#i have far stronger moral fibre

[stoportotouch]

hey @nanowrimo if you're going to block me on Facebook finish the job. do it here. I'll even make it easy for you and repost your myopic advert and my comment:

[whereflowersbloom]

Let me heal you

Jason Todd didn’t hate Bruce or Dick. Nah. Waste of valuable energy. In fact, Jason respected, dare he say even admired his ward and brother. What he despised were their inflexible morals, or rather his family forcing their morals on everyone else. Specially him. We don’t kill. Yes, yes. Fine. What exasperated him was when Bruce decided that his morals applied to everyone else that he took issue. Including the black sheep of the family. He didn’t precisely kill, he let himself go for a single minute. He lost it one time. Batman gave everyone unlimited chances at redemption, except the Red Hood. One mistakes and he’s exiled. In the end it didn’t matter. Nevertheless, he was aware that was not the reason he was angry tonight. No. It was entirely something else.

He could hear her anywhere he was, no matter what time of day or night, what state of sobriety or inebriation, critically wounded. In the dark dangerous streets of Gotham, the sparring ring with the smack of fists and bodies, between the breaths he took as he was falling into the arms of Morpheus. He could always hear Raven. Foolish. She was too far from him. He lived and painfully yearned for her. She was soft curves and he was hard edges. She was a fierce and magical Phoenix while he was a fucking jay with broken wings and a delirious mind. What a catch, Jason.

It drove him mad, how much it didn’t make sense, at all. A soldier wouldn’t fall asleep to a lullaby, but rather the drumbeats of wrath and screams of his opponents. But she was that, for in each beat of her heart Jason heard the call to arms. These complicated feelings, he didn’t remember when they started surging in him. He tried to sort out his feelings, even though he knew that would hurt worse than the burning pain emanating from his cracked ribs. Tsk. He could use a cig right this second.

She was probably at the Manor with Richard, staying in the guest room which was Coincidently next to his old bedroom. And here he was alone, in his modest studio apartment. The pain of his bruised and broken flesh and bones was nothing compared to that excruciating knowledge. Jason rubbed his palms over his weary eyes trying to calm himself. Attempt to dampen the burning rage that was about to send him to a dark place in his mind he didn’t want to think about. He had control. He couldn’t lose control over the voices. Feel the boiling anger, burning in his chest, squeezing his heart. Let the eternal agony that burned through his blood and singed his eyes an unnatural green color. He left that fucking bullshit behind. He loathed the Pit for taking his chance to offer her something...relatively normal.

Since Artemis and Bizarro were gone. Officially, Jason was on his own for the first time in a long while. As he pulled his arms up to finish bandaging his wounds, his shoulders stung and in a gasping breath Jason quickly dropped his arms. He was useless. The pain was worse today than it usually had been. Probably from all the previous battles against Black Mask and his personal army of mercenaries. They had become a pain in the ass. Perhaps a short visit to good Doctor Tompkins would have been a better idea. He cursed breathlessly.

A knock at the door was his only warning before he turned around to see her. Raven opening the door and striding in as if this was her room and not his. Not that this was the first time she sneaked into his apartment.

She was here. It wasn’t a vision or product of his imagination or effect of high dosage of painkillers. He swallowed hard as he found himself speechless, mind blank in her presence. With her dark cloak and hood down, serene expression and looking at him with intense amethyst gems.

He paid a high price after using the pit to have his life back and this anew tremendous strength. But there’s something else, something he’d never felt before. A pull in his chest, as though someone had tied a string to one of his ribs and it was tugging on it, gently but insistently, coaxing him towards her...She was his answer. For a half-demon goddess she was the closest thing to heaven to him. The wings of freedom.

“What is it?” Jason growled harshly. It wasn’t a threat. He simply didn’t want her to see him like this. In such a weak position that he couldn’t even patch up his own damn body. Those little bits of his bloody past stopped him from reaching out to her. What right did he have to ask her to love him despite everything? Indeed he paid a high price.

“Came here to gloat, little bird?” He spat poisonous words with a half smirk. Poisonous words and threats were all he ever had. He closed his eyes, breathing slowly, deeply, getting air into his lungs, refusing to be beaten by this, refusing to be anything less than civil and let her see right through him.

There was no answer. She watched him closely for a moment before slowly closing the distance between her and him. As if she was nervous that he would order her away. Like last time she had been here, her palm caressing his cheek with such tenderness he had forgotten it existed. Her breath was warm against his neck and he was dying to mutter ‘please stay’.

What a joke. Jason Todd. Unapologetically and insanely in love with the little Raven. A Titan. Each atom of his body breathed longing into the space between them, aching to be with her, love her as a whole as it should be. But with a fractured mind, chained with firm mania cuffs. So hateful and yet insanely in love with this creature capable of drowning him in his ashes.

“I came to offer my help healing you but if you don’t want then...” She studied throughly his figure for a solid minute but at his reaction, furrowed forehead formed a thin line. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to regain her elegant composure, taking a step back.

He quickly wrapped his hand around her wrist to stop her from leaving. It was our of instinct or his body ice cold starved for a ray of light. He kept his face clear of the pain his shoulders felt at the movement, but Raven’s eyes flickered to them. A flash of genuine worry. Why he couldn’t apologize and be a gentleman like the golden boy. Damn it. Manners Todd.

“Are you mad at me?” Raven asked serious. She twisted her body around to face him yet she didn’t pry her wrist from his grip that had gentled as soon as he halted her.

Did she want the truth? No. He was mad at himself for not fighting for her. For being weak. For his wickedness. For all his bullshit. But the beat in his chest was now pounding like a hammer against an anvil, erasing the other sounds around him. He could only focus on her.

“No.” Jason forced a chuckled though it lacked the usual mirth. “I’m not mad at you. Which is surprising considering we are usually infuriating each other every other day, sunshine. Missing me much?” Letting her go was far more unbearable than his cracked ribs. She continued staring at him deciding whether he was telling her the truth or guessing what game he was playing tonight.

He felt his body tense in anticipation of her answer. Did she miss him? Did she think of him as often as he did? He considered briefly sending her away though every fibre of his being rebelled against the action.

Raven knew she shouldn’t be here but yet she found herself coming anyway, despite her rationality telling her to run, to flee, to hide, to forget that she ever came here…But something deeper, something stronger, urged her forwards. She didn’t dare fight it any longer. Yes. She missed him every second since their last encounter. She bit her lip out of habit. She was a Titan and he was an outlaw. Different sides of the coin.

“Jason.” Her free hand stretched for his that had loosened from her wrist. His callouses scraped across her skin and she found herself enjoying the touch perhaps too much for her own good. She recalled the last time they made contact. First he gave into it like a malnourished kid offered a piece of bread, but then he rejected it unreasonably. So adamant on pushing her away. Not this time.

Raven let out a heavy and deep sigh.

“How long do you plan to continue this ridiculous dance? Running around in circles.” She asked him openly with a soft voice. Her heart seizing painfully tight in her chest.

As long as it takes for you to leave me, he thought to himself. No answer.

“Jason” Raven repeated his name until his eyes met hers, it was a combination of lake blue and cyan. Impossibly beautiful and perfect, usually brightening with amusement or laughter, slightly shadowed by regret. Except now they were dull with contained sorrow. Let me heal you. All the hurting parts of you.

“Are you ashamed of me? Is that why you reject me?” She spoke with a cracked voice and glassy eyes. Doubting her worth snd pride wounded.

What. No. No. Hell no. The least he ever wanted was to hurt her. His fists clenched with frustration. How could she ever think he was ashamed of her? He adored her with his broken and dammed soul. He was ashamed of himself.

“I’m not ashamed of you.” Jason said with a shake of his head. “I’m disappointed in my own weakness. I could never be whole...” He admitted out loud with the weight of his past deeds and his unpredictable future. He inhaled deeply as he ruffled his dark curls.

She narrowed her eyes in understanding, wetting her lips before speaking. “Jason. You’re stronger then you think. You can deal with this. Don’t let this ruin who you are and what we could have.” She whispered softly, words caught between mustered courage and steady resolve. Voicing the possibility of a ‘us’. There was no point denying their attraction at this point.

One moment he was standing there. Motionless. Then he was moving, moving towards her, closer, before he’s quite given his body permission to do so because he couldn’t just stand there and not hold her.

At that Jason stopped breathing for a moment and his eyes shot to her. He wrapped his arms around her frame, tightening a fraction. His eyes were filled with something Raven was unsure of how to describe even with her empathic abilities. It was a mixture of emotions she couldn’t keep up with. Something she’s seen in him before but no one else.

Surprise. Fear. Worry. But over all happiness. Yes happiness and divine peace.

He stared down at her, a rational protest rising in his throat, the terrified assertion that she can’t help him, she can’t put up with this side of him. The rage and the voices and his uncontrollable anger. But in her eyes he found the answer. She’d already made up her mind. As if she was saying ‘I choose you’. Him. The damaged not charming and righteous Dick.

She could feel Jason’s volatile emotions call to her, voice hoarse and raw from his injuries but distinct and sharp, piercing straight to her soul. Pleading with his spirit. “Please…Stay with me.” She automatically snaked her arms around his neck. Her touch. Merely touching her used to be enough but now he couldn’t get enough.

He had been terrified by what her touch had inspired in him at first, terrified of what he might be able to do to her body if she let him…The things he wanted ro do to her. But unable to stop thinking about it, craving it, his lips on her neck, his strong, hard body pressing hers into the wall of his apartment, not caring anymore about his own physical pain. He pressed a passionate kiss to her lips.

Jason had never believed in soulmates, that was folks tales for mindless romantics. This didn’t change his mind about the topic. One thing was certain, if there was a person whose edged fit his perfectly regardless of the roughness, that would be Raven. She was darkness herself but in his mind she was the sun encasing him in gentle warmth. The stars were meant to reflect in her eyes. If there was a heaven, Raven was the owner of his.

Small jayrae prompt for @alerialblu @ravenfan1242 @amaati @niahti @jasonrae117 @catyypss 💜💖

[belladoesmakeup]

Hey guys,

Today's blog post is a pure example of I saw it on Tiktok and wanted to have a go. It feels like everyone and their mother at some point has tried out the L'Oreal Paris Elvive Dream Lengths Wonder Water , £9.99. Now in all honesty I didn't know what the product actually did but I did see how beautiful and shinie everyones hair looked after using it so I decided I would check it out.

Now first of all I didn't realise how hard it would be to actually track this hair treatment down because I guess everyone wanted to try it out so it's genuinely taken a couple months to get my hands on. But as you can see your girl finally succeeded so let's chat about the product. Wonder water is a rinse-out hair treatment that is designed to improve the bottoms of your hair in 8 seconds ( quiet the claim I know). The treatment is long story short designed to improve your hair fibres to make them look smoother, softer and stronger. So the whole idea behind this product is that this damaged hair treatment, in a rinse-out liquid conditioner formula, transforms lengths in just 8 seconds. For me the biggest selling point was that this product is that you can use it on coloured hair which makes me even happier in all honesty. So if your hair has been damaged through heat or hair dye this will be your new friend for sure. Now you might be wondering ok great but how does it work? Well let me tell you.

Dream Lengths Wonder Water is a rinse-out hair treatment. Use 2-3 times per week after shampooing. Use 1 dose for fine to medium textured hair, 2-3 doses for thick to curly textured hair, add 1 more dose if you have extra-long hair. Apply directly to wet hair on the lengths only, avoiding the scalp. You may feel a slight warming sensation as the product activates. Massage for 8 seconds and rinse out. Use a conditioner after if needed. Blow-dry for even greater results!

Now I had seen so many before and after videos I was really excited to see how it would perform on my hair type which is drier due to me dying my hair red for a year and a bit. I have to admit I was really impressed with the condition of my hair after the first use. I decided to air dry my hair since I wanted my natural curls and I was shocked at how soft my hair was. As instructed I have been using it 2 times a week and honestly I am loving the difference in my hair and I genuinely was getting so many compliments about it I loved it.

Obviously I'll have to use it longer to see what the long term effects are but having used it a couple weeks so far I am over the moon which the boost it has given my hair. So moral of the story while some tiktok trends don't always need the hype I totally get this one for once.

Lots of love

Bella x x

[cheshiresense]

Could you do KoyoIchi (Swinging Pendulum), please? C: I have fallen in love with this ship ever since you posted those short one-shots (or whatever they are called) a while ago.

Hmm you didn’t include an AU and I’ve already done a KoyoIchi SP AU in the last batch, there’s not much else I can write for that I think. So how about KoyoIchi post-canon AU instead, where Ichigo’s human body gives out after the Quincy War, so he ends up splitting his time between SS and the Human world afterwards.

Edit: omg wtf did i do i went off i’m sorry this ended up semi-background pre-relationship KoyoIchi + like a dozen unrelated headcanons thrown in it’s a mess fml

1. It’s not usually done, he’s technically dead now (but not a Shinigami, not a Quincy, not a Hollow, and not even a Human anymore), but he has a lot of support from a lot of people - Kisuke has no qualms crafting him a gigai that would allow him to draw his blade even without stepping out of it, and Kyouraku basically gives him free run of Soul Society after they hammer out what Ichigo is supposed to do there considering he’s now stronger than the entire Gotei combined but also he’s technically only eighteen years old.

(It would be scarier, Kyouraku thinks, if Ichigo’s moral fibre hadn’t already proven itself superior.)

In the end, they settle it like this - Ichigo attends the Academy part-time for all the lessons Kisuke and Yoruichi and Shinji never bothered hammering into him because it was never important to the war, attends university in the human world, and the rest of his time is his do with as he pleases, whether that’s taking missions directly from Kyouraku, visiting with his friends in various squads and being roped into doing paperwork, or digging up yet another rebel faction or secret invasion out of the woodwork (”Please don’t dig up yet another rebel faction or secret invasion out of the woodwork for at least a month, Ichigo-kun. One month, you hear? We still haven’t finished cleanup from the last one.”).

Because it’s Ichigo, it works. it’s not like he wasn’t already coming and going from Soul Society when he was still human. The Shinigami have let him get away with far too much already to put restrictions on him now, especially considering he’s saved all their asses twice over now, and that’s not even counting all the trouble in-between. If there are some who complain, well, there are even more who are capable of making sure nothing ever comes of it.

So okay, no rebel faction, no secret invasion, but Ichigo’s not Ichigo without something to work towards, and he’s always wondered why the Shinigami side of his family was slumming it out in Rukongai when they’re supposed to be nobility like Byakuya and Yoruichi. The answer is simple enough - Aizen had mind-whammied everyone after Isshin ran off and fabricated a coup that resulted in assassinations courtesy of the Second Division before the remaining Shibas were ousted from Seireitei overnight.

(It was only too easy for Aizen to make them believe it.Nobody ever questioned whether or not the Shibas could. They had the power. They just never had the ambition, which nobody could understand.)

No way is Ichigo going to take that lying down. So he goes and yells at Kyouraku, who says it’s complicated and would take time, but Ichigo reminds him of the Visored and Kisuke and Yoruichi and Tessai, all let back in in the wake of the Winter War. If they could be pardoned, and rightfully so, why can’t the Shibas too?

“I’m not saying they can’t forever, Ichigo-kun,” Kyouraku says placatingly. “But Central 46 will want… assurances-”

“You mean they’re scared to let my family back in cuz they might still be a little bit pissed from having three-quarters of their members murdered in their beds,” Ichigo summarizes flatly.

Kyouraku sighs and gives up all pretenses of a neutral party. “If you have a better idea…” He waves a hand at the general situation, eyes dark and intent on Ichigo’s face.

Ichigo snorts and straightens up. “Yeah. It’s called ‘being too strong to fuck with’. The old bastards are in session right now, aren’t they? I’ll be right back.”

One day, Kyouraku muses as he watches Ichigo go, this will probably not work, and it’ll come back to bite them all in the ass. Then again, Central 46 has run Soul Society their way or no one’s way for far too long; Yama-jii had always given them too much power. They’d learned nothing from Aizen, so maybe Ichigo is exactly what they deserve, straightforward and running on emotion, but fair, always, and decent in a way that Kyouraku thinks most of their government has forgotten how to be, if they ever knew to begin with.

One day, even Ichigo’s threats won’t make Central 46 back down. But a god doesn’t bow just because someone demands it, no matter how important they think their bloodline or rank or status is. And Ichigo is probably the closest thing they have to a god these days. A god, with plenty of friends to back him up if he needs it.

So Kyouraku leaves him to it - better Ichigo than him, less headaches in the long run - and he isn’t at all surprised when Ichigo sweeps back into his office five hours later, expression grim but triumphant, reiatsu still writhing like a living shadow around him as he informs Kyouraku that his clan will be needing their old estate back.

Kyouraku pushes over the paperwork he’d completed an hour ago, authorizing the full restoration and compensation of the Shiba Clan. Ichigo smiles at him almost fondly, features only slightly tinted with a banked sort of inhuman rage that he carries around almost constantly these days - it’s three steps left of his cousin’s memory, with Hollow glinting in his eyes and the shade of his ancestor draped across his shoulders. He’s gone again in the next moment, off to tell his family the excellent news, and Kyouraku thinks it was probably a good thing Yama-jii died when he did. However reasonable Ichigo still is, he is no longer that boy with the too-forgiving heart who took the insults they served him with all the doormatted self-sacrifice of a storybook hero.

(He came back from the Soul King Palace equal parts pensive and victorious, with old eyes and reiatsu levels they could no longer sense and a terrifying sort of detachment when he looked at them all. But his friends had fallen on him without care, only relief, and the icy distance in Ichigo’s mien had melted. Kyouraku had understood though, in that moment, that Soul Society would stand only so long as Ichigo allows it.

He likes Ichigo, he genuinely does. Jyuushirou had too. That hadn’t stopped his old friend from attempting to leash him, which had almost backfired in the end and literally only hadn’t out of the goodness of Ichigo’s heart, and it doesn’t stop Kyouraku now from catering to Ichigo’s whims. Only time would tell if this approach will work better or worse than Jyuushirou’s law-abiding one, and in the meanwhile, it doesn’t hurt that Ichigo doesn’t actually want anything Kyouraku doesn’t want to fix anyway. Soul Society has been his home for over nine centuries now. He does not want to see it burn. If that means dragging it kicking and screaming into a new era with a boy their world created to fight their wars for them looking over his shoulder, then Kyouraku will do it gladly.)

It takes almost three months for the Shibas to gather again and move back in. They’d scattered, after their exile, all across Rukongai, but Kuukaku is their head, and Ichigo has single-handedly wrested back their birthright for them, and when both of them call, the rest of the clan answers, trickling in in twos and threes and fours, suspicious and wary and not inclined to trust anyone but their own, but they come, and the first thing they do is raise wards around their home strong enough to withstand a siege from the Royal Guard.

“That’s everyone?” Ichigo asks, looking from the civilians to the once-Shinigami to the children. All in all, they barely make thirty total, and over half of them are from their retainer families.

Kuukaku shrugs tiredly at his side. She’s never looked older than she does now. “You know Isshin’s staying in the Human world for your sisters, but other than that, pretty much. Everyone else is dead.” She pauses. “Well, except one, but I doubt he’ll come. Kaien’s wife’s brother,” She adds for Ichigo’s benefit. “Koyonagi Senzou. He was the Kidou Corps Commander before Tessai, demoted to Academy teacher after some mission the higher-ups covered up. He was the only one the Gotei kept on after we were kicked out. Never found out whether he actually wanted to stay or if Central 46 insisted he stay. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was the latter. He’s wasted at the Academy, too useful to kill but too dangerous to let out of sight. As far as I know though, he’s still there.”

Ichigo frowns as he digests all this. “And he won’t come by to see you guys?”

Kuukaku shakes her head. “I doubt it. He was never really one of us.”

“Why not?”

Kuukaku shrugs again. “He never wanted to be. I didn’t know him very well, Ichigo, but he loved exactly one person, and she was more or less killed under Kaien’s watch. It wasn’t Nii-san’s fault of course, but she was sent out on a mission given to her by the Thirteenth Division lieutenant, and she never came back. He attended her funeral. That was the last time any of us saw him, although our Shinigami members reported glimpses of him in and around the Academy over the years.”

Ichigo hums. Kuukaku gives him an arch look and then snorts. “Shall I prepare a room for him anyway when I start renovations?”

Ichigo grins at her. “That’d be perfect, Kuukaku, thanks.”

2. Of course Senzou has heard of Kurosaki Ichigo. You’d have to be living under a rock in a cave in a different dimension to not have heard of Soul Society’s God-Slaying Saviour.

And of course he’s a Shiba. That lot always was more trouble than they were worth, too powerful for their own good, and too reckless or too confident or too stupid - Senzou has never really figured out which - to hide it from the world or at least play it down to keep the world from turning on them because of it. No subtlety at all. And look where it got them in the end.

In the aftermath of the Quincy War, he hears of the Shibas’ return to the city, and he can feel the power in the wards they almost immediately erect around their home. For protection, no doubt, because old dogs can learn new tricks after all, but to Senzou, it just looks like a very pretty cage. Why they - or the Visored for that matter - came back to serve the very people who betrayed them in some of the worst ways possible is beyond him.

Not that it makes much of a difference to Senzou. He’d ignored them for decades before their exile; no doubt, he’ll happily ignore them for decades more. They’re related only through an unfortunate marriage, and considering both parties are long dead now, what little obligation he had to them likewise expired years ago.

But, he thinks, as he watches an increasingly familiar head of orange hair slide into his classroom, someone forgot to give that memo to the Shibas’ newest pride and joy. Even Senzou - with expectations that literally no student has ever met - can admit that Kurosaki Ichigo attending Kidou lessons is a complete waste of time. Senzou spends his days teaching idiots the incantations for each of the ninety-nine standard spells, trying not to scratch his own eyes out when he has to grade their papers, and making sure they don’t blow themselves up when they practice producing them. Even the most advanced of the sixth-years can only manage spells in the fifties range, with a fifty-fifty chance of average-at-best success.

Ichigo memorized all the incantations in the first two weeks he was here. His first essay on the use of forbidden Kidou - instead of a regurgitation of laws citing the illegality of them that everyone else turned in - became a dissertation on their pros and cons, arguing that every case in which they’re used should be thoroughly investigated not only by Central 46 but also by a panel of Shinigami, and why the laws against them should be amended to allow for unexpected circumstances. The brat even had the gall to throw in quotes of interviews he’d conducted, and if it had been anyone else claiming to have received firsthand and eye-witness accounts of forbidden Kidou usage from names like Tsukabishi Tessai and Hirako Shinji, Senzou would’ve set them on fire for being such a bad liar. He couldn’t even fail the boy for incomplete research because the books he referenced might not be found in the Academy library but they all had Urahara Kisuke stamped on them.

And his practicals? A high level of reiatsu usually means the caster would have a harder time performing Kidou, especially when they’re first starting out, too much power shoved into the lower-level ones, too little control to hold together the higher-level ones.

Not Kurosaki Ichigo. That boy spent the first week putting holes into everything except his targets, went away for a weekend, and then came back with singed eyebrows and bags under his eyes but a resolute set to his jaw and picture-perfect Kidou at his fingertips. He didn’t even need the incantations anymore. And to make him even more of an anomaly, he could perform spells right up into the nineties. In fact, the higher the difficulty and reiatsu output, the better he was with them.

There is nothing the standard Kidou curriculum from any year can teach him. His learning curve is insane, and his essays read like he’s gearing up to go toe to toe with Central 46, never mind an Academy class.

He doesn’t need to be here. Senzou knows it. The other students know it. And Ichigo most certainly knows it too. And with the special allowances granted by the Soutaichou himself, he doesn’t even need permission to skip. The boy’s been given unprecedented free reign to come and go as he pleases, and yet he comes back, week after week after week. He doesn’t even have the decency to sleep through Senzou’s lectures. He’s a flickering candle in the corner of Senzou’s eye, all flame-bright hair and brown-gold-brown eyes and shadows that won’t stop moving, and that unwavering attention he pins on Senzou every time makes it damn clear exactly what he’s waiting for.

Shibas. No subtlety whatsoever.

The bell rings. Bags are packed. There’s a scramble for the door.

“Kurosaki-chan,” Senzou calls in bored tones without looking away from sadistically adding an extra assignment to the board. If no one notices, that’s their problem. “Stay behind.”

There are some interested whispers and prying eyes, but one glance from Senzou sends them scurrying away. And then Ichigo is there, sauntering up with his perpetual scowl - not at all like Kaien this one. The two are as charismatic as each other, from what Senzou’s observed. But Kaien had people wrapped around his finger because he had a knack for putting them at ease and making them feel special and making himself both approachable and worth looking up to. Ichigo on the other hand scared a lot of people when he first showed up at the Academy with an armful of books and a gruff disposition that didn’t lend itself to making allies, let alone friends. He wasn’t arrogant, just introverted, but it made him the kind of genius that people resented.

And then Senzou caught him in the hallway one day, looming over a mousy-looking fifth-year student huddled on the ground, and at first, he’d thought Kurosaki was bullying her. Everyone’s golden boy, picking on a shrinking violet of a girl. But then Ichigo had stooped down and gathered up all the books spilled across the floor before offering them back to the girl. The girl had still cowered, but she’d accepted them, and when Ichigo reached out and hauled her to her feet, she’d flinched but hadn’t moved away once she was on her feet again and Ichigo had let her go.

Then Ichigo had told her, quite clearly, “Next time someone can’t keep their hands to themselves, break their fucking wrists. Or kick them in the balls. Or tell them to fuck off. Start a scene so they have to stop. Do something. Don’t just fucking stand there.”

And then he’d stormed off, and the girl - Fujiwara, from the Kyouraku family - had stared after him, all baby-duckling wide eyes. And the next time Senzou had happened across her, it was just in time to see her chuck one of her textbooks at the head of one of her bullies. Said bully had staggered back, and then purpled with anger, already moving forward with fists clenched. Half a second later, he was on the ground and wailing from a broken nose, and Ichigo was standing over him, murder glowing gold in his eyes and black reiatsu streaking his hair and pooling at his feet.

Nobody had touched Fujiwara after that, especially since the girl had taken to following Ichigo around. Ichigo had still scowled like no one’s business, he’d also been seen kicking Fujiwara’s ass in one of the training rooms, they studied together in the library, and they ate together in the courtyard when Ichigo happened to stay for that.

And gradually, other students joined in, tentatively, some nervous, some with hero worship in their eyes, all hopeful. Ichigo never turned any of them away, but one day, he started a debate in the library about laws that would take species outside of Shinigami into consideration that ended with raised voices and enthusiastic opinions that got the whole giggling bunch thrown out, and another day, he suggested a free-for-all game of tag where only Kidou could be used to catch each other which ended with everyone sweaty and gasping and wanting another round, and in calmer in-betweens, he answered when the others finally asked him about what Hueco Mundo was like, what the Material world was like, what Arrancar were like, what Humans were like, and he never lost his temper with them even when he had to explain something more than once.

He was still blunt and borderline rude and not at all like Kaien, like a Shiba, not outgoing or friendly or instantly personable. But the charisma was the same, people couldn’t help but be drawn to him, and it took weeks for Senzou to realize he was just as susceptible to it as Ichigo’s growing circle of friends within the Academy. So susceptible he was literally stalking him everywhere just to see what other chaos he was sowing.

That’s probably why he wants the boy gone so badly. He’d sworn he’d never forgive the Shiba Clan for taking his sister away from him, the only leeway they got was that he wouldn’t actively go after them either because Miyako wouldn’t want him to, and it wasn’t as if it was difficult to keep such a vow. He’d never liked the Shibas anyway. When they’d been slaughtered and cast out, and no assassins had shown up at his door in the aftermath, all he’d thought was good riddance.

But Kurosaki Ichigo…

Under any other circumstances, Senzou would be thrilled. Here is a student who challenged the world around him and brought a storm to the Academy.

But this isn’t any other circumstances, and as Ichigo stops in front of his desk, a beast glinting behind his eyes and a dead king’s inheritance pulsing in the shadow splashed at his feet, Senzou meets his gaze and slices a mocking smile in his direction.

“Kurosaki-chan,” He starts, smirk widening when Ichigo’s eyebrows twitch. “The Academy’s star part-time pupil. What exactly are you still doing in my class?”

Ichigo shrugs. “I signed up for it, your lectures aren’t boring, and I’m trying to figure you out.”

Senzou feels his smile grow fixed. “And how is that going for you?”

Ichigo scruffs a hand through his hair, pauses briefly to frown tug at the shoulder-length strands like he wants a haircut, and then shrugs again. “You’re the one following me around all the time, what do you think?”

They stare at each other for a moment.

“Let me make one thing very clear, Kurosaki-chan,” Senzou finally says. For once, he doesn’t feel like weaving his usual mind games. “I don’t know what your clan has told you, but I have no desire to play happy families with them. I know you Shibas tend to be all about bringing family together, but I am not one of you.” His lip curls. “Do not push this issue any further than you have. Am I understood?”

Ichigo cocks his head, something animal in the way he watches Senzou now. “Kuukaku agreed to reserve a room for you at the compound if you ever want it, but you don’t have to if you don’t want to. I’m not here for that.”

Senzou’s eyes narrow. “Then what are you here for?” He gives the boy a sardonic look and cuts him off preemptively. “Besides class.”

Ichigo grins, quicksilver bright, and something in Senzou recoils with surprise.

“I don’t really have a plan,” The boy tells him. “But I’m getting my family settled back in, and making sure nobody can fuck with them ever again.” He aims another considering look at Senzou. “If you don’t wanna be all buddy-buddy with them, that’s fine. It’s not any of my business if you wanna hammer your shit out with them or not. But you were connected to them even if you didn’t like it, and that doesn’t change just because that connection’s gone. So I guess what I wanted to figure out was whether or not someone’s fucking with you too.”

Senzou opens his mouth, then closes it when nothing comes out. How embarrassing. He settles for a derisive smile that feels a touch too brittle on his face. “I don’t need your protection, God-Slayer.”

Ichigo immediately makes a face. “Don’t call me that. And I didn’t say you did. But when I start something, I like to see it through, so I thought I’d check just to be sure.”

Senzou scoffs with disbelief. “Then why didn’t you just ask?”

Ichigo rolls his eyes like he thinks Senzou’s being dumb on purpose, which is a new experience for Senzou. Usually he’s the one rolling his eyes.

“Well you didn’t want me to, did you?” Ichigo says, looking exasperated now. “You were curious about me, and all the stalking was recon or whatever.” He levels a thoughtful look on Senzou before snorting with something like amusement. “You are the type. But yeah, anyway, now you know. If you need help, the offer’s open indefinitely. But I’ll stop coming to class if you don’t want me here.”

He trails off, arching an eyebrow in question. When Senzou doesn’t reply, the boy shrugs once more, adjusts the strap of his bag, and turns to leave.

Senzou… Well, he’s pretty much been on the back foot this entire conversation, hasn’t he? There’s something about Ichigo that just… throws him off. It’s frustrating. Unnerving.

And yet… Ichigo didn’t push. Kaien would’ve pushed. The rest of his family would’ve pushed. It’s what Shibas do when they want something - push and push until they get what they want, a single-minded persistence hidden under their signature cheerful geniality that makes the rest of the world believe them to be the nicest clan in all of Soul Society.

Miyako had said no, the first time Kaien had asked to court her. But he’d asked again and again, until she’d said yes, and she’d been happy to, Senzou had made certain of that, she’d been perfectly willing, had found a good man in Kaien and been glad she’d finally given him a chance.

But she’d said no first, and Kaien had pushed, and it just… rubbed Senzou the wrong way. Because once upon a time, Shinigami had plucked them out from Rukongai, dusted them off and provided the training and shuffled them into the military, all expenses paid, but no had never been an option, and that had become all the more true after Miyako became such a public, vulnerable figure, not only Third Seat of the Thirteenth but also wife of a clan head.

When Central 46 had come knocking, interested in Senzou’s prodigal skills with Kidou, they hadn’t even needed to drop Miyako’s name for Senzou to know that saying no then wasn’t an option either. He’d been pushed into their service, and it had taken Miyako’s death for Central 46 to finally leave him alone, solely because he had no one else for them to hold over his head.

It’s not the Shibas’ fault, not really. It’s been long enough that Senzou can admit that, if only to himself. Miyako’s choices were her own, and even if she hadn’t married him, Central 46 probably would’ve found another way to get to him through her. But Senzou has always been petty and vindictive at heart, and he’ll blame the Shibas for the rest of his life, because at the end of the day, they’re just like all the other nobles in this place. What they want, they’ll push until they get, because privilege is in their blood.

So Senzou flounders when Ichigo doesn’t push his advantage. The boy is already halfway to the door, and somehow, Senzou is certain, if he doesn’t say anything now, Ichigo won’t come back. It’s so wildly different from what he’d expected, so unexpectedly not-like-a-Shiba, that he has to fumble for something to say for an unforgivably long moment. Him, fumble. This whole conversation has been one unexpected surprise after another, and later, Senzou will blame the shock for his next decision.

“Wait.”

Ichigo stops and turns back. He doesn’t look surprised, but neither does he look triumphant or even just smug.

Senzou suppresses a grimace. “The school has nothing left to teach you about Kidou.”

Ichigo nods in unabashed agreement.

Senzou snorts softly. “But I do. And I guarantee it won’t bore you.”

Ichigo blinks, and a crooked smile slowly curls at his lips. It doesn’t erase his frown, but it softens his brow and makes his features look less harsh. “You sure you wanna teach me?”

Senzou scoffs and pulls out his chair. “I wouldn’t have offered otherwise.” He gives himself a mental shake and drags a grin back onto his face, sharp enough to cut. “Sit your ass down so we can figure out a schedule, Ichi-chan.”

Ichigo instantly loses the smile and glowers like a thundercloud. Senzou all but basks in the familiarity of it, inwardly relieved at being back on steadier ground.

“Don’t call me that, asshole!”

He probably shouldn’t have offered, should’ve just let him go and good riddance. But Senzou hasn’t been taken so off-guard so quickly in a long time, and it had been frustrating and unnerving but underneath both…

There is a storm waiting on the wings of Seireitei, and Kurosaki Ichigo is the one holding its reins.

And Senzou. Senzou is just curious enough to want to see what that storm will bring.

3. “Did your hair grow three inches over the weekend?” Senzou asks the moment Ichigo walks into one of their weekly lessons.

Ichigo dumps his bag in a chair and scowls at him. His hair has been swept up into a bun, which is certainly a feat considering the last time Senzou saw him three days ago, it had only brushed his shoulders.

“This body is seriously shit at regulating itself,” Ichigo grumbles. “I didn’t have time to go to the barber’s, and Kuukaku threatened to shave me bald if I tried to chop it off with my Zanpakutou again.”

Senzou squints at him. “You realize that’s not normal.”

Ichigo rolls his eyes. “I didn’t have a knife on me, and it was getting in the way, okay? Don’t judge.”

This time, it’s Senzou’s turn to roll his eyes. “That wasn’t what I meant, Ichi-chan. Shinigami bodies don’t suddenly grow several inches of hair overnight.”

“You’d be surprised,” Ichigo mutters before shaking his head, and Senzou watches as black reiatsu crackles lazily across his shoulders. “I’m just kinda weird. Excess reiatsu plus funky biology apparently means random hair growth and dye jobs.” He shrugs. “Kisuke’s still figuring it out.”

Senzou hums noncommittally. “Urahara Kisuke. Your… mentor?”

Ichigo pulls out the books Senzou had given him last week, along with a notebook and the latest essay Senzou had assigned him. All are tagged with multiple sticky notes.

“Kind of?” Ichigo sounds like he isn’t all too sure himself and even less concerned about it. “He’s… Kisuke.”

Senzou eyes him curiously. “You don’t care that he basically engineered half your life then?”

Ichigo stills. Then he glances up with Hollow-gold eyes, and Senzou smiles and meets them without flinching.

“Why would you say that?” Ichigo asks in even tones, but the office suddenly seems darker.

Senzou shrugs carelessly. “Urahara has a bit of a reputation for… working outside the box. It’s not just me who thinks it, Ichi-chan. There aren’t many who knew him who wouldn’t take one look at you and guess that he had something to do with your existence.” He pauses. “Although admittedly, I suppose the worst of these rumours come from the ones who want him back most. Central 46 doesn’t benefit half as much without his skills in assassination and technological development. It must’ve been a blow to their egos when Urahara refused their invitation to come back after the Winter War. They might be hoping enough unease over any other projects he’s bound to be working on would be enough to make him come back under their protection-”

“That’s not called protection,” Ichigo growls, and Senzou stops, words withering on his tongue.

There is something about the black abyss of Ichigo’s unblinking stare that makes some base instinct in even Senzou want to back away, run, throw himself at this eldritch entity’s feet and beg for mercy. He squashes the urge and smiles like monsters don’t exist.

Ichigo blinks. The darkness in his eyes recede, and the room clears again, bright with the sunshine pouring in through the open window. A shadow passes over his face, and when he opens his mouth to speak, Senzou catches a glimpse of fangs.

“Well that sucks,” The boy remarks succinctly like the silhouette on the far wall behind him doesn’t outline a grinning mouth with too many teeth. “It’s none of their business anyway. Kisuke prefers his shop. He’s his own boss there, and he likes it that way. Central 46 will just have to deal with Kurotsuchi.”

He flips open his notebook and shoves his essay over. “Now come on, we only have an hour today, and you said you’d go over this bit with me.”

Senzou nods and drops the subject. But three weeks later, he laughs when whispers tell of five Central 46 members retiring from their seats, replaced by one Shiba elder, one Shihouin, one Kuchiki, and two seated officers from the Gotei, one of which has served long enough that she doesn’t mind semi-retiring, and the other who prefers more time at a desk job over constant fieldwork. Both have roots that trace back to the slums of Rukongai. Twelve days after that, the Soutaichou announces a new official position filled by Urahara Kisuke - Human World Liaison - and a team of his choice, effective immediately.

“You don’t waste any time,” is Senzou’s greeting the next time he sees Ichigo after that debacle.

Ichigo, seated on the edge of the Academy roof and surveying the rest of Seireitei (like a ruler looking over his kingdom), waves a dismissive hand that trails solid shadows through the air. “People who’ve never been Shinigami shouldn’t be allowed to judge them. Kyouraku-san agreed.”

“I’m sure he did,” Senzou agrees, fighting near-hysterical glee down to a chuckle as he drops down to sit beside Ichigo.

He wonders if this is what it looks like, for a man to crown himself without even trying while most of the world cheers him on.

He glances to the side, arching an eyebrow when he finds Ichigo watching him. “Yes, Ichi-chan?”

There’s a disappointing lack of irritable twitching this time, but the thoughtful look Ichigo has levelled on him instead is more interesting.

“I have finals starting next week,” Ichigo says abruptly. “So I won’t be coming by the Academy until I’m done.”

Well, less interesting than he’d expected. “I’ll pick up your assignments for you,” Senzou offers, feeling generous. It’s not every day Central 46 takes a beating. He doesn’t care about Aizen, but if there was one thing he did right, it was butchering the judiciary authority on the way out. One group of them anyway.

Ichigo snorts. Rude. “Thanks, but I was thinking, you could join me down there for once instead of me coming up to meet you here. I want to concentrate on my university exams, but I have to eat and stretch my legs sometime. If you want, I could show you around campus. Kisuke can lend you a gigai so you won’t even have to request one from the Twelfth and wait for the acquisition forms to be approved.”

The first thing Senzou wants to say is I can’t. Because he can’t. Central 46 can’t make him do shit anymore, but short of slaughtering his way to the Senkaimon or disappearing into the Rukongai and living out the rest of his life as a fugitive, he can’t leave Seireitei. He doesn’t hate it here so much that he’d prefer either of those options, but the truth of the matter is, this is as much his home as it is his prison.

(A very pretty cage indeed.)

So he can’t, but Ichigo isn’t stupid, he should’ve already figured it out, or guessed, if not from the start after whatever his family told him about Senzou, then in the five months since. Stuck at the Academy because he’s too much of a wild card to go on missions.

Ichigo isn’t stupid, but neither is he cruel, not to those he has no quarrel with - that much Senzou can accept as truth. That he’s bringing this up anyway…

So, “How?” He asks instead, raising his eyebrows when Ichigo actually barks out a laugh. And then his eyes widen when Ichigo twists fingers through the air, and a Garganta springs into existence beside them.

“This can take us there,” Ichigo grins. “And no one will ever even know if you don’t want them to.”

Senzou stares from him to the murky void and back again. “…Why?”

Why are you doing this? Why would you offer?

They’ve known each other for five months, six if you count the one Senzou spent studying him. Most of that time has been spent in private tutoring sessions, and it’s benefitted Senzou as much as it has Ichigo. He technically shouldn’t be teaching Ichigo even half the Kidou Corps secrets he’s already imparted, but Ichigo makes it worth his while - quick on the uptake, a challenge in the sparring ring, and a breath of fresh air from the tedious drudgery of teaching his other students. Occasionally, they even go out for meals, tucked away in a quiet corner of a restaurant or a food stand. And sometimes, Ichigo brings souvenirs back with him from his trips to the Human world - fiction, toys, tech, trinkets the living modern age has that Soul Society does not - and he gifts them not only to his friends amongst the students but also to Senzou these days.

It’s a friendlier relationship than Senzou thought he’d ever have with anyone outside his sister, doubly so for a Shiba. Then again, Ichigo’s barely that, thank the Soul King, even if he was raised by one of the worst examples of that clan.

“Why not?” Ichigo counters, like it isn’t downright unnatural for anyone to do anything for Senzou, mostly because he’d rather stab himself in the face than fall into anybody’s debt. People avoid him when they can because he is cruel, and that’s the way Senzou likes it. He has high standards and little tolerance for things that bore him. Nothing bores him as easily as people do.

Until Ichigo.

“You don’t wanna be stuck here all the time,” Ichigo continues. “And I have an easy way out. So yeah, why not?”

Senzou turns his gaze to the horizion, past the sprawling streets and buildings of Seireitei to the sun setting beyond the wall.

He looks at the Garganta again. When Ichigo doesn’t move to stop him, he reaches over and lets his fingers drift past the mouth of the portal. The void is cool to the touch but not freezing the way he’d half-imagined.

He retrieves his hand. “A campus tour then?” He muses lightly, and Ichigo’s features brighten in response.

Senzou almost sighs. He thinks he might understand now. Ichigo is a little more like a Shiba after all. It’s just that he’s also a little more manipulative than one would expect of him. Senzou had all but told him not to interfere, to play hero for someone else, so Ichigo had backed off. But he’d figured out what Senzou wanted anyway, and his solution was to offer another way out instead.

Persistent, without disrespecting boundaries, and cunning enough to find another answer. In that regard, he’s nothing like his Shinigami relatives, who are always so loud about their intentions.

Charismatic, but… discreetly, almost insidiously so.

Senzou blinks. And then glances sharply at Ichigo again. His eyes look bronze in the light of the sunset, with the heat of his Hollow just beneath it. He has his head propped up against one loose fist, elbow balanced on one knee.

He smiles, almost guileless if not for the possessive resolve in the curve of that expression, and Senzou thinks, unbidden, ah. That’s how he won their devotion.

He gave his friends and family and allies everything they wanted, everything they needed, threw his heart and soul and body into every fight in their defense, shattered himself and rebuilt himself to protect the ones he’d taken under his wing, and so when the time came, how could any of them have done anything less for him?

It had probably not even been something Ichigo had done consciously from the beginning, it was just how he was built, through a quirk of the genetic fun park Urahara had ensured, or perhaps from the numerous near-death experiences life had forced him into. Ichigo probably hadn’t been aware, at first.

But he definitely is now.

Senzou thinks Ichigo is only just starting with him. Senzou’s already been claimed, because - for whatever reason - Ichigo wants him.

It probably says a lot that even this early on, even having already figured it out, Senzou… can’t say he cares enough to protest.

A Shiba in his bones, but leagues more dangerous by far.

4. The Human world is bigger than he remembers. Size-wise, it’s the same. But there’s a lot more in it than he thought, and he isn’t sure if that’s due to the passage of time or because he’d never spent more time than strictly necessary here when he took missions on the material plane back in the day.

Either way, he’s free to explore it now, even if just a small part of it for the time being. The campus of Ichigo’s school is large and sprawling, and with Urahara’s gigai and fake IDs and some Human money (he trades them for a box of seal traps even Tsukabishi Tessai wouldn’t know of because they’re Senzou’s own creation, and Urahara smiles like he understands and doesn’t object), it’s easy enough to come and go once Ichigo drops him off.

“You bought an apartment?” Senzou asks the first time Ichigo shows him the place and lets him poke around inside. It’s recognizably a living space, but it’s foreign to him all the same, with a generous open floor plan and wide windows, marble countertops in the kitchen and dark wooden cabinets and a bathroom constructed of polished chrome and gleaming tile.

“Kisuke bought me an apartment,” Ichigo corrects, flopping down on the couch where he has papers and books spread all over the coffee table and floor. His hair’s shorter today, barely past his shoulders, tipped black and hanging loose. Senzou is vaguely curious about what the boy’s classmates think of it.

“I wanted my own place,” Ichigo explains. “But Kisuke took one look at the rent I could afford and practically frog-marched me here instead. Then he had Yoruichi-san steal all my stuff and move it here, and then he said I might as well just take it because staying would be less work than moving all my stuff back.” He snorts, but it’s a fond sound. “The asshole. It’s not like I’d want to turn this place down. But it’s a bit much, so I try to help him with his research projects whenever I can in exchange.”

Senzou digests this with briefly raised eyebrows but says nothing. Urahara probably considers this another desperate form of making amends, and Ichigo probably knows it too. He probably wouldn’t have accepted otherwise.

“There’s a guest bedroom,” Ichigo calls after him as Senzou wanders down the hall to investigate exactly that. “Rukia’s stayed overnight, Renji too, and a few of my human friends have as well, but I always clean the place after they leave, so if you wanna stay tonight, feel free.”

That’s all the conversation between them for the rest of the day. Ichigo already showed him the campus the day before, and after tossing him a key to the apartment, Senzou is free to wander off and explore on his own.

Two weeks of regular visits to the Human world, and he still feels a little awkward in one of the shirts and jeans and sweater that that Quincy friend of Ichigo’s had shoved on him before whirlwinding back out again, apparently neck-deep in the middle of his own finals project.

“It’s Ishida, he makes clothes for everyone,” was Ichigo’s unhelpful clarification. “You help by walking around and looking good in them.”

So Senzou does, and part of him feels like he should stand out more, but nobody gives him more than a passing glance at most. Well, some do, but he recognizes shallow attraction well enough to ignore it.

In the end, he finds himself spending the most time in the libraries and lecture halls, slipping into the back of a classroom and listening to lessons he actually has to pay attention to to even understand some of what the professor is talking about. The science lectures mostly go over his head, and he’s never been interested in that field anyway so he doesn’t bother putting much effort into following them. It’s the literature courses he likes the most. There aren’t any at the Academy, not like this, and there are so many more books in so many more languages and genres than Senzou ever thought there existed in the world.

Soul Society suddenly seems so small in comparison.

It’s always an exercise in patience every time he has to return to Seireitei to teach now. After the first two weeks of almost daily trips to the Human world, he orders - on a whim - the students from his upper-year classes to split into groups before assigning each of them a project due at the end of the term on the theoretical creation of three new Kidou spells.

Group projects are not a thing at the Academy. Senzou wonders why.

He tells them that at least two of the research sources have to be from outside the Academy, and he smirks when he follows Fujiwara Asuka to the First Division compound to speak with her cousin, and then the Eighth to speak with her cousin’s former lieutenant, and then even braving the Fourth, straight-backed and stiff with anxiety but marching in anyway with her nervous group members in tow until she manages to wrangle fifteen minutes of time from a few of the healers willing to answer her questions about Kaidou.

Even here, Ichigo’s influence flourishes.

Outside the classroom, Senzou begins collecting copies of Human books. He half-bribes, half-blackmails the librarian into setting aside a section for him, and then he begins his own project of filling it.

“You’ve been busy,” Ichigo remarks when he staggers in from his last exam and collapses into a chair just as Senzou finishes setting the table for dinner.

Senzou arches an eyebrow, smirking when Ichigo just rolls his eyes.

“People tell me things,” Ichigo informs him, barely waiting for Senzou to sit down before falling onto the meal like he hasn’t eaten in a week.

“You would make a poor king if people didn’t,” Senzou murmurs, smiling serenely when Ichigo’s eyes flick up to meet his. It’s not as intimidating when his cheeks are bulging like a chipmunk’s.

Actually, Ichigo in the Human world just seems less… overwhelming in general. It isn’t as if he’s any less powerful. This particular gigai doesn’t restrict him in any way. But there’s a relaxed quality in him here that Senzou’s observed in the past three weeks that’s always absent when he’s the rawest form of himself up in Seireitei.

“Soul Society needs to change,” Ichigo says at last, instead of denying anything. “If that means kicking it in the ass until it stops fucking up the lives it’s supposed to be looking after, then that’s exactly what I’ll do.”

Yes, and Senzou has no doubt he’ll succeed. The majority of those in power have no desire to stop Ichigo. Those who do aren’t strong enough. And Ichigo wants it. He wants it with a conviction Senzou has never seen in anyone, almost obsessive in its unfaltering desire… like the abyssal hunger of a Hollow and the eternal grudge of a Quincy and the timeless pride of a Shinigami all rolled into one.

Ichigo wants it, and he’ll get what he wants.

The Soul King knows the universe owes him that much, and even if it didn’t, Senzou doubts it would make a single bit of difference to their God-Slayer.

He lifts his mug in a toast. “Then I look forward to your endeavours. You’ll need to watch out for Central 46′s spies though. I’m sure they won’t take this lying down.”

Ichigo cocks an eyebrow. “Is that an offer to keep your ear to the ground for me?”

Senzou attempts an innocent face, which works about as well as he expects when Ichigo snorts. “A mere Academy teacher like me probably can’t help much, but…” He thinks of the seals he’d planted throughout the entire Central 46 compound every time he’d had to report in, slowly but surely sneaking invisible ears into the heart of Soul Society’s government. “I might hear things now and then. I’ll pass it on if it happens to be interesting.”

Ichigo grins and tips his own mug at Senzou like they aren’t talking treason.

5. “So.”

Senzou almost rolls his eyes. The Shibas’ commitment to their theatrics clearly hasn’t changed.

“Kuukaku-chan,” He says instead as he strides into his office and smothers the urge to draw his blade on the woman sitting on his desk like she’s posing for Most Dramatic. He smiles instead, hiding the teeth of it behind his lips. “What a pleasure.”

Kuukaku grins back without any of the same courtesy. Of course. “None at all, I’m sure, so I’ll get straight to the point. What are you doing with Ichigo?”

Senzou does roll his eyes this time. “You’ll have to be more specific. As of yesterday, he’s teaching me how to drive a car.” His lip curls. “It’s a mode of transportation Humans have developed.”

“I know what a car is,” Kuukaku snaps, finally hopping down from the desk to prowl across the room. “Why is he teaching you? What do you want with him?”

Senzou pauses halfway through setting down a stack of essays to be marked. “…If I said vengeance on the Shiba Clan once I’ve convinced him to side with me, would that be about what you were expecting?”

Kuukaku glares and crosses her arms. “Ichigo would never.”

Senzou smirks. “Then you have nothing to worry about, do you? You’ve wasted a trip.”

He brushes past her to flip through the paperwork on his desk. End-of-term reports are coming up, and that’s always a waste of his time, so the sooner he gets them done the better.

“I know you resent us for what happened to Miyako,” Kuukaku says from behind him, and Senzou wonders if he can just walk out. Probably, but there’s no way this woman won’t cause a scene. “But Ichigo wasn’t part of any of that.”

Senzou heaves a sigh and turns back around. “Kuukaku-chan, I thought we just established that we both know that using Ichigo against your family won’t work.”

“No,” Kuukaku nods. “But you could hurt him to get back at us.”

They eye each other for a long moment, not quite hostile but far from amicable.

“…My vengeance for Miyako was not lifting a finger when your clan was all but massacred,” Senzou finally says, ignoring the way Kuukaku’s expression pinches. “And so long as contact with you and yours is kept at an absolute minimum in the future, I don’t care anymore. Besides, there is no point in targeting Ichigo to get to you.” He sneers. “He’s a Shiba, but it would be an insult to consider him one of you.”

Kuukaku bristles but doesn’t explode in anger the way some of her even more hot-tempered relatives would. She stares at him instead, and when she doesn’t speak right away, Senzou goes back to organizing the contents of his desk.

“Say I believe that,” Kuukaku finally says, ignoring Senzou’s scoff. “Maybe you are hanging out with Ichigo with no ulterior motives. The gods know he makes that easy. But if that’s what you’re doing, there’s no way you won’t be seeing more of the rest of us eventually. He wasn’t raised the way a Shiba should’ve been, with none of our traditions and only a fraction of the family he should’ve had. That’s on us. But he’s still family, and so long as he doesn’t say no, we’re going to be a part of his life. You’re going to have to accept that if you plan on marrying in.”

The shelf closes with a resounding thud under his hand, and judging by the give, he’s probably cracked the back of it too. He barely notices as his gaze snaps back up to stare incredulously at his uninvited visitor. “I beg your pardon?”

Kuukaku smiles thinly, and this time she looks more amused than anything else. “Something to consider. But you’re more like Miyako than most people would think.” Her arms drop to her sides as she turns abruptly towards the window. “That’s all I had to say. You’re a smart man, Senzou. I don’t need to tell you what will happen if you fuck up.”

And before Senzou can demand an explanation or - more likely - set her on fire for cracking such an abysmal joke, she’s gone, disappearing through the window in a rush of Shunpo.

Senzou stares after her, then at the books he’d carried in earlier, then at the paperwork he’s putting off for the weekend because he has dinner with Ichigo tonight… just as he does almost every night nowadays.

He runs a hand over his face.

Shibas.

6. He says nothing. He’s self-aware enough to know (now, damn Kuukaku) that there’s something there, a spark, a connection, a pull Senzou has never felt towards anyone. He isn’t going to call it love or whatever Kuukaku thinks is happening because it isn’t. He finds Ichigo fascinating and endlessly entertaining, and anyone willing to face down Central 46 is worthy of some admiration in Senzou’s opinion. That Ichigo plans on turning the whole system upside-down and actually has the power to achieve it only raises Senzou’s esteem for him.

But he says nothing because Ichigo knows all this already. The day Senzou’s first instinct, when an assassin sent by Central 46 attempts to take Ichigo’s head, is to slit the hapless woman’s throat - even though he knows full well that she wouldn’t have come anywhere near to succeeding - is the moment Ichigo gets irrefutable proof that Koyonagi Senzou is willing to kill for him.

Ichigo doesn’t gloat of course, he isn’t the type. Senzou half-expects it anyway, breath caught in his lungs for a moment with something disgracefully close to fear twisting in his gut as he turns to check Ichigo’s reaction.

But Ichigo only wrinkles his nose and toes the fresh corpse at his feet, and then he glances at the blood splatter dotting Senzou’s shirt and offers to get him a new one.

He also reaches out to touch the hilt of Senzou’s Zanpakutou before nodding once, deliberately, solemnly, the weight of it as much a thanks as it is an acknowledgement.

And that was that. Senzou relaxes, doesn’t bat an eye when shadows surge up and swallow the body whole, and goes to change into another shirt. The incident passes, and it will be longer still before Ichigo’s enemies realize they probably should’ve tried harder to get rid of Senzou years ago. They’d thought themselves safe enough though: they would never earn Senzou’s allegiance, but at the same time, nobody - including Senzou - ever thought anybody else would earn it either.

But the point is, Ichigo knows. Senzou has no need to speak of it, and both of them are content with that. If something more comes of it down the road, Senzou doesn’t think he’d fight it. He lost this battle a good while ago, and he never even cared.

In the meantime though, he spies on Central 46 and enjoys what time he can spare in the Human world and continues reconstructing Seireitei’s education system brick by stubborn brick. There’s a kingdom to conquer and a god Senzou has pledged himself to, and for now, that is enough.

[prettywordsyouleft]

Chosen

Summary: After losing his soulmate, Jackson focused on improving the lives of others as a doctor so no one would have to face loss like he had. He didn’t believe that being one of the minority was a bad thing, though he was lonely until he realised he had you.

Pairing: Jackson Wang x reader. Featuring Park Jinyoung.

Genre: soulmate au / angst / romance

Warning: there is minor darkness with the mentioning of death in the beginning.

Word count: 5456

This is part of the Destined world. You can read this without the knowledge of the series, but to tie it altogether, I recommend reading the others in the series linked below.

Destined series: Destined // To Love You // Forever

Like most people, Jackson wanted to meet his soulmate. Growing up, he was blessed with watching his parents love each other entirely and teaching both him and his older brother to believe in the inexplicable love that came from crossing paths with your soulmate. Although he wasn’t expecting his soulmate to be the catalyst to making his life the best it could be, he had always believed that when he met the one destined for him, things would become that much better.

And they really did.

He met Janie in his freshman year of high school on the first day of the term. There had been the magic he had heard from his peers that you felt right before you saw the person that matched you best, and then when Jackson had actually seen Janie, he knew she would shape him in so many ways. It was crazy how much they had in common, both enjoying sports and music. She was bold in ways he wasn’t and pushed Jackson to be more than what he was already. He knew he could meet all of his goals because of her endless encouragement. Jackson now saw his entire future ahead with Janie at his side, and although they continued to enjoy the carefree nature of being teenagers in love, often they would sit together and talk about everything they wanted right up until they were old and grey. It was exciting to think of having such a prosperous future and knowing any adversity he would face, would be overcome with Janie at his side.

Or so he had thought. Jackson wasn’t ready for the pain of that future crashing down almost as fast as it had been spoken into existence.

“I’m sick,” Janie said through tears, her normally vibrant voice now barely a whisper.

“As in a cold? Baby, you should be in bed at home, not meeting me in the park like this!” he chastised, moving forward to comfort her. But Janie shifted back and shook her head, tears still falling from her eyes.  

It was hard watching her being admitted into hospital, her pallid complexion a far cry from her usual self. Yet, Jackson did his best to remain optimistic. He was always telling her she was in the best place for getting better, and there was high hope her illness would go away with surgery. Even though he was scared to let her go as she was wheeled into the operating room, he had sat with her parents, holding onto hope that she would return to him in better health. They could face this together, even if it meant being delayed in their studies. Jackson knew he would do anything to help her heal and move on from this moment in life.

When he had seen her eyes open for the first time in recovery, with a small smile playing on her lips, Jackson was immediately relieved. Janie grew stronger over the next month and was discharged from the hospital, both excited to return back to school, to learn more about the world they would live together in. But it was only a glimpse of happiness in his tragic love story. He knew something was immediately wrong, stirring awake in the middle of the night with tears in his eyes. Racing towards her home, Jackson arrived just in time to see the paramedics wheel someone out in a body bag.

His world collapsed then.

For some time, Jackson did nothing but sit in his bed. He couldn’t eat, sleep, or even think of anything to make him want to carry on without Janie. And then from sheer exhaustion, he collapsed, dreaming of the girl he loved with every fibre of his being. Janie reappearing in front of him, even as an illusion, was enough to propel him forward, to look into why she had died. She had been on the mend, and her checkups indicated her condition was improving, not deteriorating. Jackson searched for answers, and when he found things didn’t add up, he knew something had to have gone wrong within the surgery.

And they had. The doctor was soon charged with negligence, and for a brief moment, Jackson felt as though he had accomplished something.

It didn’t bring Janie back, however.

Eventually, he had to return to school. Everything he had been working towards had Janie laced into it, making it impossible to think of a career in music or sports. He lost his drive for those passions yet one day in science class, his interest was piqued on the topic of maintaining a strong focus on controlling the environment to allow no errors to occur within an experiment. It was then when he found a new calling. He couldn’t bring back Janie, but he could prevent others from suffering the same extreme grief and loss he faced.

And that’s why Jackson Wang became a doctor.

“How are we doing today?” he mused, looking down at his tablet for the vitals of the patient and then back up at the woman. “Still feeling a little bit of pain?”

“Not as much now that you’re here,” she claimed and Jackson shot her a wink.

“I think that might be the morphine you were administered a wee while ago, don’t you think?” he suggested with a chuckle, before leaning in closer. “But I’ll take it as a compliment to my good looks, shall I?”

“Doctors should be more like you,” she said with a giggle, soon wincing when the pain of her laughter took a hold of her.

“Making their patients laugh and hurt themselves?” He shook his head, pouting for effect. “I don’t want to be a doctor like that. I’d much rather be good at healing you!”

“You make being stuck in here that much better, doc,” another patient called out within the ward room and several hums in agreement followed.

Jackson grinned. “And you all make my job that much easier by getting healthy, so please, focus on that and not on me.”

“Can’t help it if you’re attractive on the inside and out,” another exclaimed and Jackson grinned, shooting a fake arrow in her direction before clasping at his own heart.

“Oh, you know how to make me feel good, ladies! I’ll have a skip in my step for the rest of the day!” he enthused, kicking up his heels for their entertainment before heading back out on his rounds. Once he was done, he stopped at the nurses’ station and sighed dramatically. “Another day where I’m just on top of my game.”

“And another day where we have to hear about your ego,” the fellow doctor filling in a file beside him mused, and you smirked from your seat in front of both of them. His colleague turned to face him. “Did someone insist you have the best ass in the business again?”

“Jealous they haven’t said it about yours, Doctor Park?”

A ghost of a smile played on the doctor’s lips. “They’re too busy getting sound medical help from me. Not cupid’s arrows.”

“You saw?! It worked, didn’t it? You can’t say my patients aren’t comfortable!” he stated proudly and then glanced down at you. “Right, Y/N?”

You rolled your eyes but let your head nod once. “I’m with Doctor Wang on this one, sorry Doctor Park. The patients in Doctor’s Wang’s care are definitely cheerful.”

“You just keep the morale up, and I’ll keep healing everyone, shall I?” Doctor Park suggested, picking up his files and smirked before stepping away.

“As if you’re the best at being a doctor just because you get more surgical opportunities than me, Park Jinyoung!” he cried after the departing doctor and then glanced at you with a huff. “Always thinking he’s better than us all.”

“He is better than us all,” you mentioned with a smile and Jackson gaped at you. “He’s renowned for being the best doctor in his age group and field; you just can’t compete with statistics like that.”

“He’s also known for being an uptight asshole too,” Jackson murmured, and you reached out to pet his hand encouragingly. He smiled brightly down at you. “At least I have you to back me up.”

“Only because your patients are the liveliest in the ward.”

“Happiness and laughter are some of the best forms of medicine,” he said with a nod in your direction, pressing away from the counter and heading off to his office. Jackson’s smile remained on his face right until he was alone again, sitting at his desk and staring at the computer screen in front of him. No matter how much he laughed, he could never find the cure for his own pain.

The heart was a hard organ to heal.

When Jackson first became a doctor, he hadn’t been as jubilant. There was a lot to remember and he realised the first day on the job that what he had learned in theory now affected real, living people. The fear of making a mistake hounded him for weeks, whilst his colleague Park Jinyoung was acing every test placed in front of him. He hated feeling inferior to someone who had a severe lack of social skills. To Jinyoung, being a doctor was clearly calculating and methodical, and he had a vast knowledge to lean upon. For Jackson, his heart was deeply invested in making the right choice. And sometimes his rational thoughts weren’t listened to as quickly as they should have been.

“Are you really making such a rookie mistake six months into your placement here?! What were you thinking, Wang? A mistake like this could cost someone their life!”

You had found him crying on the stairwell, offering him a drink and then sitting down. “You need to find your place here, Jackson. You’re a fine doctor in the making, but sometimes you hesitate too much. It doesn’t give your patients confidence in your ability.”

“Maybe it’s because I don’t have any of my own. What was I thinking of becoming a doctor? I can’t save everyone. And then others will face the grief of losing someone like me and I can’t bear that weight,” he managed to say through his tears and you had reached out slowly, rubbing his back until his emotions stemmed.

“Did you lose someone?”

He nodded. “My soulmate.”

From that interaction, Jackson learned you hadn’t met yours yet. It seemed to ease him somewhat, finding someone within the workplace who understood how life felt without that special someone. Although he was certain Jinyoung hadn’t met his either, he couldn’t see himself opening up to the man. However, your advice did help Jackson find himself in the workplace. His confidence grew and he found his patients responded better to him if he was light in mood and full of smiles. He quickly gained the reputation of being the happy virus of the department, which helped Jackson move from strength to strength, enabling him to become the doctor he always wanted to be – someone who ensured every patient felt heard, treated with precision, and left after a good experience.

He also started a movement in the hospital of speaking up about being a minority. It gave Jackson another sense of his identity in finding fellow workmates that could understand the struggles of being in a world where everyone was searching for their fated partner. There was never any attention on those who didn’t get that happy ending, and the pity anyone sent his way always angered him. He supported those who hadn’t yet found their partner or had lost their soulmate, and a social club was quickly formed, meeting up at least twice a month.

It surprised him when you didn’t join. “I admire what you’re doing, but I’d be lying to myself if I was okay with not meeting my soulmate yet. Maybe in a couple of years, I’ll join in. Then I’ll have to register as a minority anyway.”

“I’ll welcome you with open arms if you need to join us, Y/N.”

“I know, and that worries me. Will you ever let go?” she teased, but there was a hint of something there, and Jackson would be lying if he didn’t find you attractive. You always held that barrier in place though, and some days he would be consumed with wishing you could accept him to love instead. He knew Janie would want him to move on with someone, but it couldn’t be just anyone in Jackson’s eyes. It needed to be someone who he felt he could choose to be happy with.

And that was you for him.

But he respected your stance and for a couple of years, you remained as good colleagues, working with each other well in the department and even out as friends. You never joined the social club outings, but you did go out with him for dinner or a movie now and then, giving each other that small window of relief from the loneliness that followed you both. After spending those nights with you and getting nowhere with how he felt, Jackson had a cycle of hitting up the clubs a lot of minority folk went to for a week after any time he spent with you in attempts to find someone to take his mind off of you. It never worked, no matter how much he tried to do so.

It surprised him when Jinyoung joined in for a change, however. “You’re truly a minority then!”

“What is so good about the hype here?” Jinyoung asked, sitting formally in his chair and eying the scantily clad women in poor taste. “Is this what is to come of my future?”

“Loosen up, doc, it’s just a bit of fun.”

Despite his protests, Jinyoung started joining Jackson and his friends on further outings and for a while, Jackson was able to forget about that last date he had with you. The one where he wanted to take you home but felt too gutless to ask you to come with him. He knew you had been registered as a minority recently, yet you didn’t talk about it with him and he didn’t really broach the topic with you either.

“Same time, tonight?” Jinyoung asked as he approached Jackson standing in his usual late morning spot, leaning against the nurses’ station counter top and discussing patients with you.

Jackson glanced at you before turning to the doctor. “Wow, you’re really getting into the swing of things, huh?”

“I just want to know if we’re on or not. It’s fine by me if we don’t go.”

“Go where?” you asked, your curiosity piqued. “Since when do you both hang out together out of work?”

“Since Jackson brought me dinner one time, I was impressed,” Jinyoung mentioned to you graciously and Jackson scoffed loudly.

“When did I buy you dinner?!”

“I didn’t think you wanted Y/N to know of the places we have been going to,” Jinyoung said with a sigh, shrugging lightly. You blushed at his directness. “You have no tact in saving face, Doctor Wang.”

“I’ve never needed to!” he cried after the departing doctor and grumbled under his breath. “Why has he started annoying me out of work too?”

“You and Doctor Park spend time together?” you asked tentatively, your forehead wrinkled as you attempted to figure what the men were doing in their free time. “You’re not still going to those strip clubs, are you?”

“No!” he exclaimed, darting his focus around the department at how loud your voice seemed. “I took him once, on my birthday.”

“You never told me it was your birthday then.”

“I didn’t think you’d want to know,” he mumbled and you stared up at him, your expression confusing him. “Did you?”

“Well, it’s too late now,” you admitted, your face falling. “Enjoy your night out with Doctor Park, Jackson.”

He wasn’t enjoying the night out. In fact, Jackson had been replaying the morning scene over and over in his head, and nothing that the club had to offer could settle him in any way. Jinyoung was already well on his way to becoming intoxicated and so were his other friends. The alcohol in Jackson’s cup sat untouched, unwanted by him. Even though he needed the image of you to fade from his mind, he knew getting drunk wouldn’t take you away. It would only make him want you more.

Jackson craved you like no other right now.

“I need to go,” he stated, standing up, only to sit right back down again when his motivation wavered.

“Then why did you sit down?” Jinyoung asked, grinning at him lazily. “Are you hesitating over Y/N again? Just admit you like her.”

“I do like her.”

“Why don’t you do anything about it? She’s a minority now. You told me yourself, it’s time to get a minority woman of my own. Why haven’t you bothered to follow your own advice? Too gutless, huh?”

“I am not.”

“Don’t be a coward, Jackson,” Jinyoung urged, sounding more lucid than he had all night long. “Don’t do things you’ll regret.”

Jackson stared at the doctor for some time, Jinyoung’s dark gaze sad and broken. He knew how that felt, but it also seemed different somehow. Like there was more to Park Jinyoung’s situation than Jackson knew about.

He stood up again and Jinyoung cheered loudly. “That’s it, go to her.”

Jackson didn’t stop until he was in front of your apartment’s door, sucking in a deep breath before knocking on it loudly. He didn’t wait long before knocking on it again, desperation for you to appear taking over. He went to knock once more when the door finally opened, your eyes widening as you tightened your robe around your body. Taking in your appearance, he grimaced. “Did I wake you?”

“No, I was just watching television,” you mentioned softly. “Are you okay, Jackson?”

No, he wanted to tell you. But the word wouldn’t fall out of his mouth. He stared at you, trying to understand why you kept pushing away from him when he wanted to hold you. When he wanted to make sure you knew how he felt. Without much more thought, he grabbed at your face, kissing you hard. He knew it was unfair of him to make such a move without asking you first, but he was done waiting for you. Tonight, he’d find out if you truly felt something for him or not.

And with the way your lips started moving against his, he soon knew the game you had both been playing over the past few years meant something. Deepening the kiss, he slowly pushed you backwards, kicking the door closed behind him. Jackson had only been in your apartment one other time, yet he had no problems finding your sofa, both of you sitting down on it without breaking the kiss. He started tugging at the belt on your robe, the buttons on his shirt somehow already undone by your swift fingers, which now dragged over his skin hungrily. It was when his own started on your pyjama top when you pulled away, panting heavily. “We need to slow down.”

“We’ve been moving at a snail’s pace for years, Y/N. I can’t keep letting you go anymore.”

“It’s not like I want to stay away from you either.”

Jackson frowned. “Then why do you?”

“I haven’t met my soulmate yet,” you told him, turning to look away from him. “I don’t want to fall in love with you and then stumble across this predetermined human who will make me forget all about you. You’ve already suffered from one loss before.”

Although Jackson hadn’t gone into great detail about Janie with you, he knew you were talking about her. He blinked rapidly, his gaze falling to the carpet beneath his feet. Logically, he knew you were trying to save his heart. But he was sick of others, and of some fate that kept trying to decide for him. He knew he wanted to be with you. The future was never set in stone; he’d learned that the hard way. Why couldn’t he be happy now, with you?

One look in your direction showed your barrier was back up again. He got to his feet. “Why don’t you just admit you’re too scared to give yourself to me?”

“Jackson, you know it’s not…”

He didn’t wait to hear the rest, shutting the door on his way out with a bang.

The next morning, he didn’t come to rest at the nurses’ station after his rounds. And the following day, he was quieter than usual. His patients picked up on his mood, all asking him where his smiles were. Whenever he tried to smile, it felt faker than usual on his bad days. And so he just went about his work quietly, opting to study for his thesis instead of assisting one of the head doctors of the department in the operating room.

There was a knock on his door and he didn’t look up until you were standing in front of him. He diverted his gaze back to the textbook he had been reading. “Yes, Nurse Y/N?”

“Several of your patients are concerned about you today,” she mentioned quietly. “They’re wondering if there’s something they can do to cheer you up.”

He didn’t answer, though the thought of some of the ladies in one of his wards sitting there worrying about him did make him let out a small breath of air.

“I’m sorry if I’ve-”

“It’s fine, you don’t have to explain yourself any further than you already have,” he intervened, attempting to smile at you. It sure didn’t feel like he had succeeded but he pressed on anyway. “If you have nothing work related to discuss with me, Nurse Y/N, I’d like to be alone.”

“Right, of course,” you replied too quickly, heading for the door to his office with haste.

Jackson hung his head, wondering if Jinyoung had been right at all in pushing him. He couldn’t tell if he regretted his move with you or not.

It was tense between you for the next few weeks. Sure, Jackson had returned to his jovial self in front of his patients, his loud voice and laughter heard from all corners of the department. Work-wise, he was on fine form. But those who knew him could see it was all for show.

“Didn’t it work out?” Jinyoung asked as he came into his office, searching Jackson’s stack of textbooks for the one he required.

“The surgery went exceptionally well. Patient-”

“Between you and Y/N,” Jinyoung corrected and Jackson bit back the rest of his sentence.

“You know how it is, not everyone is meant to have a happy ending.”

“She likes you a lot though,” the fellow doctor mentioned, his brows furrowed as he tried to figure it out. Jackson felt exhausted by the conversation already. “Why is she holding back?”

“Because she hasn’t met her soulmate yet,” Jackson announced, sounding too airy with such a sentence. Jinyoung sighed heavily. “Could you imagine being our age and still thinking you had someone out there?”

“Some people do,” he said in a small voice, causing Jackson to look in his direction. Jinyoung plucked out the book he was looking for. “I wouldn’t give up. Feelings can overcome adversity, you know. If I had the chance you do, to show the person I thought of often, I wouldn’t let her slip through my fingers like this.”

“Big words for a guy who…” Jackson trailed off when he recognised that same pained expression in Jinyoung’s eyes. “You did something stupid, didn’t you?”

“The worst thing you could do to another person is reject them when you have the opportunity to make something work, Jackson. I’m just saying Y/N has feelings for you. Don’t let her back away from you because of someone who hasn’t arrived in her world. Ask her questions; see if she really has a soulmate to wait on.”

“Questions like what?”

Jinyoung smiled, reaching over to pat his colleague on the shoulder. “You told me about Janie one night when you’re drunk. You know what a soulmate feels like and the inexplicable feeling you were consumed with when you lost her. Maybe she’s experienced something like that and didn’t know what it meant. Fight until there’s no room left to express yourself. If there’s anyone I know who is ruled more by their heart than their head, it’s you.”

Jackson mulled over Jinyoung’s encouragement for the rest of the day. By nightfall, when his shift was over, he found himself standing in front of your door again, this time knocking with much less force. He was prepared tonight and would hold his physical desires at bay until he knew they were reciprocated by you.

“Jackson,” you said, staring at him wide-eyed when you opened your door.

“Can I come in?”

You nodded softly, stepping aside and then closed the door behind him. Unlike last time, he waited awkwardly before you offered for him to take a seat, whilst you went into your kitchen. “Would you like something to drink?”

“Only if you are going to,” he decided and you returned with two glasses of juice. Taking his, Jackson smiled after taking a sip. “Did you switch to organic?”

“It is crazy that you can tell so easily,” you mused, nodding your head all the same. “I like this brand.”

“It is good juice,” he agreed, taking another sip and feeling the conversation peter off in doing so. Jinyoung’s words resurfaced, and he took a deep breath. “I was wondering if you would be open to hearing about my life story. If you would like to hear about my soulmate?”

You blinked and then placed your glass down, pondering his suggestion for a moment. You then nodded softly. “I would like that.”

Jackson told you everything. He mentioned how it felt when he first met Janie, some of the great things about being with her, and some of the small nuances that he never quite liked about having a predetermined partner. At the time, Jackson had loved Janie with his entire heart and soul. With time to review his experience, and with age, he had discovered some aspects about having a soulmate that he didn’t quite like. He told you it all. By the time he reached the part about Janie’s death, he was crying, and so were you. It was still hard to speak of the person he had thought would be his everything forever. But Janie had been gone from his side for so long now. He deserved to have the chance to move on.

When he fell silent, you wiped back your tears, biting at your lip before shifting over to the sofa and sitting beside him. “That feeling… of knowing something was wrong before you found she was gone, I think I felt it.”

“What?” Jackson stared at you, blinking several times. “You said you were waiting for your soulmate. If you felt it, then you would know you wouldn’t see them.”

“I knew,” you admitted quietly. “I’ve known for a year now.”

“Then why did you…”

“You were right. I was scared. Of course, I took my time to grieve. Doesn’t everyone? We’re all raised to believe our lives are only right if we meet our soulmate. And I failed to meet mine. I didn’t like the idea of not being able to succeed in life. Then I realised after my initial grief that I was living the life I had always wanted to. I have a great job, and I see miracles performed around me all the time. I’ve helped give new leases on life to many patients, and I have the best support system in my family and friends. And I have you.”

Jackson’s eyes widened when you finished on him, yet he waited for you to continue.

“I liked being around you at work in the beginning. You’re so much fun with the patients, and you make everyone smile. But you’re also very competent. You discover things that other doctors don’t straight away. I’ve always felt a sense of pride in seeing you succeed and find yourself as a doctor.”

“I didn’t realise you paid so much attention to me,” he told you and you nodded weakly.

“Because I paid so much attention, I realised I was starting to like you. But at that point, I hadn’t felt that loss of a soulmate so I just told myself I was lonely. And all the occasions we went out together, I would convince myself it was okay to have fun with a friend. But deep down, I was viewing them as dates.”

“Me too.”

“When I realised there was no soulmate for me, I was insanely happy. Because it meant there was you. I could finally reach out to you and not worry that someone would take you away from me. I wanted to choose you, and not live by some fated life where a stranger would become my everything. I already felt strongly about you. But then I realised how scary it was to make a choice. With a soulmate, you can’t avoid those feelings. What if how I felt now somehow died off over time? What if something happened to you and I lost you too? The difference about losing my soulmate was I never saw him. But I know you. I see you; I can reach out right now and touch you. I can tell right now how much I like you, for being you and not because my soul craves you. I crave you. And losing you would be devastating since I chose to like you.”

Jackson shifted closer, cupping your face in his hands. “You know we can’t control the future. Look at us both; we never got to keep the people we were meant to have. I’ll always cherish Janie, and I’m sure you’ll always wonder who that person was for you. If we allow them to define us forever, isn’t that more of a tragedy? Not allowing ourselves to love someone for who they are, or to seek our own happiness whilst we still can. Don’t you think that’s a bigger waste than worrying about the what ifs?”

It was you who kissed him this time. Jackson was stunned when he felt your soft lips upon his, yet it didn’t take him long to reciprocate your approach, a fever taking over you both. Hands roamed and skin was exposed with ease. When your lips fell away from his after the bountiful kisses that had followed one after the other, you climbed to your feet, reaching for his hand and tugging him along to your bedroom. He hovered above the bed that you got onto; hesitating despite the beautiful view he had of you right now.

“Are you sure about this? We just admitted to our feelings tonight. I don’t want to rush you.”

“What, should we wait five weeks?” you teased, before moving onto your knees and reaching out to pull him closer. “I’ve waited over two years for this moment, are you really going to make me wait longer?”

“It was you who turned me down the last time,” he reminded as he climbed onto your bed, his confidence returning.

“So call me a fool,” you breathed, gripping at him tightly. “At least we got here in the end.”

After unbridling the pent up passion, Jackson held you in his arms, his hand running through your hair over and over. You snuggled into his bare chest and placed a small kiss on the skin by your mouth. He sighed in content. “Who knew it would feel that good?”

“You mean, even with all those years of partying-”

“I waited for the right person,” Jackson confessed, leaning down to kiss the crown of your head. “I wanted to choose someone I knew would love me in all the right ways.”

“And do you think I’m that person?” you asked, sitting up so you could look him directly. Despite the room being only illuminated by the moonlight filtering in through the curtains, he could see the warmth in your eyes. He noticed the hope that resided alongside the passion and excitement that made your gaze glisten. You were so beautiful in that moment; he couldn’t help but take your lips in his and claim them for the umpteenth time that night.

“Mm,” he hummed when he pulled back, brushing your hair away that had fallen into your face. “For as long as we have together, I know it’s only you for me now. I’ve chosen you.”

_________________

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[thisdiscontentedwinter]

Baby Daddy - Chapter 8

You can read it on AO3 here, or find the Tumblr Chapter Index here. 

Derek still finds it hard to sleep for more than a few hours at a time. He has fewer nightmares now, and his pack bonds feel stronger than they did before, the frayed fibres knitting together again, but he’s still uneasy. Part of him can’t quite believe that Laura didn’t throw him out of the pack, or worse, for what he did. Part of him feels a twist of hot, sharp anger in his gut when he remembers that she’d known all along. Strangely, it’s easier to be near Peter now. Because Peter is, in so many ways, more dangerous than Laura, but there’s a strange sort of comfort in knowing that if Peter ever kills him, he’ll find the right sort of words to make sure that Derek understands exactly why he’s doing it. Peter is infinitely complex, and yet at the same time he’s incredibly straight-forward. If someone needs killing, then Peter will do the job. Mom always said that Peter was morally ambiguous, but Derek has never seen him as anything other that utterly pragmatic. Morality doesn’t even come into it.

Maybe that’s what Mom meant though.

A weight has been lifted though. Derek can’t pretend otherwise. He’s still ashamed, and guilty, but he’s also relieved it’s out in the open, because Kate is still a threat to them. Wherever she is, Derek knows she hasn’t forgotten her promise to come back and kill them. And Peter knows that now. And Peter knowing makes them safer, doesn’t it? Because Kate might be a monster, but Peter is the left hand of the alpha. He’s a born predator and the fire, it seems, has only made his edges sharper.

It’s all in the open now, and maybe they’re going to be okay.

***

Laura’s scent changes day by day, subtle, warm notes clinging to the familiar ones of alpha and sister and pack, overlaid to make something richer. Notes upon notes, until a melody becomes a symphony. Derek finds himself leaning closer to her at times, just to breathe it in, equally entranced and repelled when alpha and sister and pack somehow becomes want and yes and mine.

He doesn’t remember feeling this way when Mom was pregnant with Cora or the twins, but his pack instincts have been messed up for years, haven’t they?

One night, fighting the urge to plaster himself against Laura’s back and just inhale, he hurries upstairs instead and locks himself in the bathroom.

Even there, under the overriding stench of bleach—why the hell Laura cleaned the bathroom with bleach he has no idea—he can’t seem to escape the scent.

***

“I have a plan,” Peter declares one evening, turning up unannounced with Thai takeout.

Laura’s sitting on the floor going through a catalog full of nursery stuff and baby clothes. She’s circling the stuff she thinks she’s going to need in blue Sharpie. Derek has seen her flick back to the page with the little green dinosaur onesie—complete with soft felt spines down the back—but she hasn’t circled it yet. They lived on the run for so long that anything that isn't an absolute necessity feels almost frivolous.

Laura sets the catalog aside. “What plan?”

“Derek?” Peter asks, holding the bags out.

Derek divests him of them, and carries them into the kitchen to wrangle up some plates and cutlery.

Peter waits until they’re all seated around the coffee table, steaming plates in front of them, before he tells them.

“The house,” he says. “I want to rebuild the house.”

Derek catches Laura’s gaze.

“I don’t know,” Laura says slowly.

“Hear me out,” Peter says. “We have the money, and this loft is no place to bring up a cub. Children need space to run around. Werewolf children more than most. Are you telling me that you don’t want your child to grow up like you both did? Like I did? Running barefoot in the Preserve?”

Derek feels the ache of it in his bones. He also recognises it as pure emotional blackmail.

So does Laura. “What’s your angle?”

Peter gives her an approving smile. “Well, so far we’re all under the radar here, aren’t we? But if the Hale house was to be rebuilt, I imagine that would interest the townspeople a little, wouldn’t it? Might even make the local newspaper.”

A chill runs through Derek.

“You want to draw out the Argents,” Laura says. “By rebuilding our house.”

“I very much want to drew out the Argents,” Peter agrees, eyes gleaming.

Laura frowns. “You want to use us as bait?”

“You make it sound so underhanded, Lulu.” Peter’s smile is as sharp as his gaze. “We’re already bait. But this way we at least get to be prepared for when they might try to snap us up.”

Laura nods slowly, and Derek wonders if she’s aware her hands have slipped to her abdomen. Protective. “What would we need to do?”

“Nothing except pick out floor plans and fixtures,” Peter tells her. “And when they come for us, I’ll be waiting for them.”

“It’s dangerous,” Laura murmurs.

“It’s no more dangerous than doing nothing,” Peter counters. He digs his chopsticks into his pad thai. “We have a small advantage if we set the trap ourselves. Do you still want to be looking over your shoulder in ten years, when you’re walking your child to school?”

Laura is quiet.

“She—” Derek swallows, and tries again. “Kate. She’ll come for us. She won’t ever stop.”

Laura’s gaze is full of sorrow as she looks at him. She presses her mouth into a thin line, and then looks back at Peter. She nods. “We’ll do it. We’ll rebuild the house and draw the Argents back here.”

“And I’ll rip their hearts out of their chests,” Peter says, his eyes flashing blue.

***

One night on the door of the club, Derek tells Boyd that he’s going to be an uncle.

“That’s great, man!” Boyd slaps him on the back, and Derek feels warmth spread through him. “Congratulations!”

Next week, Boyd presents him with a tiny pair of knitted booties.

“Erica made them,” he says with a bashful smile. “She’s learning how to knit.”

The booties are yellow, and a little lopsided.

“They’re so tiny,” Derek says doubtfully. They fit into the palm of his hand.

“So are babies,” Boyd points out.

That’s fair.

Derek tucks the booties carefully into the pocket of his leather jacket. “Tell Erica thanks. That’s really nice of her.”

“No problem,” Boyd says.

Later, when he’s back home, Derek sets the yellow booties carefully down on the coffee table, and thinks about how strange it is that some girl he’s never met knitted these for his sister’s baby. And how long it’s been since he remembered what friends do.

***

Peter was right about their plans to rebuild the house making the local paper. It’s just a small article on the third page, noting that planning permission has been given to bulldoze the remains of the old house, and begin rebuilding soon. There’s a photograph of Peter from before the fire, smiling into the camera. Derek doesn’t know where the paper found it. There are no photographs of him and Laura, but they’re mentioned in the article as being back in town.

Derek doesn’t read the whole thing.

He isn’t sure how he feels about the plan to rebuild the house, and it has nothing to do with letting the Argents know they’re back in Beacon Hills.

His parents and siblings died in that house, along with most of the rest of his pack.

He wonders if he’ll imagine their screams for the rest of his life.

He wonders how loud they’ll be when he’s living on top of their graves.

***

It’s raining when Derek gets to the diner, droplets sliding down the back of his neck and into his shirt. He’s tired and hungry after a long shift at the club, and he managed to step in a puddle on the walk to the diner, and then almost get hit by a car that failed to stop at the crosswalk. He’s really not in the mood to sit around and wait for Laura to finish work, but it was either that or walk the rest of the way back to the loft in the rain.

He pushes open the diner door and scowls as the bells jingle.

Harold the drunk is sleeping in a corner booth, and there’s a guy sitting up at the counter with a bunch of books spread out in front of him taking up all the space like he thinks he owns the place. His stool squeaks as he spins around to take a look at the new arrival, and Derek freezes as the guy’s scent hits him.

Want. Yes. Mine.

The guy can’t be any older than eighteen or nineteen. He’s pale, with mole-spotted skin. He has dark hair spiked up in all different directions as though he’s been dragging his hands through it—Derek feels an irrational surge of heat at the thought of doing the same—large dark eyes, and an upturned nose. He has a wide, generous mouth that at the moment has a pen hanging from it. He’s slim, but not scrawny, and holds himself awkwardly under Derek’s scrutiny, one leg jiggling.

Derek just stares.

“Oh,” the guy says at last, stumbling down from the stool and gathering up all his books. “Sorry. I’m in your way.”

No, Derek wants to tell him, you’re not, but he can’t even open his mouth.  

The guy takes his books and dumps them on a table in the nearest booth. Then he returns to the counter for his milkshake, side-eyeing Derek like he thinks he’s about to rob the place or something, because Derek still hasn’t moved.

Want. Yes. Mine.

His wolf is pushing close to the surface of his skin, and Derek curls his fingers into fists. He feels the press of claws into his palms, and the quick sting as they break the skin. Shit. He’s shifting. He averts his gaze before his eyes flash, and sucks in a deep breath in an attempt to calm his racing heart.

All that does is fill his lungs with another burst of the guy’s scent, and Derek twitches as he feels his bones start to shift.

He wants. He wants like he hasn’t wanted in years. He wants to grab the guy, and push his face into his throat, breathe in more of his intoxicating scent. He wants to lick the taste of the guy’s salt-skin in a path all the way up the long column of his throat, and make the guy whine and shiver against him in a need equal to his own. He wants to press his mouth against the guy’s, and swallow every needy sound he makes.

His wolf is howling at him to make his move, but Derek is frozen in shock and fighting for control. It takes him a moment to realise that Laura’s come out of the kitchen, and the guy is saying something to her.

“…call 911?” the guy finishes in an undertone that Derek’s not supposed to be able to hear.

“He’s not a tweaker, Stiles. He’s my brother.” Laura says, and raises her voice. “Derek? Derek, are you okay? You’re zoning out there, little brother.”

There’s a lightness in her tone that Derek knows is all an act. She’s worried about him, but she’s also warning him not to shift. Not here, not now. Her tone might be light, but it’s brittle at the same time. Even the guy, Stiles, gives her a dubious look.

Derek pushes his wolf back down, and jerks his chin in a nod.

“Busy night, I guess,” Laura says. “Stiles, this is my brother, Derek. Derek, this is Stiles.”

“Uh,” Stiles says, and raises his hand in an awkward wave. “Hi.”

Derek manages to nod again, and that’s when he realises: the scent. The scent that’s combined with Laura’s, that has him itching to get closer to her. The scent of her pregnancy, and of home, and pack. The scent that even the bleach in the bathroom couldn’t entirely drown out.

It’s his mate’s scent.

“Stiles hangs out here because he has no other friends,” Laura says teasingly.

“Uh, excuse you. I also have insomnia!”

Derek stares at them both.

It’s his mate.

His mate is the father of his sister’s baby.

Laura reaches out over the counter and punches Stiles lightly on the shoulder.

“I have to go,” Derek blurts out.

“It’s raining out there, dude,” Stiles says, his brow creased.

“I have to go,” Derek repeats.

“Der?” Laura calls, but he’s already fled back out into the rain, the bells on the door jingling loudly behind him.

***

Maybe, at one time, Derek might have laughed at how the universe just won’t give him a fucking break. Maybe someone else still would. But if there’s one thing Derek knows for sure, it’s that he doesn’t deserve a break. He doesn’t deserve forgiveness, or a pack, or a mate.

And Laura doesn’t deserve to have a beta, and a brother, who brings her nothing but heartache.

I’m sorry, he writes on a note that he leaves on the kitchen counter.

And then he sets his keys down beside the note, and he goes upstairs and grabs the bag that he never bothered to unpack, and he does what he should have done months ago.

He leaves.

[kumeko]

spider

Prompt: konan-Nagato power swap

Character/Pairing: konan, nagato, zetsu, tobi

A/N: written for the @mixupnojutsuzine. It was interesting writing for Akatsuki, I’ve never really touched them before and it’s been an eternity since I’d even thought of ‘original, idiot’ tobi.

Summary: In another time, in another life, the people might have called Nagato saviour, called Konan angel. In this one, though, he was a spider and Konan was not allowed to exist.

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“The spider is here,” a child shouted, hopping up and down excitedly.

 Briefly, Nagato glanced to the side, to the bedraggled boy gazing up at him in awe. His worn mother grabbed his hand, hushing him sternly. Turning to Nagato, she bowed apologetically. “Please ignore him, he means no harm.”

 “It’s fine.” His voice croaked from disuse. From his waist, four thin paper limbs jutted out, each ending in a sharp spike. Spider. Perhaps he did look like one. These fake limbs kept him high above the average citizen and now they bent down, lowering him to the woman’s eyesight. Glancing at the boy, he added, “No harm done.”

 “Thank you.” She smiled gratefully at him, pushing her son’s head down so he apologized. Then she quickly hurried him along, the scent of fear still strong on her despite Nagato’s reassurances. Around them, other citizens averted their eyes and perhaps the difference between awe and fear was a thin one.

 After the pair had disappeared, he rose once more, his long limbs slowly guiding him through the crowds. A ship on land, he swayed from side to side as he walked, each paper leg stabbing the ground to get a grip. The crowds parted like water before his wake. From up here, he watched a bird fly to an alcove, a worm in her mouth. Above them, the rain had paused, the clouds still heavy and pregnant, and Pain must have returned from his latest mission.

 Nagato turned to their headquarters, to the main hall that had become something akin to home.

 Home is where this is, Jiraiya had said long ago, poking Nagato in the chest. Yahiko’s and Konan’s smiles flashed through his memory and no, he was wrong. The building was just an abode. Home had died long ago.

 When he reached their headquarters, he lowered himself once more, his spindly legs thickening as paper transferred up to make him shorter. The tips of his feet brushed the ground but he couldn’t feel that anymore, couldn’t feel anything below his paper harness. Entering the dimly lit building, he blinked as his eyes adjusted.

 From the corner, he heard a chuckle. “Now you’re more of a tarantula.”

 Nagato squinted, adjusting to the light. Half-hidden in the shadows, Zetsu leaned against a pillar. Half-hidden if only because with his white half, it was nearly impossible for him to ever be entirely invisible. Standing straight now, he snorted. “A pest either way.”

 If it weren’t for the voice change, it’d be hard to tell which half of him spoke what. Even now, months after they’d first met, it was still unsettling to see this half black, half white man, a morality division come to life. “Your mission is done?” Nagato rasped, ignoring the insult.

 “Who do you think your talking to?” Zetsu’s brow narrowed in irritation, both halves of him united for once.  His arms crossed. “Of course it is!”

 Nagato contemplated if it was worth killing him, Madara be damned. Whatever uses he had, he was almost as much of a nuisance as ‘Tobi’ was. “I’ll inform Pain.”

 “Hurry to your master, puppy,” Zetsu sneered, his black half’s lip curling. His white half waved pleasantly and there was something unnerving about how both halves of his face had different expressions. About how both halves him were doing two entirely different motions, an impossible feat for humanity.

 No, if Nagato were honest, it was unsettling how Madara kept recruiting these unhinged strangers. Each one was stranger than the last and while he knew Pain could keep them under check, he still disliked the situation. There was something wrong about this, about all of this. His paper legs tapped quietly along the stone floor as he headed to Pain’s room, gibberish Morse code echoing off the walls.

 And even that made more sense than what they were doing.

 -x-

 We are stronger together, Yahiko had stated cheerfully, his smile as ethereal as the sun. Just like your papers, Nagato—alone they’re weak but together they’re indestructible.

 And when the sun finally set, when together they were unable to survive, Nagato lay infirm on his bed and stacked a sheet of papers. One by one, he layered them on top of each other, pouring his chakra in like glue. Grief, anger, joy, he pressed his emotions into the very fibres of the material until he was all emptied out.

 Spider, the people called his paper legs, called the emotions he had tried so hard to hide away. Maybe there was a truth to that, to this intricate web he was laying down to change the world. However, he wasn’t sure if he was the one trapping or being trapped.

 -x-

 “Welcome back.” Konan gave him a tired smile, sitting up on her bed. She looked paler than usual, thick black bags under her eyes, and her arm trembled as she waved. Only the blue paper flower in her hair gave her any colour. The big black Akatsuki robes engulfed her entirely, making her look smaller than usual.

 Frailty was on the tip of his tongue. Sitting down on her bed next to her, he clasped her hand, sandwiching it between his. Cold, her skin felt cold, and he wondered once more just what the cost of her powers were. The toll on her body. He could see her veins and perhaps the path they were taking was just as transparent. “Are you okay?”

 On a chair on the other side of the bed, Pain sat motionless, a puppet waiting for its next command. Yahiko had never been so still in his life and with the corpse’s blank expression, it was easy to think of him as ‘Pain’. As anyone but Yahiko. Only this body had such special treatment; on the floor across the room, three more bodies lay on the ground, waiting to spring into action.

  “I’m fine,” Konan replied unconvincingly, her voice stronger than the rest of her. She closed her ringed eyes, the damned circles that were both their saviour and their tragedy. Squeezing his fingers gently, she opened her eyes once more, her focus darting from one body to the next. Each one rose smoothly in turn, standing in attention. She was getting better at this. “It takes more energy than I expected.”

 Her hand shook in his, faint ripples on a pond. As it was, she could barely get out of bed without support, most of her energy expended on moving each of the corpses. A plan they both agreed to but his price was far smaller. Pressing his forehead to their joined hands, he murmured, “I’m sorry.”

 Konan eyed him, a long moment. He remembered another time, another place, her brow furrowed as she glared down their enemies. Yahiko bled out, Nagato’s legs were crushed, and he was never certain if the resulting scream that came was from her or him. Only that everything melted into black fire immediately after, the normally cheerful girl a raging inferno. In the present, she was neither, just calm, still water. A dead lake. “Don’t be.” She patted his deadened legs, her eyes soft. “We both suffered.”

 It wasn’t the same, but he didn’t push the matter. Instead, he pulled out two sheets of paper from his pocket, creating a butterfly. With a small push of chakra, it flapped its wings and flew to her flower, landing on it lightly. “I found a candidate for the next path.”

 “Another one.” She surveyed the room, her expression grim. Her fingers twitched, moving all four puppets at once, before she dropped her hand with a weary sigh. “The room needs to be ready after that one.”

 “Oh.” Nagato watched the butterfly flap its wings slowly, each beat a breath. “It’s time?”

 “I can barely move as is,” she replied wryly, letting the bodies drop once more. Holding out a finger, she watched awestruck as the butterfly lighted on it. Light pink wings fluttered as it balanced on her skin. Her eyes softened. “This is beautiful.”

 “I saw it on my way back.” He was already pulling out more sheets of paper, constructing flowers from the orchard he’d visited. Each petal was a bright colour, a blood orange or a neon yellow or soft lavender, colours that Konan could not find in this room anymore. Finally, he made a small bird, a delicate creature with a head the size of a thumb. When his chakra breathed life into it, the bird cocked his head and flew around the room. “I thought you’d like it.”

 “Amazing.”  Konan gathered the flowers, her bony fingers pressing the blooms together. The bird twittered, gliding through the air until it landed on Pain’s head. She used to call his hair a bird’s nest and this merited a ghost of a smile. “You’ve gotten better at this.”

 Nagato gestured at the paper legs, his only method of movement. “I have to.”

 “That true.” She relaxed her posture, leaning her head on his shoulder. Her body is broken glass, all jagged edges, and he wasn’t sure how long it’d be before she was just skin and bones. For a moment they sat there, watching the bird fly about. When she spoke next, he could barely hear her, her voice low and serious. “Did Madara say anything else?”

 “Phase one is almost complete,” he answered, resting his chin her hair. Like everything else about her, it felt paper thin. Nagato frowned. “I have no idea how he can act like Tobi sometimes.”

 “Me neither.” There was a long pause and he waited for her next words. Everything was deliberate with her, slow. With nothing else to do, she spent a lot of time thinking. “I don’t trust him. He’s up to something.”

 No disagreements there. Though Nagato was not sure of just how much of what Madara had said was true, if that man even was actually Madara. “He probably is. But we can use him.”

 She pulled away, her ringed eyes boring into his. Her voice was soft, a warning. “Be careful not to be used yourself.”

 “I will.” He squeezed her hand, her bones as fragile as a bird’s. “I’ll protect you at least.”

 Konan’s brow furrowed. “Don’t worry about me.” At once the puppets were alert and Yahiko’s—no, Pain’s—body was standing protectively beside her. “I can protect myself.”

 If he were honest, he knew that all along. Her eyes which could change the world, which could save the world, they could do easily protect her. It was a small vice, a holdover thought from when they were younger and Konan refused to use her powers, terrified of the strength she had.

 (I wish I had yours, she had confessed once, in the cover of night. They were all huddled together, hiding form the rain. I wish I could control it, I wish I was normal, I wish I had yours.)

 Instead, he got up, gesturing at the Pain’s body. “Our meeting is soon.”

 “Be careful,” Konan repeated, her words coming out of Pain’s body as it rose. It was unsettling how silently he moved in death, how blank and empty his expressions were. There was none of Yahiko’s charisma, his cheer, his rage. There was nothing, an empty vessel that only served to mirror their plans.

 Pain headed to the door, holding it open for Nagato. Before they could exit, Konan called out to them, “Maybe you should try to smile more.”

 That stopped him dead in his tracks. Perplexed, he turned back to her. “What?”

 “The spider thing.” Konan clarified, the barest hints of a smile on her face. Just how she found out about he, he wasn’t sure. “They might say that less if you smile more.”

 Konan didn’t smile much either, but he didn’t point that out. Nor did he mention that was something he used to worry about, back when they were younger and he kept his hair long to hide his face. Young Nagato worried about how others thought of him.

 Older Nagato did not care about such things. Older Nagato knew that there were more important things out there. Still, humouring her, he nodded. “I’ll consider it.”

 It had been ages since he’d last smiled. He wasn’t sure if he remembered how to.

 -x-

 Tobi was waiting in the corridor, the only one of the Akatsuki members who ever ventured this far in. The only one they’d allow to venture this far in. There was a cheerful wave, and Nagato knew he was in his Tobi persona and not his Madara one.

 “It’s time for the meeting? Tobi almost forgot!” Tobi chirped, a creature of whimsy and inherent silliness. It made him even more dangerous, if possible, and Nagato gave him a wide berth as they passed.

 Konan’s fear was not unfounded, he knew. They might not be able to tame this monster, to subdue it and destroy it. But there were no other options, no other ways. He had already failed Yahiko once, he would not do it again. If this was the only way to peace, he would take it.

 “Don’t be late,” Pain replied, brushing past Tobi.

 “Of course!” Tobi’s voice shifted suddenly, deeper and more imposing. “And I will meet you soon for the next step.”

 Nagato repressed a shiver. Truly, it was a monster he was dealing with.

 -x-

 Nagato was an adult now. It was strange to think that, to realize that which each passing day he was turning an age Yahiko would never reach. Soon he would be older than his parents were, heading into a territory that was vastly new and unexplored.

 Only Jiraiya had reached these ages before and he was not here anymore.

 With his long spindly legs, he traversed the city once more. Konan had stopped the rain briefly, a rainbow arcing above him. A sight she would never see with her bare eyes but his papers could not replicate it nor the other beauties of the world.

 Below him, a child stared up, her mouth agape. “A spider,” she murmured.

 Smile, Konan had said. He lowered himself to the ground next to her, before her father could yank her away. His fingers already forming a paper flower. “For you.”

 The child stared at it before hesitantly grabbing it, her pudgy fingers crushing the petals. “For me?”

 “Yes.” Nagato did not smile. He had forgotten how to do so long ago.

 But the child, the child smiled, as broad at the rainbow above them. Maybe this time he could protect that smile. Maybe this time, becoming an adult, getting older, did not have to mean losing things.

 It was a small hope, but it was all he had left.

[dreamofcentipedes]

Kaneki, the Oggai, and...Postmodern Neo-Classical Tragedy?

So people have been laying in to Kaneki for killing the Oggai, and I think Ishida too wants us to view this as a serious moral line he’s crossing here. But while obviously killing children is a bad thing, I want to ask why everyone’s blaming Kaneki so unforgivingly when Touka, Yomo, Naki and Miza were killing Oggai left right and centre in the preceding chapters and the morality of that wasn’t questioned in the slightest - it was even considered badass. I’ve heard it said that Touka and Hinami won’t forgive Kaneki for killing the Oggai because they’re children, but Touka’s already killed a bunch of them and Hinami made no objection to that.

I’ve always thought Kaneki gets judged way more harshly than other characters in the fandom for his actions. Kaneki killing humans is given a lot more outcry than any of the Ghoul characters, who have been doing it since before the series even started, and while certainly not sinless, Kaneki is actually a lot higher up on the moral chain than most of the characters in the series. He’s breaking boundaries now that the other characters broke ages ago, but because it’s occurring to him now rather than in the past, it’s negative development rather than positive; so he gets judged more harshly now than, say, Tsukiyama was at the start, despite the fact that Kaneki’s moral fibre is still way stronger now than Shuu’s was back then. But the main reason for Kaneki’s severe treatment, I think, owes to the story’s genre - because it’s a tragedy, we’re constantly looking with extreme scrutiny for Kaneki’s fatal flaw and the justification for his impending downfall.

But the slaughter of the Oggai was an entirely different beast to something like, say, Anakin killing the younglings in Star Wars. The younglings were innocent and posed no threat to Anakin. The Oggai were going to capture Kaneki and most likely keep him locked up in a tube in the same manner as Rize for the rest of his life - not to mention killing all his friends and loved ones. I really can’t blame Kaneki, or any of Goat, for acting in self-defence. 

@hamliet very eloquently makes the argument here that Kaneki’s unforgivable action was allowing himself to end up in this situation in the first place, but I would counter that by raising the point that even if he didn’t kill the Oggai in this exact scenario, he and his army would inevitably have to kill them at some point, simply because they’re the opposing army. Far more so than Kaneki, the people really to blame for the tragedy of the Oggai are Furuta and Kanou for weaponising children in the first place. Goat really didn’t have a choice here - Furuta forced their hands, as an Author of Tragedy well might.

Additionally, we’re never given any reason to sympathise with the Oggai beyond the simple fact of their age. They never show much human emotion beyond crazed bloodlust, which makes it pretty hard to see them as people at all and not caricatures, or to honestly shed any tears for them - very much unlike Shio and Rikai, killed at their hands. With Yamori, we were told about the torture he went through and we pitied him even while despising him. Maybe if we saw a child go through the process of Oggaification, or if we saw them playing around like normal children in their spare time, I might be more shocked at Kaneki’s behaviour here; but as it is, if we were meant to feel sorry for them, it’s not very effective.

I feel much more pain for this perfectly innocent, nameless man who got his head sliced open by Kaneki. But even Kaneki’s dragon rampage is not his fault; he’s non compos mentis, driven mad by his kakuja, pushed to that state by the desire to survive - a desire that is completely natural and justified, and if it weren’t, then Ghouls would have no right to exist at all. How could Kaneki possibly have predicted that this is what would happen if he came back to the base? Worry for his wife, child and friends is hardly a fatal flaw that justifies his transformation into a city-terrorising monster - and indeed, it was his actions that saved their lives...at least for now.

I can’t in good faith blame Kaneki for this outcome. So rather than trying to find tragedy in the flaws of the protagonist in the modern understanding of the genre, here it might be better to look to the classical definition of tragedy. In Aristotle’s Poetics, he argues that tragedy should serve the function of evoking pity and fear in the audience.

“The one [pity] is to do with the man brought to disaster undeservedly; the other [fear] is to do with [what happens to] men like us.”

The word hamartia didn’t refer to a fatal flaw as it is currently understood nowadays, but rather just a mistake. Here his mistake was going back to the base, a decision which, while rooted in his character, did not spring out of a flaw. The mistake is supposed to be blameless; it’s important that he is brought to disaster underservedly, just like with Rize.

Aristotle uses Oedipus Rex as his prime example for tragic format, whose hamartia was killing his father - he didn’t know it was his father, and in Ancient Greece it was considered fair enough to kill a stranger for splashing you with dirty water. Modern readings try to point to Oedipus’ rage or pride as the reasons for his downfall, but the way Aristotle read it was that Oedipus didn’t deserve his downfall at all. The purpose of tragedy was to remind us of our mortal weakness in the face of the power of the gods. The futile struggle of an individual against the author of his existence. 

Kaneki suffers like Job, clay in the hands of his maker, nothing more than a penstroke of the tragedian. 

He inspires our pity in waves, stumbling upon this tragedy by sheer misfortune. He tries to rationalise it by attributing the blame to himself with arguments that he hasn’t been strong enough, but that’s just a man trying to understand a classically tragic world through the lens of modern tragedy, and his efforts to become stronger only lead to greater tragedy.

He inspires our terror by just provoking the thought that all Kaneki has gone through could have happened to any one of us in that world. Indeed, Kaneki’s initial character design is meant to look as much like a typical Japanese teenage boy as you can get, and most readers of the series can relate to Kaneki’s shyness and bookishness. Like your typical everyman, Kaneki doesn’t care for much more than his loved ones. He hasn’t received this lot because of ambition, or jealousy, or wrath - just because of the divine will of the world he lives in. 

Now, TG doesn’t fit with many of Aristotle’s other rules for tragic format - it has unity of neither time, place, nor action (and a good thing too, if every tragedy followed Aristotle’s format they would get very boring very quickly) - but I think this outlook is definitely worth considering, given the number of times the words “This world is wrong” are repeated throughout the series. If this holds true, then that would make Tokyo Ghoul not just a tragedy, but a Postmodern, Neo-Classical Tragedy. Which is a cool enough concept in itself, but if there’s still room for hope - if Kaneki can yet triumph over his genre, and man can at long last defeat the gods - then TG would truly be a landmark in the evolution of Tragedy. Recent events have shaken my optimistic outlook a little, but whichever direction it goes from here, it’s still a literary tour-de-force of phenomenal proportions.

[profprocrastination]

Uneven Odds

Sam Winchester x Reader Summary: You are an angel and you fall for the moose of a Winchester called Sam. But what happens when you fall to hard? Also based upon 'Uneven Odds' by Sleeping at Last.

Warnings: Fluff, possible angst. Sam being a cutie and protective boyfriend. 

 A/N: Takes place at the end of Season 11 and the beginning of Season 12.

I once knew your father well                                                                              He fought tears as he spoke of your mother's health 

 You were assigned the job of keeping watch over Sam Winchester from birth, heaven knew that he would one day be very important, so they gave the job to you. It was your job to keep him safe, but then the fire happened, and he was infected with demon blood. You weren't allowed to have any contact with him. But you still watch him, making sure he was safe.

 I guess a part of him just couldn't return                                                              Forgiveness is a lesson he cursed you to learn 

 You watched him as he grew up, watching him train to be a hunter to watching him die for the first time. You saw his father change and snap. You watched him change into something that wasn't the little baby you were told to watch over. His father, John, taught him forgiveness, and also revenge. You started to fell in love with him along the way.

 As your guardian I was instructed well                                                                  To make sense of God's love in these fires of hell 

  You watched from afar as Sam jumped into the pit to save the world, and his brother.It broke your heart, because you thought you would never see him again. You had tried to contact your supervisor, but nobody had seen him since Lucifer was sent to the cage. 

You had seen many of your brothers and sisters fall and be killed, and you met some as well. You met the arcangels Gabriel and Raphael, and you had met angels who had contact with the Winchesters, Balthazar, Anna and Castiel. You became friends with Castiel, he would tell you his stories about his adventurers. You would tell him how you always wished to visit Earth and Sam.

 No I don't expect you to understand                                                                    Just to live what little life your broken heart can 

 When heaven crumbled own, you thought that it would be okay to visit Earth, and you did. You had no idea where to go. So you sought out to find Sam. The first place you went to was a bar, considering how many times you've seen him and his brother go to one. When you entered, the place was already full of people. You decided to sit at one of the bar stools, you felt a hand on your back and a voice close to your ear. "You wanna get out of here?"

 "No." You stiffened when you felt his hand getting lower and lower towards you buttocks.

 "Oh come on. You and me. Let's make it happen."

 "You heard her buddy. She said'no', meaning that she doesn't want anything to do with you" A tall figure came up and confronted the man. He had long brown lock of hair, and eyes that you couldn't decide what colour to call them. 

Maybe your light is a seed                                                                               And the darkness the dirt 

 Sam saw you in the bar. He was mesmerized by your (Y/H/L) (Y/H/C). He saw a man walk up to your and he saw the man who wanted to sleep with you. He saw that you didn't want to go with him and that you were saying'no'. So he made his way over to you. He saw how beautiful you were, and your wings as well. HE knew that only other angels, and the soulmate could see angel wings. He saw you as the light in his time of darkness.

 In spite of the uneven odds                                                                                Beauty lifts from the earth                                                                              From the earth                                                                                                      From the earth 

 He thought that you could never like some one like him, but you did. Despite the odd you loved and he loved you, but it never is that east it really when it comes to love, does it.

As the years move on these questions take shape                                           Are you getting stronger or is time shifting weight? 

 You hunted with Sam and Dean for a few years when she came. Amara. She wanted to be with Dean, making Sam more stressed. It pained you to see him like this, with his moral compass all jacked up and his tired eyes from the lack of sleep. It broke your heart. 

 No one expects you to understand                                                                  Just to live what little life your mended heart can 

 God is back in town to destroy Amara. But instead he only wanted to send her back to where she was locked up. Along the way you met new faces and the boys almost died for good when Sam was shot. To you it all went in slow motion, him getting shot and almost dying. HE almost you as well. A demon shot you, thinking that you were human, which you were at the time, you lose your grace. 

He was saying that it was all his fault for weeks, until you finally convinced him that it wasn't. 

 You had slept with him, of course, you were two were in a relationship, and were both comfortable with each other. You started getting morning sickness and cravings, turns out that you were pregnant, with a nephilim. Half-angel and half-human hybrid.

 You'll always remember the moment                                                             God took her away                                                                                           For the weight of the world was placed on your shoulders that day

Chuck came up with a plan that would stop her. Chuck had sensed your child and confronted you about it. You had an argument about it, because Chuck didn’t create it, he doesn’t know how much power a hybrid like that would posses. But in the end, he agreed to not say anything. As well as Lucifer and Castiel ,when he wasn't possessed by Lucifer. But you were still fight against Amara whilst you were pregnant. 

When you first saw her she smirked at you. 

 "You know I can sense what your carrying right? I can feel it's little heart beating." She strode towards you. Sam place himself protectively in front of you. You know, being the protective boyfriend he is. "And he doesn't know, well that's just precious." Anger started to bubble inside of Sam, whilst guilt started to grow inside of you. "You know you need to tell him, otherwise the guilt will eat you alive. Especially considering that it's half you and half him. Who knows how much power it can posses. It would be in so much danger though. Considering the father and what it is." She gloated.

 Sam turned his head towards you with a face of confusion. "What is she talking about (Y/N)?"

 "Sam I never wanted you to find out like this, but I'm pregnant, with a nephilim, and it's yours."  All he did was embrace you in his arms and held you until  Amara was gone. 

 Maybe your light is the seed                                                                             And the darkness the dirt 

 When you returned to the bunker, a British men of letters was there waiting. She sent both you and Castiel far away from the bunker, leaving am there with a lady holding a gun.

 In spite of the uneven odds                                                                        Beauty lifts from the earth                                                                           From the earth 

 Sam was shot in the leg and dragged away from the bunker. The time he was conscious, he was thinking about you, and your little one. He then realised that he had to pull through this for you and your future child that he would love with every fibre of his being. 

 You're much too young now                                                                               So I write these words down

 He found out that his mother was brought back by Amara. He was thankful for so many things now, that is scared the shit out of him, because when a Winchester is happy it never last long.

 "Darkness exists to make light truly count." 

 But the only thing that he could count on, is that you were still the light at the end  of the tunnel. This made you, and your child, even more special, because with all the darkness that surrounded him. That you shone as much as the stars to him, and you are the best thing that ever happened to him.

Tags: @sam-winchester-imagines @savingchesters @sammyxorae @angelkurenai @samwinchesterblog @supernaturaldaily @supernaturalimagine