty hilarious when Karin thinks about it. Yuzu's manifestation is a sterile white room lined with perfectly preserved faceless corpses wall to wall, but give her a human body with its guts spilling out, and she immediately runs for the nearest toilet. She doesn't mind the scent of blood, but gods forbid any stains linger where they shouldn't.

Speaking of, Karin digs out the set of clothes she'd changed out of earlier, after her stalker had been dealt with. She hadn't even gotten them very dirty this time, and she'd made sure to scrub everything clean in the river anyway before coming home, but she'll still have to toss them into the washer again if she doesn't want Yuzu nagging her about it. In the meantime, she shoves it all into a vacuum seal bag and leaves it in the corner. She can haul them over to the laundry room next door in the morning with the rest of the past week's load.

Her knives are tucked inside the duffel as well. Those she'll take care of tonight. Ichi-nii went all the way to Nagasaki to commission them for her from a semi-retired blacksmith last year. They're elegant and gorgeous, and they cut like a dream, sheathed in black leather and embossed with a small stylized K on the flat of each blade, only noticeable when the metal runs red. It's the best gift Karin has ever received, and if they ever rust, or she ever loses them, she'll probably bawl her eyes out.

She hops into the shower next, sighing happily as she relaxes under the hot water. Despite the atrocious company Ichigo keeps these days, today's still been an overall good day. She'll be able to go back to her jogging in peace starting tomorrow, and the upcoming match on Friday doesn't seem quite as irritating now that she's had someone to stab a time or ten. Of course, after the match is another matter entirely. Maybe she can tag along to Yuzu's bake sale on Saturday. There's always a couple suckers at the outskirts of Karakura too stupid to live.

It's something to look forward to. For now though, she finishes her shower, brushes her teeth, and then gets to work cleaning her knives. She doesn't have all night.

"Was Onii-chan still talking to Hirako-san and Urahara-san?" Yuzu asks a little later as they get ready for bed because their brother always knows if they stay up too late.

"Yeah," Karin says around a yawn as she sets her alarm. "They might still be out there. Can't you sense them?"

Yuzu shakes her head, leaning over to switch off the lamp on her nightstand. "They're... quiet, I guess. Quieter. I have to be in the same room as them to pick up on their emotions."

Karin hums as she rolls herself into her blankets. "What do you think about them?"

"I don't, really," Yuzu admits easily, so they're agreed on that at least. "Although if Onii-chan gets rid of them, I hope he can wait until after Urahara-san has finished teaching me."

Karin snorts. Typical.

They're silent for a moment until Yuzu speaks up again. "I think they're trouble. I mean, Onii-chan did mention it during dinner last week. But I think it's a different kind of trouble than the usual stuff. Not like yakuza or random creeps or even the monsters. Worse, I think they're going to bring trouble."

Karin frowns into the dark. Well, it's not anything she hasn't thought of herself. It's another reason why she dislikes them. If they've got problems, why do they have to dump them at Ichigo's doorstep? What have they ever done for Ichi-nii?

Still, "Ichi-nii will be able to handle it," Karin says with certainty. She's never known her brother to fail at anything. There has never been a problem Ichigo couldn't solve. He'd even cowed their father without ever laying a single hand on him, and that was back when Isshin had still been stronger than Ichigo.

"Well, obviously," Yuzu says, equally confident. "Maybe Onii-chan will even have some fun with it. I know the monsters don't give him any kind of challenge anymore. And he likes Hirako-san and Urahara-san well enough."

"He likes Hirako," Karin corrects, shooting a flummoxed look at the bed across the room. "Urahara, he could take or leave. I'm surprised Ichi-nii lets him come here at all."

"Yes," Yuzu says with an audible smile. "Onii-chan lets him come here."

Karin blinks. ...Huh.

"So, what, is it like... a crush?" Karin grimaces. Ew. "They're old and weird!"

Yuzu giggles. "I don't think I'd go that far. Yet. Besides, they're also powerful and interesting and not afraid of him, and you know what Onii-chan's like."

"Yeah, but I also thought Ichi-nii doesn't get crushes," Karin grouches. "I can't believe it's both ways."

"Both ways?" Yuzu echoes, and Karin can almost hear her eyes go wide. "Urahara-san too?"

Karin squints up at the ceiling. "What, you didn't pick that up from him? I mean I don't think it's actually a crush. Like you said. But there's something there."

"Urahara-san is a bit strange about Onii-chan," Yuzu agrees thoughtfully. "But I'm not exactly sure what it is. His emotions are hard to read sometimes. Hirako-san is easier. And nicer."

Karin makes a disgruntled sound. 'Nice' isn't how she'd put it, considering Hirako's reiatsu manifestation.

"Hirako-san isn't that bad," Yuzu says, amused. "And they're both kind of like Onii-chan, so that might be good. It's good to have friends."

Karin shrugs and grabs an extra pillow to hug. "Whether they're like him or not, if they do something dumb, Ichi-nii will handle it all the same."

Yuzu laughs, bright and cheerful and just a little anticipatory, even if she does seem to have a better opinion of them than Karin does.

The conversation between them fades away. Karin shuts her eyes and lets her thoughts drift. She has morning practice tomorrow and can't be late, so old weird men calling on her brother are frankly the least of her priorities.

[blitzwhore]

It's always fun experiencing severe mental illness symptoms because of fiction, eh?

[ladyloveandjustice]

man some anime onlies in the tag virulently hating Kabru which like yeah he's a very flawed little man who leaves a bad impression but it feels so weird to do it after the episode when he doesn't do anything wrong??? actually does a lot of good and helpful things?? And we also got a glimpse of the reason he hates monsters and is paranoid about the dungeon which is an extremely justified Tragic Backstory Reason?

what are y'all mad about in this episode specifically, was it that he was upset about his friends dying? This is the part where you're supposed to use common sense and realize he wasn't as bad as you thought based on the fishman stuff even if his vibes are still questionable.

[creaturefeaster]

agh!!!!

[ljesak]

ocs with stories are cool and i always admire them bc the idea of putting a concrete story around a character always felt super tasking. id like my characters to be thought of as like,,, continuous but essential ideas rather concrete people in a concrete plane of existence. like you can put laurie and adrianne in any universe they would still be themselves. they just *are* exploring certain parts of their past and future can be fun, but their present is what always matters to me

[quietwingsinthesky]

the doctor is emotionally manipulative. he’s very good at it, and even better at justifying it both to himself and the people he’s doing it to. he can see when his approval, his affection, is valuable enough to someone that withholding it will be an effective way of getting them to do what he wants. this is one of his best flaws, that he’ll do this to people and do it to them for his own definition of what’s good for them.

(gestures vaguely) twissy.

[gummi-ships]

Kingdom Hearts 2 - Beast's Castle