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nopelleen · 3 years ago

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Perish, Pretty Please (5/5)

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: Rick Flag was known to be a pretty good leader, it was the reason why he had been chosen to lead a squad of infamously reckless and idiotic criminals, however it was a lot harder to maintain his authority when one member of the team despised his guts for seemingly no reason.

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: Rick Flag x Reader

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 5.7k

ɴᴏᴛᴇ: it took me so long, but it’s finally there -- the last part! I started this fanfiction knowing I had a tendency not to finish them and I’m honestly so proud right now, I hope you’ll enjoy this last part as much as I enjoyed writing all of this! (also please let’s all have a moment of silence to remember the moment my hopeful, foolish ass actually posted the first part with “1/2″ in the title)

“Nope, there’s something we gotta take care of first."

You watched with blatant bafflement as the three men nonchalantly walked away from the blazing truck that had been transporting them merely minutes ago. There was almost a bit of disappointment in your heart as you watched the plan you and Cleo had so meticulously orchestrated on your way here vanish into thin air. It was a shame – your rescue plan involved a lot more wow factor. Had you known the outcome of this small drawback, you wouldn’t have put so much effort into it; but how could you have guessed the three of them would find a way out of a van guarded by multiples soldiers all the while handcuffed and therefore supposedly incapacitated? That was absurd.

“Don’t look so surprised, it’s insulting.”

You shot Flag a tight lipped, mocking smile as a response to his friendly jab, clearly recognizing the words you had used against him in the afternoon. Your sardonic grimace poorly mirrored the playful smirk the colonel adorned as he walked towards the van, and you were surprised to feel your heart swell a bit when you noticed his smile spread into a genuine one as he walked past you, slightly shaking his head in amusement.

Without even questioning how they had gotten themselves out of that prickly situation, you whirled around and followed suit as Rick climbed back into the van, telling Milton the small change of plan. That one enthusiastically nodded before happily informing the squad that you’d reach the city by dawn, making you realize you had spent a good chunk of the night at that bar and yet did not feel that tired yet – which might just have been from the adrenaline released into your system at the sight of your three teammates walking out of a blazing vehicle.

“You sleep, I watch Thinker,” Nanaue suggested as he heavily lumbered towards the back of the van, where the hostage was surprisingly staying very still, wise enough not to attempt anything while sharing the same space as King Shark.

Your steps faltered as you entered the van, your gaze hesitatingly flickering towards the seats in the back which appeared way too crowded for your liking. You usually would’ve simply gone back to your seat at the front, but Rick was now occupying the one near the window, probably as a way to stay close to the driver.

With a reluctant sigh, you were about to follow King Shark towards the back when Rick casted a pointed look towards you before patting the seat beside him in case you did not understand.

Relief washed over you and you didn’t even need to give it a second thought before flopping onto the space beside him, glad not to have to settle for a spot anywhere near Peacemaker. Your muscles were stiff as you quite literally bounced onto the cushion, and as soon as your back did as much as graze the backrest, the entire day of walk, hours of dancing and minutes of worrying about Flag’s well-being caught up with you with a dizzying speed.

If earlier that day you had been able to fight off sleep vigorously, you now found yourself melting into the cushion of your seat as soon as you flopped onto it. At first, you remained steadfast, refusing to yield to your basic human needs as you forced yourself to sit up straight, but then there was a strong gravitational pull making you sway a bit on your seat as your head started lolling forward, and then another pull – Rick’s hand, this time – gently steering you back into your seat. Incapable of fending off the drowsiness any longer, you surrendered and finally allowed yourself to loosen up, feeling your head snugly land upon Rick’s shoulder as you drifted off into a soundless sleep.

-----

“Outburst, hey!”

“She’s sleeping.”

From his seat at the very back of the van, Peacemaker frowned as he craned his neck in an attempt to peer at your figure still slumped over Rick’s shoulder. “Well, wake her up,” he groused, tinges of annoyance seeping from his usually polished tone. “She’s… spewing her emotions all over the place. It’s reeking of sadness in there.”

◦◦◦

“It’s reeking in there; crack a window open, will you?”

Your finger harshly jabbed the switch, your gaze remained firmly fixed on the buildings passing by in a blur as the window lowered just a bit in an abrupt, choppy motion. From the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of your mother shooting you a brief, curious look. You hadn’t uttered a word ever since you two had left the family reunion. You knew it hadn’t been a good idea to agree to come.

The car then lapsed into another uncomfortable silence. You were both acutely aware of the thick, sweltering acrimony flooding off of you and yet still refused to address it, instead letting you bask in it with your mouth clamped shut, letting it gnaw your insides until your lungs felt charred, incapable of drawing oxygen any longer.

Why had you agreed to this? You were an adult; you didn’t need to expose yourself to this anymore.

You bit the inside of your cheek and tried to breathe in deeply, only for your chest to constrict, becoming painfully hollow. Tears started brimming at the edges of your vision and you finally allowed your lips to part, letting a bated breath stumble out of them with urgency.

“I heard you earlier.”

◦◦◦

“I’m not waking her up,” Rick scowled in one curt sentence, already feeling a bit on edge and therefore not wanting to dwell on the matter.

Peacemaker’s eyebrows furrowed even deeper at Rick’s unwavering tone. He usually dealt easily with negotiation and compromises, he worked well under authority and was a suitable soldier because of it, but at the moment, he couldn’t find it in himself to be patient – maybe because of how thick with tension the atmosphere had become because of you.

“We can feel her,” he insisted again, spitting the words out in an irritated hiss.

◦◦◦

“Honey, I can feel you, tone it down,” your mother complained as she kept her eyes on the road. Either your words went completely over her head, or she refused to acknowledge them, knowing that with the amount of resentment she could feel rolling off of you in waves, there was no way a discussion could lead to a good outcome at the moment. She was already having a hard time not letting the irritation get to her in spite of the smoldering atmosphere.

“I heard you talking to aunt Matty,” you reiterated. “You said it was my fault.”

“What was?”

“Dad leaving.”

The uttered words dropped like thunder in the car, leaving the air charged with electricity.

“I didn’t say that,” she rebutted with a bit of an acerbic tone. The tension was starting to get to her, slowly but steadily eating away at her mind in spite of her resolve. She could feel the resentment seeping into her like a foreign body infiltrating her immune system, but paradoxically, the angrier she got, the less willing she was to fight it off. “Don’t twist my words, you know I hate when you do that.”

◦◦◦

“I didn’t say she wasn’t allowed to sleep,” Peacemaker clarified, starting to sound a bit agitated as the tensed atmosphere got more and more on his nerves. “I’m simply saying she shouldn’t until we are.”

“She’s not hurting anyone.”

◦◦◦

“You said I was hurting him.”

“I said he was often on the wrong end of your temper. Listen, it’s—”

“Back off!”

◦◦◦

“Back off,” Rick sternly admonished him as soon as Peacemaker made a step towards the front of the bus, protectively wrapping an arm around your sleeping form. “She needs to rest. She got shot acting as a distraction so your team could make a smooth entrance, remember?” he reminded the man scornfully.

Peacemaker’s face remained calm in spite of the irritation coloring his eyes. His gaze briefly flickered from you to Flag, hesitating.

“Don’t make me repeat myself.”

◦◦◦

“You know how you made him feel,” your mother uttered, efficiently putting an end to the exchange.

You remembered the times during which you were moody, when you came back home after having spent the entire day feeling everyone’s emotions around you, when your father did as much as try to talk to you about it, thus instantly setting you off. He was always the spark that ignited you. Whether he was inquiring about your day, or commenting on your behavior, or even just standing a bit too close to you… He’d end up angry, hurt, aggressive – whatever you were feeling at the moment, he’d always end up feeling it too.

Your mother was just wise enough to stay away.

But you also remembered the shouts in the kitchen, the jabs, the constant bickering between them. You remembered listening to it from the stairs and then being blamed for their bad tempers. You’d be blamed for the anger, the aggressiveness, the slaps that so often echoed through the house.

She was wise enough to stay away, and yet be close enough when she’d need an excuse.

“It wasn’t just me,” you whispered through gritted teeth.

“I never said it was.”

“It was you,” you spat out as you whipped your head towards her. “You made him miserable.”

Your eyes were completely focused on her face, her pursed lips and closed-off features, and never once did you notice the way her foot slowly started pressing further onto the accelerator.

◦◦◦

You woke up with a start and instantly casted a frantic gaze around you, expecting the usual blaring horns and shouts that followed this exchange. You were surprised to find yourself in a safe environment, all wrapped up in an unexpected warm, comforting atmosphere. Usually, the second you woke up, your instincts picked up on the foul aura of anguish you had unconsciously secreted into the air, and yet, here, you could feel nothing but utter peacefulness.

One of your eyebrows formed an elegant arch as you lowered your gaze to glimpse at the warm weight wrapped around you, only for your eyes to land on a familiar calloused hand hanging from your shoulder and almost grazing your cheek. You felt a faint smile tenderly pulling at the corners of your lips before even turning your head to confirm the identity of the owner of the arm wrapped around your shoulders, and when you turned your head to direct your gaze towards Flag’s sleeping face, you simply found yourself incapable to fight it off anymore.

Then, with a fond smile pulling at the corners of your lips, you snugly nestled you head back into his side and shut your eyes, this time knowing for a fact that you wouldn’t risk infuse the atmosphere with anything else than a blissful quietude.

◦◦◦

It was chaos. Utter chaos.

Your car was long abandoned a few feet away from you, fuming after having hit another vehicle in the middle of an intersection. The driver who had started fighting with you was now in a fully blown-out fist fight with another man who had merely tried to step in for you, and the more people got out of their cars to understand what was going on, the more people got trapped under your influence and started fighting, some going as far as purposefully ramming their vehicle into another’s.

Your voice was hoarse from shouting at the driver who had first attacked you and you were now trembling with anger as you watched an entire riot unfold before your very eyes, unconsciously fueling it with intense waves of rage that'd hit any innocent that'd happen to walk a bit to close to the scene.

Someone gripped your shoulder and you tried to jerk away from the touch, whirling your head towards the person with your teeth bared, ready to attack whoever was trying to get your attention.

“Honey, focus on me, alright? Focus on me.”

The voice was rough, the tone frenzied, and yet when the hands grasped your shoulders, it was with an unexpected gentleness. The fingers were quivering with restraint, barely managing not to dig into your skin in an attempt to snap you out of it.

This staggering tenderness startled you so much that it managed to take you out of your trance for a fleeting moment, allowing reason to take over as you fought back the instinctive urge to shove the hands away. With frantic, brimming eyes, you diverted your gaze towards your mother, desperate for a comforting point of focus to latch onto like a lifeline.

A sob threatened to crawl up your throat as soon as you met her eyes. There, in the midst of all the hardly concealed anger – a glint of affection, a vacillating spike of tenderness battling to emerge from under all that vibrating rage your mind was forcefully pushing into her. With a choked-up breath of relief, you instinctively stepped forward, latching onto that abiding twinkle of kindness in spite of all that surrounding violence like a lifeline.

Then, when there was an anticipated screeching of tires coming from your side, a glimpse of grey metal flashing out of the corner of your eye, and an oh-so-familiar harrowing feeling of dread seizing your insides, you kept your eyes unwaveringly locked into your mother’s, resolutely shutting out everything else around you. You bored your gaze into hers and let your mind soak in her warmth.

The car never came, the shouts quietened down, your surroundings slowed down until coming to a complete halt, time stalled and your dream mercifully stepped away from your memories to spare you.

You stood there for ages lost into your mother’s loving gaze, until – having strayed too far from reality – your subconscious lost all senses of what was and wasn’t at the time and let the scene morph into whatever your mind desired. Then, when the voice spoke up again, it wasn’t your mother standing before you anymore, but a person you now trusted more than you ever thought you would.

“Don’t be scared of me.”

-----

“We need to help these people.”

The words went completely over your head as you despairingly gaped at the glass in front of you, feeling cold to your bones.

You had gotten a bad feeling as soon as the elevator doors had cracked open.

There hadn’t even been time to make a step forward before you had gotten hit by the foul, repugnant thickness sullying the air with a strength that almost had you rearing your head back a bit. For a dizzying second, the vile and nauseating reek had left you standing there, blearily blinking as your senses had desperately struggled to accommodate to the repellent atmosphere. Yet, in spite of the tears brimming at the corners of your eyes just from the sheer despondency emanating from the place, you had been far from imagining the atrocity, the barbarism of the experiments that were taking place down here.

Despite your reluctance, you had been forced to follow the others as they had stalked out of the elevator, engaging into the dark and humid place with feeble, hesitant steps. As you had all crossed the small entrance leading to the laboratory, you had needed to fight your instincts that they had urgently pleaded you to simply whirl around and run back into the elevator.

Every breath you had taken weighed heavily on your tongue, the pungency sticking to the walls of your throat and poisoning your lungs. Every other second you had spent down there had simply felt like another year taken off your life, the wretched atmosphere slowly eating away at your brain like acid.

In spite of all of that, it had taken some time for the horror to truly dawn on you.

The despair had crept into your heart with every step you had made into the cellar, and then, when you had gotten to the center of it, you had felt for the very first time of your life an intense claustrophobia swarming your heart. Surrounded by a sea of decaying bodies all bound together by the same searing, devastating agony, the hostile basement had quickly gone from a gruesome laboratory to a deadly trap slowly closing in on you.

With nothing but wandering bodies all around you, you felt at the bottom of a pit of wretchedness, your head swelling with an intense, overwhelming pain. It was as though you were entrapped in the center of a microwave which was channeling thousands of screams directly towards your brain instead of radiations, however one of them was significantly stronger than the others and seemed to come from the wide glass wall right in front of you.

“Impossible, dear. They’re corpses below those stars.”

In spite of the searing agony flaring through your chest, your heartbeat seemed to slow down and settle onto a numbing, soporific pace as you unconsciously started stepping towards the wide glass, as though bewitched by the heart-wrenching wail you felt coming from whatever was hiding in that liquid.

With trembling, tentative fingers, you lifted your hand and slowly pressed your palm against the freezing glass, yearning to soothe the poor sufferer from their wrenching agony. The pain only seemed to intensify at the touch, the feeling of desolation gripping your insides as your ears started ringing, completely isolating you from the others. There was nothing else in that room but you and a desolated martyr screaming with thousand of voices right into your mind.

You watched with mournful, brimming eyes as the dark figure behind the glass started stirring until a single, colossal eye revealed itself in front of you, appearing emotionless to any common spectator and yet emitting an amount of woe that would’ve had you on your knees had you not gotten so used to sensing people’s emotions.

“Outburst?”

Rick’s voice rose up right behind you but still didn’t startle you, your eyes riveted onto the creature before you with rapt focus.

“It’s in pain,” you croaked out, the faint words scraping your dry throat like some sandpaper grating your vocal cords. “It’s in so much pain.” You shifted your fingers a bit, as if trying to press your hand closer to the glass, get closer to that strange creature, completely blind to the danger it represented. The tentacles, bumps and single eye did not matter – all you could see was the utter suffering it was in.

“Well,” the Thinker unabashedly butted in, “if I’m not mistaken regarding the purpose of your self-righteous egomaniacal mission – not for much longer.”

His words dawned on you with a dry clarity and had you shifting away from the glass in one brisk motion to whirl your head towards Rick. “We can’t kill it,” you asserted with an adamant, steadfast tone that did not match the slight waver in your voice.

“We have orders.”

Rick’s steadfast voice was way more convincing than yours, and what would’ve usually been a mere reminder of his status as colonel felt like a frustrating hindrance that only heightened the desperation swarming your heart and made you let go of the glass to tighten your fists as you turned around to fully face him.

“No, we can’t, we have to help it, it’s—”

“It’s dangerous,” Rick cut you off, his distrust-colored eyes briefly flickering towards the glass wall.

“It’s suffering!”

Your distressed screech echoed through the cellar, your plea painfully reverberating on the walls and splattering the frantic desperation dripping from your tone all around the basement.

For a fleeting moment, Flag remained speechless, as if hit with full force by the intensity of your despair. During that fleeting moment, you caught a glimpse of the hesitation flashing in his eyes, the way he seemed to ponder over the situation for even just a second, wondering what to do and which way to choose. Then, his gaze flickered to the side, briefly meeting Peacemaker’s, and you were able to pinpoint the exact moment he put his guards up again, welding back on his old mask of professionalism to tightly shut out any emotion you could try to induce in him.

There was a subtle shift in his expression, so subtle you might not even have noticed had you not been so desperately seeking any trace of support on his features. Instead of showing the understanding you were so badly hoping for, the traits of his face hardened, the glint in his eyes dimmed, and then you weren’t standing before Rick anymore, you were facing the colonel, towering over you with his back straight and his orders engraved in his mind.

You were acutely aware of the fact that the mission outweighed you; you had just hoped Rick would hold enough respect towards you to give your words the slightest bit of consideration. Apparently, this respect only allowed you one minute of his time before he completely shut you out.

With a sharp, regretful sigh, he took a step towards you and grabbed your arm with a gentle reluctance that contrasted with the harshness of his tone as he said that you needed to go with the other team.

You tried to protest but his strides were long and hasty, and before you even knew it, he was punching the first-floor button of the elevator as you stood inside of it, stunned.

Just as the doors started closing before you, you feebly parted your lips to utter one last plead; your pained, wavering voice coming out laced with betrayal. “You said I could trust you.”

When he had seemed ready to turn away as soon as the doors started closing between you, Rick’s attention seemed to be piqued by your words as he shifted his gaze back onto you, lingering in front of the elevator for just a second more.

The distress coloring your eyes melted into a sullen resignation as soon as your gaze bored into his, your chest constricting with dejection. There, under the thick coat of seriousness, in the midst of all the restrained belligerence this place inspired him, no glint of affection was to be found, no spike of tenderness desperately trying to emerge from the vibrating anger – nothing but cold, glaring callousness.

Not Rick.

Colonel.

-----

“Where’s Flag?”

Bloodsport turned his gaze towards you, and you instantly recognized the apologetic look in his eyes.

As he grimly shook his head, you finally experienced it firsthand – the agony of a thousand people.

-----

“Apparently Waller sent something to his hospital room. People are joking and saying she sent flowers, but if you want my opinion the old hag probably sent him a reminder that his contract doesn’t cover paid sick leaves.”

The voice, just like the steps accompanying it, echoed through the corridor and kept getting closer to your cell, undoubtedly coming from yet another guard who’d attempt to get a word or a reaction out of you – anything that’d stop them from having to book in an appointment with the jail therapist.

You had seen many of them pass by while you had spent days in a temporary cell during your recovery but hadn’t thought they’d keep on sending them after having transferred back in your old cell this morning.

The landscape change didn’t make any difference for you, as you simply kept on staring at the wall for hours on end with the most irksome gloomy look clouding your features.

You couldn’t think about anything else than Rick.

You didn’t think you had even truly processed it yet. It had happened too fast.

Within the span of a few days, the colonel had somehow gained your trust, slowly leading you to warm up to him by showing you an affection you hadn’t experienced in years. It felt like he had turned your world upside down, made everything brighter with the prospect of saving lives alongside a superior who truly valued you, and then you had made the mistake of letting him out of your sight, forced to walk away from that dreadful laboratory for just a few minutes, and he had died there, the one person on this earth who you could genuinely trust now buried under the rumbles in that bottomless pit of agony.

You had mulled over it what felt like a thousand times already and you just could not figure out how to simply go on with your life. Not when your one chance at a brighter future had been squandered so violently as soon as you had turned your back to it.

Somehow, it felt like your fault.

You had been careless, unfocused. You had forcefully dragged Rick’s attention away from the mission at hand only because you were too weak to handle the downsides of your ability, your eyes pathetically overflowing with tears of empathy as the rest of your team simply tried to achieve the mission. You had distracted Rick as that one had been forced to take you to the elevator like a child, had unconsciously helped Peacemaker steal a secret file and forced Cleo to try and stop him on her own before Flag could come to her aid.

The file had been retrieved, but only after Bloodsport had stopped Peacemaker from coldly eliminating Cleo. Only after Rick’s body had already been left laying soundly in the laboratory.

They had fought with all their might for that file, for those values you had accused Flag of lacking merely days ago, and you hadn’t even been there.

It had been crushing to find out that the trust you held towards him had been misplaced, but it was nothing in comparison to discovering he shouldn’t have trusted you either.

You forcefully swallowed back the lump in your throat when you heard the steps finally come to a halt right by your cell and had a hard time concealing the startled look on your face when a very familiar voice rose up.

“Well well well, from what I’ve heard little princess doesn’t want to eat anymore?”

The hair on the back of your neck stood on end at the falsely dulcet tone dripping with a syrupy looking but dangerously abrasive poison. You had to keep yourself from gritting your teeth as your gaze caught up on Griggs’ silhouette standing before your cell from the corner of your eye.

“You’re not even gonna make an effort for me?” he teased you as his lips spread into a sneering smile that made him look more moronic than sadistic due to the absolute lack of sagacity behind his eyes.

You kept your mouth tightly shut and your eyes riveted to the wall across from you, trying to muster the blankest expression you could not to let him affect you but feeling a peeved expression weighing down on your features nonetheless.

“Aww, guys it looks like we’re gonna have to use the feeding tubes,” Griggs ironically groaned, turning towards his colleagues with a facetious glint in his eyes. One of them instantly stepped up to open the door to your cell, not even needing to think twice about the threat just emitted. “You know how much I hate doing that,” he then kept on jeering, much to the amusement of the other guards.

You waited with anticipation as he stepped into the cell, feeling your entire body buzzing with an overpowering apprehension, not having a clue of what you could do but knowing for a fact that with all the adrenaline slowly being spread into your system, there was no way you’d let Griggs go back to his old mistreatment.

His filthy fingers barely grazed your skin, and, as though electrified, you jumped to your feet, putting some distance between you and him. You kept your eyes determinedly fixated in front of you but could see from the corner of your eye how stunned he was by your abrupt reaction. He had gotten to the unresponsive side of you that had emerged after only a few months here, the poor figure staying down on the ground and no longer batting an eyelash at his constant abuse. His face remained dazed for a fleeting moment before the ghost of a smirk reappeared on his features.

After all, he had broken you once, it’d be no bother to do it a second time.

“What, you go on one mission with Task Force X and then you don’t like me anymore?”

He reached out a hand again, much more aggressively this time, and you jolted away, instinctively bringing a hand up without even knowing if you were willing to take the risk of hitting him.

“Step away from her, Griggs.”

The stone cold words loudly rang through the cell and heavily fell between you both, instantly followed by a deafening silence as Griggs’ hand hovered in the air for a fleeting moment, just inches away from the skin of your arm.

Then, for a dizzying, fleeting moment, it felt as though all the air had been sucked out of the cell.

Chill shivers of relief racked your spine before your brain even had time to process the voice, and then, when the familiarity of it finally sank in, you felt as though some freezing water had been dumped over you, leaving you soaked and shivering in the middle of your cell – only this time Griggs wasn't the cause of it.

You whirled your head towards the entrance of your cell with a vertiginous speed and had to bite back a choked-up noise from stumbling out of your lips when your gaze landed upon the owner of the voice glowering at Griggs with a murderous look in his eyes.

“You’re not supposed to be back yet,” Griggs pointed out sheepishly, letting his arm limply drop to his side now that his focus had been completely taken off of you.

“I was feeling better,” Rick informed him with a tight-lipped smile which then briskly dropped from his features. “Now stand down,” he repeated himself, his voice steadfast and as neutral as he could muster it. “I wouldn’t push my luck if I were you. I’ve seen what you did to her, and I’d love to show you what it feels like to be on the wrong side of the blade.”

The threat made the cell go utterly silent and for just a second, the sweetest second ever, all traces of amusement vanished from Griggs’ suddenly pale face. He looked started, nervous, oh so pathetic, and then when he finally regained his composure enough to quickly muster up the most serious look he could to paint on his pallid features, he had already lost all respect from every occupant of the room.

“You’d risk your job for a bitch who told you to eat shit five minutes into your mission?”

There was an imperceptible twitch on Rick’s features at the reminder. He had to briskly fight off a smirk pulling at the corners of his lips, but you could still discern the faintest glint of amusement in his eyes and had to swallow back a choked-up laugh – your heart swarming with a bunch of overwhelming emotions you couldn’t even identify at the moment.

His eyes briefly flickered to you. “Apparently,” he conceded with the ghost of a smirk playing on his lips, before he cast his gaze back on Griggs and recovered a cold, severe expression. “And, trust me, given how liked you are around here, I don’t think I’d risk more than a paid leave even if I attempted to murder you.”

Yet another sullen silence fell over the cell like a heavy fog, and this time, Griggs made the wise decision of not shattering it, containing his anger within a single huff before stalking out of the cell with heavy steps that made him akin to a stomping child. His colleagues briefly glanced at Rick, not quite knowing what to do, before meeting his eyes and promptly deciding to follow Griggs’ decision.

“You’re alive,” you breathlessly uttered as soon as you were both left alone.

“A bit roughed up, but yes, alive,” he winced back, turning his gaze towards you.

You knew he couldn’t feel the blissful exultation swarming your heart now that your ability was smothered by the collar secured around your neck, but you hoped he could see it in your eyes and in the way you just couldn’t seem to blink those relieved tears away.

Rick took a few steps towards you and let out a bated breath, as if he was finally allowed to exhale, as if he hadn’t been able to feel comfortable until standing near you again – and you then knew for a fact that if he couldn’t see the exultation in your heart, he at least felt it as well.

Without another word, he then tentatively brought a hand up before letting it hover uncertainly in the air. He seemed hesitant as if he wasn’t sure how to act anymore now that his mask of professionalism was gone, and you couldn’t help but let out a short chuckle. This was enough for a single droplet to finally fall from your brimming eyes, and the way Rick’s gaze seemed to soften even more at the sight of it almost led you to shedding a few more.

With utter cautiousness, he brought his hand to your face to brush the stray tear away and then left it there, his warm palm cradling your cheek.

“Looks like I’ve won again,” he said in a breath, the words merely stumbling out of his lips as if he were afraid to break that frail, tender moment of vulnerability between the two of you. His thumb gently stroked your cheek again and you couldn’t help but lean into his touch, your gaze never once leaving his. “I really want to kiss you right now.”

You had once said that the only way for Rick to ever get close to you was for you to give out your last breath, and yet, ever since that very vow you had felt yourself ever-so-slowly opening up to him, as though there was something in the air and it was killing you softly.

Now that the sweet, sweet poison had filled up your lungs – all wrapped up in his arms and boring your gaze into his with a wide-eyed fascination – you chose to completely let go of that vow, braving the risk to perish and merely uttering back two candid, gentle words.

“Pretty please.”

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waiting-for-motivation · 4 years ago

Text

her scar

summary: As an equal member (Y/n) fights side by side with Clone Force 99, even though she is force sensitive. The clones have adopted her as their ad‘ika. But a dark shadow comes upon the galaxy as well as the squad.

request: Because Crosshair nearly snipped down my adopted by a clonetrooper child ( yes the child decided to become a clonetrooper ans the GAR let her ) and this child happens to be force sensitive. That’s what I’m looking for a fix where crosshair nearly order 66 a kid that looks up to him like the uncle he is. Give me sad. Give me angst ~ @dara-kell

pairings: Crosshair x Child!Reader, Echo, Tech, Hunter, Wrecker

warnings: angsty angst, ORDER 66, blood, injury, a child soldier!?

words: 1253

MASTERLIST REQUEST RULES

Execute Order 66.

A thick cloud of terrible thoughts fogs Crosshairs mind. The helmet he is wearing feels heavier than ever and almost suffocates him. His otherwise steady hands start to shake.

There is no other way. Good soldiers follow orders. He has to fulfil the order.

The other members of the Bad Batch, his brothers, continue to walk as if they haven‘t heard the order. Their ad‘ika (Y/n) is with them, holding onto Echos human hand. She is the first to notice Crosshairs absence. Her innocent eyes set on his shaking form and the sniper can feel them pierce through his armor. All of a sudden he rips the helmet from his head and takes a deep breath of fresh air.

"Cross?", her soft voice reaches his ears. She takes a step forward, but Echo holds her back. It’s not that he doesn‘t trust his brother with his life, but he can see Crosshairs finger wander to the trigger of his rife. Slowly the sniper raises his weapon.

Good soldiers follow orders.

The brown eyes of Crosshair scan (Y/n)s small form. Although she is wearing the same armor as the other members of Clone Force 99, there is no helmet protecting her head. But something inside Crosshair, the real Cross and (Y/n)s protector, stops him from shooting right in her face. This would destroy her innocence and cuteness. So he aims at the weakest spot of her armor - her collarbone.

Once again his name leaves her lips and then the sniper pulls the trigger. For a second he closes his eyes, avoiding seeing her lifeless body fall to the ground. But then he opens them and all his hesitation as well as pity is gone.

On time Echo managed to pull their ad‘ika aside and the blaster only grazed her cheek. Blood runs from the injury and tears follow, not because of her pain but the betrayal.

While Echo and Tech stay with (Y/n), Hunter and Wrecker run towards their brother. The Sergeant raises both his hands to show Cross he means no harm. But Wrecker stares at the sniper with so much anger in his eyes, at least he just tried to kill their little girl. They vowed to protect her at all cost, above all because she is force sensitive.

“Cross? What were you thinking?“, Hunter asks and stops a few feet in front of his brother. Their eyes meet but Crosshairs gaze is hollow and almost glazed. He has no answer for his Sergeant.

“Take her back to the ship!“, Hunter commands as he watches the sniper take a look at (Y/n). Both hands clutch the rife tighter. And there is no emotion in his expression.

“We have to comply. We have to kill her!“ That are the last words (Y/n) hears from her once loyal uncle before she gets dragged to the Havoc Marauder by Tech and Echo. Once in a while on their way she stops to look back, to look for Crosshair. But her never followed them.

Finally, they reach their ship. While Tech prepares everything for their departure, Echo carries their ad‘ika to her cot. There he drapes a blanket over her shaking form and starts collecting everything he needs to treat her wound. On his search he encounters Wreckers tooka doll and soon places it in (Y/n)s arms.

Like a true warrior (Y/n) lets Echo take care of her injury. From time to time she flinches but that‘s all she does. She is silent, too silent. Her mind is working hard on Crosshairs treason. No matter with what argument (Y/n) comes up, none of them make any sense. Why would her beloved uncle try to kill her? Doesn‘t he love her anymore? What happened to the sniper who was always at her side, who was always cuddling her to sleep?

Before Echo can encourage the little girl, Hunter and Wreckers heavy steps echo through the ship. Against Echos protest, (Y/n) jumps from her bed and towards the hatch of the ship, Lula in her left hand.

Hunters eyes widen the moment he senses the little girl coming towards them. He and Wrecker are carrying the unconscious Crosshair between them, each of his arms wrapped around their shoulders. (Y/n) stares at them shocked but also frightened.

“Hey, little one“, Hunter greets their adopted child and kneels down, letting Wrecker take their brother in a separate room. Despite Hunter being directly in front of (Y/n), her eyes follow Cross until he is out of sight. “Don‘t worry. He will soon be the old grumpy Crosshair again.“

“Why did he shoot me?“, (Y/n) asks with a shaky voice and takes the hand Hunter is extending. He feels warm and comforting. His free hand touches the skin under her injury. There is still a bit of blood on her face.

“To be honest, ad‘ika, we all got the command to execute the order 66. Whereas none of us understood what to do, Cross somehow knew. He said something about a betrayal of the Jedi and because you are...“, Hunter tries to explain but the tears in (Y/n)s eyes make it almost impossible for him to think straight. So he stops mid sentence and pulls the girl in a comforting hug. She sobs in his neck.

Some time passes where (Y/n) stays in the Sergeants arms and cries. He passes her to Wrecker who lays down with her while the ship jumps into hyperspace. Even though (Y/n) falls asleep in the arms of her huge uncle and with Lula pressed against her chest, she wakes up soon. A sound from another room wakes her.

Carefully (Y/n) leaves the shared bedroom of the Bad Batch and starts looking for the source of the sound. Soon she finds their closet where they usually keep their weapons. But the thing is: all the weapons are laying scattered around in the corridor. Then there is a muffled scream coming from inside so (Y/n) opens the door and faces the image of a chained Crosshair.

“What are you doing here?“, Cross asks derogatorily and with a rougher voice than normally. One of his hands is cuffed to a pipe. His wrist is already blue and purple because he is pulling desperately at the handcuff. But this sight doesn‘t stop (Y/n) from entering and walking closer to her uncle.

“Why did you do this?“, (Y/n) asks and points to the grazing shot which is patched up by small plasters. As Crosshair looks at what he did to his little girl, a wave of emotions overruns him. He has to close his eyes.

“Good soldier follow orders“, Cross whispers again and again and presses his free hand to the right side of his head. It hurts. His head hurts. But then all of a sudden all the pain seems gone because (Y/n) wraps her arms around her uncle. He could kill her easily now. But he doesn‘t want to.

“Go away, ad‘ika! I could kill you!“, the sniper screams anxiously and tries to push (Y/n) away, but she is holding too tightly onto him. He is surprised by how much the little one still trusts him. At least he tried to kill her only hours ago.

“I‘m so sorry“, Cross whimpers into (Y/n)s hair and wraps his free arm around the girl. She should not forgive him this easily, nor trust him ever again. But she does. Because he is family.

“It‘s okay, uncle Cross. Now I‘m as cool as Wolffe or Cody with my new scar!“

taglist: @lightning-wolffe @gwenebear @skippyhopperwisdom @jojos-trooper

#crosshair #crosshair x reader #crosshair angst #bad batch #bad batch x reader #bad batch angst

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ktheist · 4 years ago

Text

the hero.

knj / myg / jhs / ksj / pjm / kth / jjk

the first time jeon jeongguk met the demon lord was when he wandered into the forest while he and his friends were playing hide and seek.

“hey, have you seen anyone pass by here by any chance?”

well, before she became the demon lord, she was just an ordinary village girls collecting herbs with her younger brother.

“o-oh um, they climbed up that tree.” she pointed at a great oak tree a few feet away, cheeks flushed red.

“you promised you won’t snitch!” comes a voice from the branches.

the next time he sees her is downtown when she’s shopping for groceries with her mother.

“hey, you’re that girl that helped me win!” he grinned, recognizing an ally.

she held out her hand shyly, palm facing the sky, “where’s my share for helping you win?”

“uh,” jeongguk hesitates, looking left and right as if a prize would materialize if he kept looking.

“you can help me find some wood sorrels.” she proposes.

“yeah! i’ll pick all the wood sorrels in the forest!” he folds his arm inwardly, showing off what little muscle he has in his arm.

she gawks at his radiance as if he’s the meteor that lights up her night sky.

7 years later, he’s knocking on the door of the quaint little cottage her family lives in.

“jeongguk, did you get into a fight? again?” she rushes over to him, eyes brimming with worry and hands clasped in front of her chest.

the small tremble in her fingers tell him she wants to touch the hair and sweep it behind his face but won’t because she doesn’t want to end up grazing his cut.

“you’ll heal me, won’t you?” he puts on his best grin even though it hurts.

and the tremble cease. a smile tugs on the corners of her lips.

she flicks her wrists and the fire on the stove begins to dance. a cauldron levitates in the air and settles on over the dancing flames a second later.

she’s going to make that bitter healing medicine he hates so much.

“what am i going to do with you?” she shakes her head.

“oh, jeongguk, you’re here too. would you like to have dinner with us?” her mother asks, coming from the back door of the kitchen, hands full with the harvest from their backyard.

“no! mother!” only a day after he had a warm meal with her family, he’s holding her by her waist.

“we have to run,” he says, eyes not even looking at the flames that lick her mother’s body at the stake.

her brother and father have fallen at the axe of the villagers that came barging into her home, searching for a “witch”.

she was with jeongguk, picking stinging nettles because they’re only traceable at night.

they live together in a tiny cottage meant for one but they made it work for one more.

her smile is gone.

not really, but it comes and goes. and jeongguk suspects, they’re just shadows of what once was, if only to tell him not to worry about her.

at night, he hears he soft sniffles and he slips out of his bed to climb into hers. he holds her tight until she falls asleep in his embrace.

a year has passed yet they’re stagnant; living the same day over and over again. filled with sorrow and tears.

if he could take away her pain, he would.

jeongguk didn’t know that after a year of endless night sniffles and dried cheeks; this is the last night they spend in each other’s arms.

jeongguk doesn’t know where she is or if she’s found another person to hug her on nights when the cold gets unbearable.

he gets enlisted into the knight squad.

it’s like a miracle. like he’s meant to wield the sword.

no man his age would have the skills he has now without any prior practice.

“i did get into fights as a teen and won every one of them,” he would laugh whenever someone brings up his unmatched expertise in swordsmanship.

little does he know, it’s the working of fate, preparing him to kill a childhood friend and the woman he lives for.

“i won’t,” he declares, the clang of his sword ringing against these cold walls of the demon lord’s castle after he tossed the holy blade away.

“and this is the hero you so love and worship?” she looks at his comrades with eyes painted in blood red.

“j-jeongguk, snap out of it! she’s controlling your mind!” the healer’s voice reverberates against these walls.

she and the others stand a few feet behind him as if an invisible wall has separated them.

“no,” he says, taking steps to her throne until he’s cupping her face with his gloved hands, “my mind has never been clearer- i- i’ve missed you.”

a shattering silence.

a crack in the ground.

vines creep up the distance between the hero and his comrades until they completely shield them away from the rest of the world.

she leans into his touch like she would when they lived together in that little hut.

‘she’s not lost.’

‘not really.’

“do you know what causes the birth of the demon lord?” she asks.

“wha-“

“a heartbreak.” she finishes without waiting for him to say anything, “it has to be more painful than death. more sinful than the goddess’ blessings. and more hollow than the deepest depths of the hell.”

his fingers are wet from the rain the acid rain that has never tore through the skies.

until now, that is.

“i’m sorry i couldn’t protect you,” he holds her in his arms like he’s always dreamed of doing.

she weeps and the blood in her eyes washes away. “i miss them, jeongguk...”

their tale becomes a legend. of a virtuous hero and the wretched demon lord.

the castle gets torn down by the emperor’s reinforcements that arrived a month later.

yet they couldn’t find any trace of the hero nor the demon lord.

it’s as if they’ve vanished like the wind that carries their tragic beautiful story from kingdom to kingdom.

over the years, their tale took different turns. some say the demon lord took on the form of hero’s most beloved. others say the demon lord’s lonely soul trapped him in her pitless dungeon.

her favorite, which she goes back to as she tucks her little ones in their bed, is-

“mommy, mommy, can you tell us about the story of the hero and the demon lord’s love that turned her back into a human?” the boy with his father’s deep brown eyes blinks at her with evergreen wonder.

“blegh, that again? i want to hear about the hero’s journey to defeat the dragon before he went after the demon lord!” says the little girl with rich black hair, as black as hers.

“my children, never grow up,” she sighs, gathering them in a tight embrace until they begin to squirm and complain about how-

“mommy, you do this every night.” the both say in unison.

“don’t blame your mother too much kids,” jeongguk laughs as he enters the room the three are huddled in together, “she just loves you a whole lot.”

“daddy! daddy! is it true? that love changes even the evilest of soul?” the boy sighs, falling into his bed with a dreamy thump.

jeongguk looks at her for the briefest moment. her dark, jet black hair looks magnificent catching the light of the silver moon. she’s smiling at her two younglings like they’re her world.

“you see, no one is truly evil...” and he goes on to tell the tales of the hero’s journey to be reunited with the love of his life.

though the journey has been arduous; though he wonders if life is worth living without her around; they always find their way back to each other.

back home.

he kisses the boy’s forehead and she kisses the girls before they cross each other at the foot of the bed, doing the same for the child they haven’t bid good night yet.

“they grow up so fast,” she’s holding back tears like she usually does.

she’s always had a faint yet strong heart.

he kisses the top of her head and wraps his arms around her, swaying their bodies gently to the tune he’s humming from their childhood.

how long ago that felt.

how long ago the tale of the hero and the demon lord had happened.

how glad they are, to have walked the road less traveled by.

#bts scenarios #bts fics #bts fanfics #jungkook scenarios #jungkook fanfics #jungkook fics #bts fic #jungkook fic #bts fanfic #jungkook fanfic #bts fluff #bts smut #jungkook smut #sonder

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whumpywhumper · 4 years ago

Text

Worse and Worse

Masterpost

Previous: Trouble

TW: Sick character, face mask, delirium, implied reference to past non-con; non-consensual touch (not sexual); forced stripping (not sexual).

This is a special addition as I wrote this as a Secret Santa gift to the one and only @walkingchemicalfire who is an amazing person and has been such a tremendous encouragement almost the entire time I’ve been writing the Markus/Lucien series. Chem is awesome; and, that’s a fact. All hail the president of the Markus Protection Squad!

Tagging list: @misspelledwitch @insanitywishes @imagination1reality0 @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @voidwhump @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @captivity-whump @liliability @muumimafia @fanastywhump @elisabethrosewrites @unsure-but-alive-752 @jeverest00 @texdoeshalo @fanmanga1357-blog @0idril0 @rosesareviolentlyread @quirkykayleetam

Edit: apparently the tags weren’t working, hopefully that fixed it, idk

V***V

Markus woke up uncomfortable, bones aching, his joints tight and stiff. His head throbbed with every dull thump of his heart as it hung heavy in his chest, his mouth dry, tongue thick and cottoned with his shallow breaths through his chapped lips. The tension through his jaw traveled through the pained creases in his face, down his neck and to his back, his spine curled loosely, his arms crossed over his chest and tight in the blankets.

Turning deeper into his pillow, he searched for any kind of comfort in the soft surface, but it didn’t give it. The fabric rubbed against the delicate skin of his face, and the simple movement felt agonizing, the pain of it traveling through his body, the sensitivity present in every millimeter of skin under the blankets. God, and he was so cold, but his limbs were coated in sweat, and when he shifted, the blanket moved, and he shivered as the chilled air of the room kissed the back of his neck.

His body felt like it wanted to shiver, and just keep shivering, but his muscles didn’t have anything to give, the hollow, trembling ache of them almost scary in the weakness that encompassed him. Swallowing past the cottoned dry feeling of his mouth, he tried to take a deeper breath, feeling the drive for more oxygen, but his lungs objected, a rough, barking cough ripping against the back of his throat. Ribs cracking with pain, he gasped raggedly, and moaned, the sound cracking wet and bubbling through his vocal cords.

“Easy, sweetheart, shhhhhh,” a deep, rumbling voice murmured, gentle fingers brushing over his temple and through his hair. The other person’s skin on his was cool, but soothing, and he whined at the touch, the sound cracking in his raw throat as he turned into it. “I know, sweet guy, I know, buddy, shhhhh.”

His next breath felt like sediment in his chest, and he coughed again, the air catching in his throat, expanding in his esophagus as dense clots that he had to struggle to breathe around. When the fit was over, it was like all of the ribbing holding his body inflated just disappeared, and he sank into the softness underneath him, wishing that would feel better against his bruised muscles.

“Is he awake?” someone asked, their voice soft but pitched to carry, the sound of bare feet on tile announcing their location.

“Not really,” the deep voice answered with another careful stroke through Markus’s hair, “what did the doctor say?”

“Do a breathing treatment, keep an eye on his O2, and see if we can get the fever down. Bring him in if he gets any worse.”

“His fever is already over 103, how much worse do they want him to get?” Was the indignant response, and he heard a sigh, the sound of scruff being rubbed in exasperation.

“We’re going to take him if his fever gets any worse, Kin, but I’m going to go and get that oxygen set up, why don’t you get the pulse ox from my bag, okay?”

There was a frustrated hiss, but apparently they agreed, because the sound of feet on tile came back. Markus whimpered when whatever he was laying on moved, his entire body shifting as the weight distribution changed. His head was picked up, a hand sliding under his nape until he was resettled on something softer than before. “Shhh, Markus, I know baby, it’s okay.”

His eyelids fluttered, and he blearily looked up at whoever was talking to him. The room was dim, a distant yellow light casting shadows in the otherwise dark room, and it took him second to make out Kincaid’s frame leaning over him, face barely visible. “Kin’?” he croaked, the word barely a mumble.

The other man smiled, a splash of white teeth, but the expression was worried, and he brushed his hand over Markus’s hair again, his thumb moving gently back and forth over his temple as he knelt by what Markus realized was the couch. “Yeah, buddy, it’s me.”

His eyebrows pressed together as he blinked slowly, and he swallowed hard, wincing at the pain in his throat. “Don’. . . feel good,” he whispered between rasping gasps.

Kincaid’s lips pressed together, but he nodded. “I know you don’t, sweet guy, we’re gonna try and get you feeling better, okay? Do you want some water?”

Markus nodded, licking his dry lips, and closed his eyes when Kincaid moved away. Water sounded fantastic, something to take the pain away from his dry throat. Ridding him of the awful cottoned taste in his mouth.

Without Kincaid to keep him present though, the exhaustion started pulling him down. He was so tired, eyelids gumming together, burning with the need to stay closed. Sleep prickled at his consciousness and he settled deeper, fingers tingling, body relaxing. Something landed softly on his shoulder, and he jumped, a dry, pained noise forming in his throat, eyelids flickering back open.

“Sorry, sweet guy,” Kincaid whispered, “here’s a straw, just small sips, okay?”

Kincaid held up a cup of water, the coolness of a metal straw pressing against Markus’s lips. He sucked on it gratefully, swallowing down the cool water, feeling the cracked tissue of his throat soak up the fluid. When he was finished, he made a small appreciative sound, and released it, breathing shallowly, fighting the urge to cough and clear his throat again. His ribs hurt already, and he didn’t want to cough again.

“Okay, Markus,” Kincaid rumbled, his voice passing through Markus’s chest and soothing him, “I got a pulse ox here that I need to clip to your finger, so I’m gonna need your hand, alright?”

He blinked, nodding slightly in acknowledgement, and clumsily tried to extricate him hand from the knit that he’d managed to tangle his fingers in.

At his grumpy noise, Kincaid chuckled, and peeled back the layers, worming his way into the blanket to free him. “I’m just gonna invade your space a little, sweet guy,” he said, clipping the familiar weight of the pulse ox around his forefinger, wincing in sympathy when Markus started shivering harder as cooler air plundered his warmth. “I know you’re cold, buddy, I’m sorry, but it’s just the fever, alright?”

“Yeah. . . “ he breathed, the word small as tears pricked the corners of his eyes. His next breath shuddered into his chest, and he turned his face into the pillow as a cough erupted, ravaging his throat, crunching his ribs together with an all too familiar ache. “Nnn. . . “

“Fuck, baby,” Kincaid whispered, his big hand settling on Markus’s nape, his thumb rubbing gently against his sensitive skin. “Yeah, we need that breathing treatment. Ben!” he called, voice not particularly loud but definitely worried.

The sick witch didn’t really even hear him, his lungs struggling for air as he hid his eyes in the pillow, shaking. He could hear movement and voices, but he didn’t try to focus on the words anymore, exhausted, just wanting to sleep, more coughs wracking his frame, making him hurt even worse. “. . . really low. . . “

“. . . getting higher?”

“…breathing treat—. . . bath. . .”

“Yeah. . . —up”

Markus was rolled onto his back, and he moaned as the ache in his joints protested, his head bobbling when an arm slid under his shoulders and knees, lifting him into a bridal carry against a broad chest. He wheezed a little, eyelashes fluttering as he shifted, anxiety thrumming through him when he realized he couldn’t move, his arms trapped against his chest.

“Shhhh, I gotcha, baby,” lips pressed against his forehead, and that glimmer of magic spread through him, making him settle slightly as those frantic memories of helplessness receded.

The surface he was placed on was soft, or it should have been, if his miserable body didn’t turn every experience into anguish. His whine as he was settled was met with a matched pair of shushing noises. Another pair of cool hands brushing across his overly hot cheeks. There was an overwhelming kindness there, in those hands, and something deeper, blossoming, something that felt familiar but not

at the same time.

But then there was something cold and wet laid over his throat.

Panic made him thrash, losing the thread of that emotion, with memories of cold tongues laving over his pulse bubbling up and forming into a weak and pitiful struggle that he wouldn’t give up no matter how fruitless. “. . no—“ he managed to croak before coughing again, no, I’m not going back, no you can’t make me, no please, god, no.

He sobbed when he was restrained, the sound broken and cracked from the film it was forced through, more shushing sounds that did nothing to soothe the new panic that was building, re-surging, in his chest. He coughed again and again, searching for air, fear searing through him with dizziness and pain.

“God, fuck—“

“—delirious. . . . temp down—“

“—ere are the dampeners?”

Hands that felt bruising and rough to his overly sensitive body held him down, easily trapping his arms back in a material he couldn’t fight through, and he couldn’t feel anything anymore other than the cold weight over his throat. His sobbing drew tight into wire thin sounds that barely made it to his mouth, his eyes closed so tightly that the tears were only able to seep free to make their way down the sides of his face as his head tipped back in search of a way to worm his way free.

The assault didn’t stop. Strong, calloused hands pulling his arms free and wrapping something around first one wrist then the other, dousing him in cold as he was manhandled and the blanket was stripped from him, stealing whatever warmth he’d managed to capture.

His crying stole the breath from his lungs, and his struggles weakened into panicked wheezes when something was fitted over his nose and mouth, a sweet medicinal taste coating his tongue as hands returned to his skin, lifting his head and tightening a strap around the back of his head. Markus shook his head in weak denial, pleading with small, wet gasps that barely formed syllables let alone words. No, please, I don’t wanna be sick anymore, I wanna go home, please, lemme go home. He lifted his shaking hands, reaching for the mask, but he was intercepted, and, instead, weak fingers clutched a thick wrists, grabbing at clothing as his heels dug into the bed, and he tried to propel himself away.

“Shhhh, it’s okay,” a voice slid through the desperate confusion when his grabbing hands were untangled, pushed back so that they were out of the way, and he shook his head again as thumbs brushed over the apples of his cheeks, around the mask.

“Markus, Markus, look at me.”

He didn’t want to open his eyes, didn’t want to see Lucien or faceless people hovering over him, hurting him, sticking and draining and tearing into him piece by piece as he struggled to put one breath after the other. He coughed, almost retching with the force of it, struggling against the hands on his face.

“Fuck, Bambi,” the voice bit out, a command for attention, “open your eyes and look at me.”

His eyelids slid open reluctantly, a burning itching at his glassy gaze, but he focused sluggishly on the figure in his line of sight. Ben’s face formed from the shadows, and Markus sobbed, reaching for him, hiccuping thick breaths as Ben leaned in, wrapping an arm around the back of his neck and pulling him into his arms. A hand settled into his hair, brushing back the damp strands as Ben shushed him with quick little quelling noises. The wet thing around his throat fell, and Markus flinched with a whimper, clinging to the solid frame that was holding him.

“It’s okay, baby, it’s okay, shhhhhh,” Ben murmured, pressing his lips to Markus’s forehead, rocking him gently, “it’s okay, Bambi, we’ve gotcha, shhhhh, just breathe, okay? Just breathe, like me. In... Out....In...”

His fevered weeping trailed off into pitiful sniffles, his breaths settling the longer he was held, his unconscious struggles softening into minute trembling as he melted into Ben’s arms, against that strong chest as Markus was pulled against the other man.

“That’s it, baby,” Ben praised, murmuring into his hair, continuing to rock him slowly, “that’s it, there ya go, just breathe, let the medicine do its work, okay?” The plastic on his face was adjusted as Markus’s eyelids became too heavy to keep up, but now he could hear the gentle thathump of Ben’s heartbeat as it lulled him into a sense of safety rather than frantic panic, and he didn’t try to shake the thing on his face off again, a lingering tear tickling his clumped eyelashes. “Kincaid’s running a bath for you,” Ben continued, his voice a comforting thunder against Markus’s ear, “and we’re gonna get your temperature down, okay? You don’t have any reason to be scared, we’re taking care of you, Bambi, shhhhh.”

Ben kept up the steady cadence of reassurance that mixed with the soft hiss that filled the room, and Markus slipped down into a limp lethargy that let him skim against the surface. His coughs spaced out slowly, the tight bands around his lungs starting to loosen.

He could hear the deep murmur of another voice join in with Ben’s, that rumble against his eardrum switching rhythm to conversation, but he couldn’t help his hitched breathing, the flutter of eyelashes when he felt the buttons of his flannel being undone, more cold meeting his skin with an icy touch. Nonono, please. . .

The rumbling voices rose with a dangerous edge, but the hands on him didn’t stop.

“—he’s scared, damnit!”

“. . .gotta happen—“

A sob fell from his mouth, wet and desperately confused as he was undressed, but his limbs continued to be maneuvered and his clothes were pulled from him despite his weak struggles. Ben’s voice came back, gentle, pleading to be understood, but Markus couldn’t understand, and he didn’t want this to happen again. Please, Lucien, no, stop, stopstopstop, nooo. . .

“—sorry, ba— “

“—in the water. . .“

Markus almost lost being picked up to his fear, the swooping of his stomach causing a tight swallow behind the mask as his head lolled against a broad shoulder, body limp.

The second his skin touched cold water, however, he became a live wire, arching away with a hoarse cry and a splash as one of his flailing limbs caught the liquid. No matter how hard he struggled, however, his fever weakened frame didn’t have the strength to fight back properly, and he was inexorably lowered into the freezing water.

His hoarse cries turned into weak whimpers as he started shivering so hard that his teeth chattered, but there was no mercy to be found as a second pair of hands joined the first, holding his legs under the water as a big hand was placed over his chest, keeping him from sitting up. Markus tried to weakly pry it off, but ended up just holding on to that thick wrist, his fingers pulling at it with pleading that turned into raspy coughs.

“. . .keep him still, Kin—“

“—not cold—“

“You’re okay—“

“—ght here, ba—“

The hand on the nape of his neck, keeping him from sliding completely into the water, was inconsequential compared to the misery he was suffering, but it was gentle, a thumb brushing back and forth just under his ear in a soothing caress.

He didn’t know how long it took, but, eventually, the teeth chattering shivers settled into weak, body aching trembling, his breaths transforming from tight, hitching gasps into shuddering sighs. The fight to get free, to get out of the water, quieted, and he was peripherally aware of the fact that the hands on his legs went away, that his lungs had opened, and he was able to get more air that didn’t escape into painful coughing.

The low roar of his pulse in his ears separated from the quiet, soothing reverberation of a deep voice in his ear, starting to make sense again as his brain was removed from the broiling pan. “—’s okay, sweet guy, not much longer,” the voice, that Markus was dimly realizing belonged to Kincaid, murmured, “your temperature’s going down, you’re gonna feel so much better soon, I promise.” Sluggishly, Markus forced his eyelids up to half-mast, glassy eyes looking up at Kincaid as he tried to pull himself from the soupy mire of his feverish mind. He could feel the oxygen mask still over his face, taste albuterol and whatever else Ben had mixed together for him, and he wanted out of the water.

Kincaid’s red rimmed, honeyed eyes met his, and the bigger man gave an anemic smile, leaning down so Markus didn’t have to struggle to see him against the bright backdrop of the bathroom light. “Hey, sweet guy, there you are.” The hand over his chest lifted from the water with an unsteady pitter patter of droplets, and Markus slightly leaned into the other man’s touch as those wet knuckles brushed over his cheek.

“Nnn. . .’s cold. . . “ he groaned, swallowing with a dry click, eyes closing again with fatigue.

“I know, but your temp was way too high,” Kincaid murmured, dragging his knuckles down Markus’s cheek again, “just a little longer, and we’ll get you out of the tub and into something comfortable, okay?”

Markus nodded, just barely an incline of his head, realizing that at some point he must have let go of Kincaid because he was fully submerged in the water, his hands floating at his sides, and he was completely dependent on the other witch to keep from drowning in the tub. He didn’t think he would have the energy to pull himself from the water, and that should have scared him, but instead he felt safe with Kincaid holding him out of the water. With the gentle touch to his face.

His brow furrowed when he couldn’t feel Kincaid though, foggy eyes opening back up to look around with confusion.

“What’s wrong, baby?” Kincaid asked, still hovering over him, worry lines prominent over his face.

He took a deep, wheezing breath, trying to get enough oxygen to be heard through the mask, trying to look around more, gaze unfocused, anxiety spiking as he realized he could feel his magic but nothing else. “. . . can’t. . . can’t feel. . . “

“Shhhh,” Kincaid soothed, cupping Markus’s cheek and guiding his gaze back, “we had to put the dampeners on, okay? You were fighting us pretty hard.” His face crumpled a little bit, before firming, his thumb brushing under Markus’s eye. “We didn’t want something to happen on accident, we’ll take ‘em off later, okay?”

The dampeners made sense. Deanna had made them when he was in the hospital, too weak to have free rein of using his magic without hurting himself or other people if he happened to lash out in fear. Too exhausted to protest, Markus breathed out a hum of acknowledgement and closed his eyes as the door to the bathroom opened.

“How’s it going?” Ben whispered as he padded closer.

“Woke up a second ago, seemed a lot clearer. Think it’s about time he got out of the tub?”

“Lemme check his temp first,” Ben answered. A few seconds later something rolled over his forehead to his temple with a small beep, but Markus didn’t care what it was, still shivering in the cool water, hot tears starting to slip down his cheeks again. I want out. . . ’s so cold. . . please, Ben. . .

“Okay, 101.5, that’s a lot better. Thank god, let’s get him out of the tub. Markus, are you awake, baby?”

He opened his eyes again, looking blearily up at Ben, nodding lethargically. “Mmn. . .”

Ben smiled softly at him, leaning over him with his hand splayed over the wall, his t-shirt dark in places with water splashes and hair sticking up in a wild array. “Hey there, Bambi,” he said, “you look a lot better than you did earlier, that’s for sure. We’re gonna get you settled, okay?”

Markus nodded again, trying to gather his limbs to get himself out of the tub. He was shaky now, kitten weak, but he could move. His hands, however, were slippery on the tile, and god, he was sore all over.

“I gotcha,” Kincaid murmured, gathering him up under the shoulders and knees despite the fact that he was going to get sopping wet, “you don’t gotta worry about doing anything, okay?”

Markus whined as he was picked up, the pathetic noise making him feel ashamed no matter how exhausted he was, but the air was like icy sleet against his skin, and he turned his face into the other man’s shoulder. He was sat on the counter, refusing to move his face from the refuge he’d found in Kincaid’s warmth. The oxygen mask was digging into his nose, but he didn’t care. He’d gotten used to the damn things when he was in the hospital, and no matter that the albuterol taste had largely dissipated from the oxygen he was breathing, it still evoked enough memories for him to both be comforted with the fact that he could breathe and freaked out by the fact that he was having to wear one again. The memories of being helpless, unable to take care of himself, yo-yoing with getting sick and getting better, again and again.

He hated this.

Gently, Ben dried him while Kincaid served as a leaning post, keeping him secure with a hand on the back of his neck and back. The towel was soft on his skin, and he would normally be self conscious of the still vivid scars over his torso, over the fact that he was naked and hadn��t removed his own clothes.

But he was too tired to even pretend to give a shit.

Now that the fever had lessened, he was comfortable with these two men helping him, taking care of him. It wasn’t like they hadn’t seen all of him before, helping him with hygiene in the hospital, with physical therapy. It wasn’t like he could really do it himself right then, either.

Markus wrapped his arms around Kincaid’s neck at his gentle prompting, and Kincaid picked him up to his feet, one arm wrapped around his back and the other firmly on his hip. “Lift your foot, bud,” he murmured. They both helped him dress. Ben knelt by his feet and pulled the sweats up his trembling legs until Markus was encased in the warm, soft material, the waistline loose around his hips. When they pulled one of his warm flannels over his arms, Markus realized he was wearing a pair of Ben’s sweats, a pair that he’d commented looked like they were made of clouds.

“Hmm. . . “ he smiled weakly, half-lidded eyes looking at Ben, “y’rem’bered.”

Ben grinned, pushing Markus’s towel dried hair out of his face as Kincaid breathed out a laugh as he bent to scoop Markus off of the floor. “Figured being sick was a good opportunity to see if you thought they were as soft as you’d expected.” “. . .s’soft,” he hummed, turning his head back into the crook of Kincaid’s neck.

“Good, baby, I’m really glad.”

By the time Markus was laid down on something soft, he was mostly asleep in Kincaid’s arms. With the fever down, his body was crying out for rest, for sleep. But when Kincaid moved away, he whimpered, eyes still closed and reaching for him.

“Shhh, sweet guy,” the bigger man soothed, kissing him gently on the forehead, “we’re not going anywhere. I’ll be right back, okay?”

“‘kay. . .” he whispered, breath slowing as he fell closer to sleep, barely aware that a blanket was draped over him. He was safe; they wouldn’t leave him alone.

Markus wasn’t going to be alone again.

The low rumble of Ben and Kincaid’s voices in the apartment soothed him, made him settle, and, calm sleep stealing over him. He was pulled out of it a short time later when a large hand smoothed over his hair, soft lips on his forehead. He made a low sound of acknowledgement, but he didn’t open his eyes, until he heard Ben’s huffed chuckle.

The other man was in a fresh, dry set of lounge clothes, kneeling in front of what he realized was the couch. Kincaid sat on the coffee table, also in fresh, soft clothes, leaning forward with a complicated mix of concern and warm appreciation for the scene in front of him.

“D’you want us to stay with you, Bambi?” Ben asked, voice sotto, his long fingers softly brushing through Markus’s hair.

Blinking was a chore Markus wasn’t interested in, and he let his eyes slide closed, licking his lips and taking a deep breath of that damp, humid air before giving his answer. “....please...”

“Alright, sweetheart,” Ben responded, kissing him on the forehead. Carefully, he and Kincaid settled onto the couch next to him, his head in Ben’s lap and his legs in Kincaid’s. The flash of the tv soaked through his eyelids, the murmur of voices and the occasional smattering of a laugh track pressing into his doze, but Markus didn’t think he’d been this comfortable while sick since he was a child.

The last think he heard, before sleep fully claimed him, was, “Joey doesn’t share food!”

#Markus/Lucien Series #Sickfic #Facemask #delirious #implied reference to past non-con #forced stripping #non-con touching #really just a sweet sickfic #Markus Protection Squad

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tayman001 · 3 years ago

Text

GrimmIchi (post epilogue): Includes some Anime characters and an original character of mine also using Anime terms.

Rukia (barging into Ichigo's room with Orihime and Riruka): Hey, Ichigo!

Orihime: Hey Ichigo!

Riruka: Hey Ichigo!

Ichigo (is hiding under his covers because he was just having a romantic intercourse with Grimmjow who is now hiding in the closet): What is it and stop barging into my room!

Rukia, Orihime and Riruka: But we wanna hang... Why are you under the covers? proceeds to pull the covers off of Ichigo

Ichigo: exposed

Rukia, Orihime and Riruka: Oh were you thinking about one of us?

Orihime: It was probably me right? After all I'm your wife.

Ichigo (being blunt): Who said I married you out of love? Who said I was even straight?

Rukia and Riruka: Oh marriage drama!

Orihime: Oh so you don't care about Kazui? or me?

Ichigo: I care about Kazui as a father and I care about you as a friend.

Orihime: Oh so you have lied to me for 10 FUCKING YEARS YOU ASSHOLE!

Grimmjow (who has been hiding in the closet since they arrives jumps out of the closet covering himself with one of Ichigo's shirts because he couldn't breath in the closet): ICHIGO LOVES ME, OK!

Ichigo: Grimm I was gonna eventually say it, you didn't have to say it for me.

Grimmjow: Well sorry I couldn't breath anymore so I had to jump out of the closet which you forced me to go into when you heard them on the stairs in the middle of sex!

Rukia: OH MY GOD ICHIGO YOU ARE A CHEATER!

Riruka: AND TO THINK I HAD A CRUSH ON YOU FROM THE MOMENT I SAW YOU!

Orihime: THAT IS IT I AM FILING A DIVORCE! OH AND YOU AND GRIMMJOW MIGHT AS WELL RAISE KAZUI SINCE I QUIT! Orihime storms off

Rukia: YEAH I THINK I'M GONNA GO AND NEVER SPEAK WITH YOU AGAIN ASSHOLE BECUASE OF WHAT YOU DID TO ORIHIME LIKE SHE LOVED YOU FOR YEARS YOU FUCKING PRICK!! Rukia leaves while sticking her middle finger and all other variations of such at Ichigo

Riruka: GOOD FUCKING RIDIANCE ASSWIPE! Riruka uses Bringer Light to leave but makes sure to kick both Ichigo and Grimmjow in their faces while she was at it

Kazui arrives at the other side of the door

Kazui: Dad? Mom said you and her have split up and that I can't see her ever again.

Ichigo: I hope you don't hate me for it, Kazui. After all I just lost 3 friends after revealing that I've been gay this hole time and I'd hate to lose you Kazui.

Kazui: Dad, I'm fine with it as long as you don't get mad at me if I stay out past my bedtime.

Ichigo: How about I just make it so you have no bedtime and make it so its your responsibility to not be sleeping in class.

Kazui: Dad its a deal!

The next day

Chad (having returned to Karakura Town since he is on a vacation from his Boxing career): Hey Ichigo, have you seen Noba?

Ichigo: If he isn't at yours and his place he could be at Kisuke's place. But shouldn't you already know this after all he is your boyfriend.

Chad: Oh how stupid of me...

Taylor (who met Ichigo and his friends after the Quincy war when he was traveling from his home in Canada and was fighting a Hollow when Ichigo and his friends showed up): Hi guys, what's up?

Uryū (who isn't at the hospital since its his day off): Not much Tay, but I'm about to go pick up my boyfriend from the airport since he finally decided to move here from your home country. Speaking of which I gotta go. Uryū proceeds to leave

Ichigo: Not good Tay, since Orihime, Rukia and Riruka unfriended me since I revealed the truth about myself and came out of the closet...

Taylor: Well I'm sure they'll come around after all they aren't homophobic since they accept me.

Renji (arrives in Karakura Town and shows up): punches Ichigo in the eyes repeatedly

Taylor: STOP IT RIGHT NOW LIEUTENANT ABARAI!

Renji: NO! AFTER ALL HE DEVERSE THIS!

Taylor (leaving his body): unsheathes his Zanpakutō and points it at Renji Do you really wanna push me any further you do remember what happened last time you did this and I nearly killed you since you were in a coma for 5 weeks and would have died if I didn't administer emergency aid after you collapsed during my attack.

Renji (scared): Fine I'll stop.

Ichigo (bloody and can't speak because of how messed ****up his face is): moans in pain

Taylor (returning to his body): Now you've done it, I better heal him quickly so that Grimmjow doesn't attack you for hurting Ichigo.

Grimmjow (arriving on the scene just as Taylor begins healing Ichigo): WHO THE FUCK HURT MY BOYFRIEND?!

Taylor: Calm down Grimmjow, I'm healing Ichigo as we speak so it shouldn't matter who hurt him since he will be fine in a moment. finishes healing Ichigo See he is all healed.

Ichigo: Thanks Tay. Renji... I take it you punched me because you hate me as much as Rukia and that was your "we are no longer friends" statement... Ichigo begins to walk away since he feels like he is losing friends for finally coming out of the closet

Renji: Hey wait, Ichigo... Its not like that and Rukia doesn't hate you she is just disappointed that you lied to Orihime and the reason why I punched you was because I'm kinda ticked that you lied to all of us for years.

Taylor (doesn't think he should say anything but does anyway): I knew all along but I never said anything because it was Ichigo's job and also it wouldn't have been right of me to reveal anything about him.

Renji: OH SO YOU TOLD TAYLOR ONLY HUH!

Ichigo: ...

Taylor: Hey Lieutenant Abarai, I never said he told me I simply clued into it on my own so don't go assuming anything.

Renji: Taylor we are friends so stop using my rank and last name.

Taylor: If I were a Substitute Soul Reaper like Ichigo, I would be using your first name but I am actually a full member of the 13 Court Guard Squads and I happen to be unseated so I have to address you as such Lieutenant Abarai. But because of that I have to address your captain as Captain B Kuchiki and your wife as Captain R Kuchiki because if I just refer to them both as Captain Kuchiki I get confused and if they are both there and I am looking at neither one of them they would also probably be confused.

Renji: OK I get it.

Rukia, Orihime and Riruka appear

Rukia (ignoring Ichigo): Renji have you seen Ichika?

Renji: No, I thought she was with you.

Orihime (ignoring Ichigo): Why am I even here proceeds to leave

Riruka (ignoring Ichigo): I might as well go get myself some donuts since I'm in this part of town. proceeds to leave)

Rukia (still ignoring Ichigo): Then where the heck is she?

Meanwhile

Ichika (looking for Kazui): Where is that guy?

Kazui (jumps out from behind Ichika): Are you looking for me?

Ichika (visibly scared): AHHH! Don't do that Kazui!

Meanwhile

Chad (looking for Noba): Noba, where are you?

Noba (in his new Gigai that Taylor had made for him a month after he first appeared but looking like he was holding about 4 people in his stomach due to his power): Oh, Hi babe. burps oops I think I need to release these people. proceeds to release them by opening up a portal

Chad (visibly aroused): I see you decided to works as a Taxi using that Gigai Taylor made for you.

Noba: Yeah, though I have to be careful with my passengers otherwise they get digested.

Chad: Well you can always digest the enemy, am I right?

Noba: Haha, Yeah that is true.

Meanwhile

Uryū (at the airport): He should be here by now.

Brandan's plane touches down

Uryū: Oh his place was just late.

Brandan runs over to Uryū's car

Brandan: Long time no see Uryūbabe.

Uryū: Yeah Brany, I missed seeing you in person too. Uryū leans towards Brandan for a kiss

Brandan: Brandan leans towards Uryū to complete the kiss

Meanwhile

Orihime and Riruka are having some donuts

Orihime: Do you think we were too harsh on him?

Riruka: is finishing her current donut

Orihime:

Riruka: Yeah, didn't you always say he wants to protect everyone.

Orihime: Yeah, which makes me think that our reactions are just hurting him.

Riruka: If so lets go reject the damage.

Orihime: ... Was that a pun on my Shun Shun Rika?

Riruka: Yeah.

Orihime: Good pun.

Meanwhile

Rukia (thinking): I should apologize to Ichigo for my reaction.

Rukia: Ichigo, I might be worried about Ichika but I'm also sorry for my reaction yesterday and I apologize.

*Orihime and Riruka show up*

Orihime and Riruka (simultaneously): We're sorry as well.

Orihime: But I am not sorry for the divorce since it actually allows you and Grimmjow to get married.

Taylor (talking to Ichigo): See Ichigo, I told you that they'd eventually come around.

silence

Taylor: Ichigo?

silence

Taylor: Guys! Ichigo is missing!

Chad, Noba Uryū, Brandan, Kazui and Ichika show up after hearing this

Grimmjow, Renji, Rukia, Chad, Noba, Uryū, Brandan, Kazui, Ichika, Orihime and Riruka (visibly shocked and worried): WHERE IS HE!

Grimmjow (visibly depressed thinking the worst case scenario): Please don't be dead, please don't be dead, please don't jump, please don't jump...

Meanwhile

Nelliel shows up by falling from the sky but unlike during the Quincy war she is in her adult form

Nel: I sense a depressed Ichigo. proceeds to run towards the depressed Ichigo

Ichigo (depressed): Why do I even bother... I know Grimmjow loves me and cares about me and I know Taylor, Uryū, Brandan, Chad and Noba have always supported me but I can't bare the thought of losing friends... looks down from the steep cliff I think its about time to just end it all... prepares to take a step forward

Nel (concerned): Itsygo, don't jump!

Ichigo: Nel? Wait why did you just call me Itsygo? Since you only called me that a couple times and only in your child form which you aren't in right now.

Nel: I did that because I knew it would get your attention Ichigo.

Ichigo: takes a step forwards

Nel: blocks Ichigo from falling off the cliff by using Sonído Don't do it after all I know Grimmjow will follow suit if you do end up doing it.

Ichigo: Wait you know?

Nel: I've know for quite a few years that you and Grimmjow love each other especially during that fight with him that I saw.

Meanwhile

Grimmjow: That bitch is trying to take Ichigo from me! Grimmjow runs off

Taylor: We better follow him!

Rukia, Orihime, Chad, Uryū, Renji, Noba, Riruka, Kazui, Ichika, Brandan: Right!

Meanwhile

Ichigo (starting to cheer up): Rukia, Orihime and Riruka unfriended me. starts crying

Nel: I know for a fact that they will eventually come around.

Ichigo (still crying): Taylor said that same thing but than they showed up and ignored me... Nel (wiping away Ichigo's tears): Just give them some time after all you can't expect them to come to terms with reality so quickly since they are girls and this is coming from a girl.

Ichigo (cheered up and no longer crying): OK, your right.

Grimmjow and the others show up

Grimmjow: Get away from my boyfriend you bitch!

Nel: Listen idiot I'm not here to take your boyfriend from you I came because I sensed that Ichigo was gonna kill himself so I came and stopped him since its not like you can talk about feelings very much unless you are in the middle of a fight and don't think I didn't over hear you and Ichigo flirting during that fight back before Aizen was defeated and how you asked him out near the end and he said yes as he stabbed you which is when the two of you started dating.

Everyone (except Ichigo, Grimmjow and Taylor): speechless

Taylor: You left before you heard Rukia, Orihime and Riruka apologize for their initial reactions.

Rukia, Orihime and Riruka: We are sorry Ichigo for acting that way.

Orihime: Though I am divorcing you...

Ichigo: But...

Orihime: No buts. I'm divorcing you so you can marry the one you love.

Taylor (has something for Ichigo): whispers Ichigo. hands something to Ichigo

Ichigo: grabs what Taylor is handing him

Taylor (has something for Grimmjow): whispers Grimmjow. hands something to Grimmjow

Grimmjow: grabs what Taylor is handing him

Orihime: OK the divorce is finalized now.

Ichigo: kneels before Grimmjow Grimm will you, uh marry me? holds out ring

Grimmjow: kneels before Ichigo Ichi will you, um marry me? holds out ring

Everyone (except Taylor, Ichigo and Grimmjow): Taylor why'd you give them both a ring.

Taylor: Excuse me you two but since Ichigo proposed first that is the official proposal so Grimmjow you need to wait until the wedding to use that ring since you are the only one needing to give a ring at that point.

Ichigo and Grimmjow: Why can't we get married right here, right now?

Taylor: How'd you know I can officiate weddings?

Ichigo and Grimmjow: Lucky guess.

Taylor: OK but everyone needs the correct outfits...

Everyone (except Taylor): rips off their close to reveal formal wear underneath

Taylor: Please tell me that you don't just happen to leave the house like that and that it was just a coincidence.

Everyone (except Taylor): ummmmm... coincidence yeah, it was a coincidence.

Taylor (realizes that just said that to try and not sound weird): You are all weird but so am I so who cares. flash steps away and returns wearing a suit OK is everyone ready?

Everyone (except Taylor): Yep!

Taylor: OK get into the correct positions before we start.

Everyone does just that

Taylor: OK before you ask I am using my phone to get this since I never write my own Officiate speeches since I don't officiate for just anyone so I never write my own speech. OK lets begin.

Welcome family, friends and loved ones. We are gathered today to celebrate the marriage of Ichigo and Grimmjow. We are all here to support this commitment of love and to share the joy of Ichigo and Grimmjow as they choose to spend their lives together.

Ichigo and Grimmjow, your marriage will be a lifelong promise to love, respect, trust and honor each other through the good, the bad and the unexpected. This marriage represents your commitment to support one another as individual beings but share your joys, sorrows, and dreams as one. A strong bond works in unison not only to nurture the best parts of your personalities, but to understand each other’s differences and flaws. You are committing to learn how to grow alongside one another while remembering to keep an open mind throughout your journey.

Today, you gain an equal partner that will be your confidant, your defender and your motivator through all of your aspirations and goals. You will celebrate each accomplishment, provide peace through every setback and most importantly, give love in life’s both big and little moments. You are creating a new home where love, trust and loyalty are the foundation. No matter what the future throws your way, rely on those foundations and you shall only see your bond grow stronger and your souls grow wiser.

Marriage is not easy, but from what I’ve seen in the two of you, I know your relationship will be an example to follow. You show care and compassion, you trust one another and most importantly, you are each other’s best friend.

Now Ichigo and Grimmjow, please join hands and face each other.

Ichigo, do you take Grimmjow to be your husband?

Ichigo: I do!

Taylor: Ichigo, please repeat after me.

“I Ichigo, take you Grimmjow as you are, I promise from this day forward to love and treasure you for the rest of my life, to be your rock when things get tough, to be your number one fan in all of your accomplishments, to be grateful for all that you are and for choosing to spend the rest of your journey with me, to be patient and kind, to build a safe and loving home with you, to fill your days with laughter, to inspire you to pursue your dreams, to be faithful, to grow old with you and live a fulfilled life. This I promise you.”

Ichigo: I Ichigo, take you Grimmjow as you are, I promise from this day forward to love and treasure you for the rest of my life, to be your rock when things get tough, to be your number one fan in all of your accomplishments, to be grateful for all that you are and for choosing to spend the rest of your journey with me, to be patient and kind, to build a safe and loving home with you, to fill your days with laughter, to inspire you to pursue your dreams, to be faithful, to grow old with you and live a fulfilled life. This I promise you.

Taylor: Grimmjow, do you take Ichigo to be your husband?

Grimmjow: I do!

Taylor: Grimmjow, please repeat after me.

“I Grimmjow, take you Ichigo as you are, I promise from this day forward to love and treasure you for the rest of my life, to be your rock when things get tough, to be your number one fan in all of your accomplishments, to be grateful for all that you are and for choosing to spend the rest of your journey with me, to be patient and kind, to build a safe and loving home with you, to fill your days with laughter, to inspire you to pursue your dreams, to be faithful, to grow old with you and live a fulfilled life. This I promise you.” Grimmjow: I Grimmjow, take you Ichigo as you are, I promise from this day forward to love and treasure you for the rest of my life, to be your rock when things get tough, to be your number one fan in all of your accomplishments, to be grateful for all that you are and for choosing to spend the rest of your journey with me, to be patient and kind, to build a safe and loving home with you, to fill your days with laughter, to inspire you to pursue your dreams, to be faithful, to grow old with you and live a fulfilled life. This I promise you.

Taylor: Your rings represent this promise to one another. The never-ending circle is a symbol of an infinite, unbreakable love.

Ichigo, take this ring and place it on Grimmjow‘s finger but you have already done that when you proposed to him earlier, so repeat after me:

“Grimmjow, I give you this ring as a symbol of the promise I made to you today.”

Ichigo: Grimmjow, I give you this ring as a symbol of the promise I made to you today.

Taylor: Grimmjow, take that ring I gave you earlier and place it on Ichigo‘s finger. Repeat after me: “Ichigo, I give you this ring as a symbol of the promise I made to you today.” Grimmjow: Ichigo, I give you this ring as a symbol of the promise I made to you today. Taylor: Having pledged your love and promise to one another today in front of all of your friends and family and by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and husband.

You may now kiss.

Congratulations! Friends and family, it is my honor to introduce to you; Mr. and Mr. ... I've got no clue what you're gonna do if there is gonna be a name change or not.

Ichigo and Grimmjow: kissing

A month later

Grimmjow (wakes up abruptly in the middle of the night): throws up in the toilet

Ichigo: Grimm what's wrong?

Grimmjow: No clue... throws up into toilet again ...I just woke up feeling nauseous... throws up again ...and I know it has nothing to do with what I ate.

Ichigo: I'll call Uryū and Taylor... I just hope they are willing to come over at 2 in the morning.

An hour later

Uryū: What did you call me for Ichigo?

Ichigo: We needed to call a doctor so we called you.

Taylor: And why was I called?

Ichigo: Because you're a scientist so you might know what's going on if Uryū doesn't.

Uryū: Well... It turns out you are pregnant Grimmjow.

Grimmjow (visibly shocked): Wait how am I pregnant?

Taylor: I can explain those rings allow Ichigo to impregnate you and you to be impregnated by him.

Ichigo: AND YOU COULDN'T HAVE WARNED US!

Taylor: I did after I finished officiating but my guess is you were too full on cake and Grimmjow was too drunk.

Ichigo: ARE YOU TRYING TO SAY I'VE GOTTEN FAT AND GRIMMJOW IS AN ALCOHOLIC?

Taylor: If I were to say you've gotten fat I'd have said it as a compliment since why would I insult you for getting fat when I myself WANT to be fat. As for Grimmjow I wouldn't put it past him but even so I wouldn't insult him for being one especially if its his choice to be an alcoholic.

Ichigo: So what was your point then?

Taylor: My point is that because you had eaten so much cake you were in a food coma and with Grimmjow being so drunk he probably couldn't hear anything I was saying.

Ichigo: Oh...

Kazui: Does that mean I get a little half brother?

Taylor: Oh so you clued in that men can only give birth to males, Kazui?

Kazui: Yep and it was fairly obvious.

To Be Continued

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rukia-kuchiki-divided · 4 years ago

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Continued from [[X]] @dragonsdance (under readmore for length)

It came out of nowhere, without warning or sound. Rukia had been patrolling Karakura Town on her own, Ichigo at home studying for his college entrance exams and the rest of the normal gang involved with their own activities. A few low level hollow had appeared as well as a few souls in need of a konso but nothing out of the ordinary.

So it happened that Rukia was lost in thought when she felt the strange energy appear. Her violet eyes scanned the skies, fingers already gripping the hilt of her zanpakuto. Once she was certain of the general vicinity, her body moved easily into a shunpo, closing the distance. She could feel Ichigo already out of his body, moving with her from his end of town toward the energy.

Rukia arrived first, stopping in midair to stare. The creature - for there was no other name for it - was strange looking. It’s whole body was a bright pink color, the same color of bubble gum and with the same manner of elasticity. The clothes were dated and it wore no mask. People around it seemed to react to it, moving away and screaming in fear. Black eyes danced around, taking in the scenery and seeming to relish in the chaos it caused as evidenced by the villainous smirk.

What seemed like an eternity but was only mere moments passed before those black eyes found Rukia’s violet ones staring back. Her own brow furrowed and she stepped into a back stance, unsheathing her zanpakuto and releasing it instantly. This only seemed to amuse the pink creature as it tilted it’s head, the grin only widening and causing a shiver to run down Rukia’s spine.

Ichigo’s almost here. I just have to keep it’s attention until he’s here and then we can tag team this. It’s not a hollow, the energy is wrong and there is no mask. Could it be some kind of evolved espada? Another one of Aizen’s experiments? Or something else entirely?

Her internal dialogue was interrupted abruptly by the arrival of not Ichigo but Goku! She felt his energy disappear and reappear only a few feet in front of her, his body between herself and the pink creature in a protective stance. Ichigo arrived a few seconds later, zanpakuto already drawn and ready.

At Goku’s request that he fight this enemy while they cleared the people below, Rukia moved fast with Ichigo, working to set a barrier around the area and making sure she felt no living souls in the vicinity. Surges of energy filled the air around them, electrifying it as several captains from the soul society arrived to help handle the threat and clear the area. Her own brother significantly reinforcing her barriers. It was during this moment of distraction that she heard Goku’s scream. Ichigo moved instantly interrupting the what appeared to be fatal blow as Goku fell to the ground.

“GOKU!” Rukia shouted, flashstepping to his side and letting her reiatsu flow to analyze the extent of his energy. It was pretty bad with significant internal injuries. He was drained of energy and his body was already shifting out of the stronger form he had taken while fighting. She shushed him when the saiyan called her name, pushing him back as he attempted to stand. There was a deep open wound were Goku’s bone had broken, puncturing through his skin. Her brow furrowed deeply as she assessed the injury.

“It’s going to hurt for a moment, but I’ll need to clean the wound. ” Rukia began delicately using her kido to staunch the bleeding, calling for a med kit as one was tossed her way without question. She opened the disinfectant, grimacing as she looked into Goku’s eyes in sympathy. “Stay still.” She murmured before pouring the liquid over the affected area, hearing the hiss as the liquid interacted with her reiatsu to remove any infection.

It was then that she looked up and saw the monster had paused in his fight with Ichigo, munching on what looked like ... pocky? Confused, Rukia’s violet eyes narrowed as she honed in her senses, gasping in shock as she felt the familiar sensation of low level human reiatsu being snuffed out.

“That... is not possible!” But a single look at the horrified expression on Goku’s face told her otherwise. Her hands balled into fists, shaking with rage at the indignation. Those innocent human lives lost to the greed of such a monster.

“How? Just what the hell is this creature?”

Rukia stood, handing the med kit to a member of squad 4 who happened to be nearby. “Take care of him. Don’t let him get up regardless of what he says.” Her violet eyes usually warm were ice as she began to gather her own energy for an attack.

#rukiakuchikidivided #❊ 悟 Goku - The Saiyan Warrior and Snow Princess 悟 ❊#❊Rukia - Main Verse❊#tw long post #~so this got very long...#~i'm so sorry #~and Rukia is pissed #~lol

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shimmersing · 5 years ago

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Chapter Four: In My Arms

“I feel like we keep arriving late to the party,” Erithon said dryly to Jorgan and Dorne as they entered the Thul warehouse uncontested.

A young man dressed in Organa colors ordered a group of beaten, grumbling Thul guards into a makeshift holding cell at the back of the building. The same guards that Erithon and the rest of Havoc Squad had expected to be battling themselves, but apparently someone had beaten them to the punch… literally.

The man tapped a code into the keypad with relish, and the forcefield lit up the doorway, sealing the indignant guards inside. He grinned and turned to Erithon, rushing over with a look of awe. “You’re with the Republic?”

“Havoc Squad. You’re with House Organa?”

“Brant Sonn, sir,” he replied with a bow.

Definitely from here, Erithon thought. “Wait…” Erithon frowned at the young man, recalling the briefing. “Brant Sonn? One of the hostages?”

“Yes!” He answered with a shade too much enthusiasm, pausing to compose the rest of his answer thoughtfully. “The Wolf Baron freed us when the diplomat turned herself in. We came for her as soon as we’d heard what happened. We couldn’t allow a friend of our house to remain under Thul’s hold, not after she sacrificed herself for us.”

“Was anyone hurt? I mean, besides…” Erithon nodded toward the bruised Thul guards, ensconced safely behind the forcefield.

Brant grinned. “No, sir, but the diplomat was sedated, we think. She’s a Jedi, so we-”

Erithon grasped the other man’s shoulder. “The Jedi. Where is she?”

“There, with the Duke, still in the other cell.” Brant pointed toward the other storage area where Charle Organa paced restlessly behind a slicer working at unlocking the forcefield. Beyond the crackling barrier, Erithon could just make out a human form.

“Thanks. Jorgan, see if there’s anything else we can do for Brant here. Dorne, with me.” He clapped Brant gratefully on the shoulder before turning toward the duke.

Organa looked up as they approached, his surprise lasting only a moment before being replaced by relief and gratitude. “Lieutenant! Please, tell me you’ve brought medical supplies.”

“Yes, sir,” Erithon answered, just as the slicer made one final adjustment. The glowing shield dropped, allowing Erithon, Elara, and Duke Organa to finally reach the unconscious occupant.

The prone figure was swathed in neutral shades, and a glimpse of dusky blonde hair peeked out from under the familiar hood. No, no, this isn’t what I meant when I-

The sickening lurch in his stomach almost sent Erithon to the dusty floor of the warehouse.

Aitahea.

“What in blazes happened?” Erithon demanded as he rushed to her side and yanked off his gloves. Elara dropped to the floor beside them, digging through her kit.

Duke Organa scowled furiously while he hovered. “They drugged her. Some kind of gas. Barbarians. Can you wake her?”

It looked like she’d been tossed unceremoniously over a shipping container after the drug had taken effect; the very thought set Erithon’s teeth grinding. He scooped the unconscious Jedi into a sitting position, pushing her hood back and shifting gently to let her head rest on his armored shoulder. She was white as the snow outside, lashes stark black against hollow cheeks. Biting back a particularly vicious curse, he pressed his fingers to her neck and exhaled sharply when he found a steady pulse. Elara Dorne finished her search and pulled out a handful of stims, efficiently scanning the labels before passing one to the waiting lieutenant.

“Antidote for general sedatives, sir.”

Erithon wasted no time in pressing the stim to Aitahea’s throat, watching anxiously as the medication worked its way into her system. He let the empty cartridge fall away, cradling her cheek in one hand as he waited for a response. “Come on, Jedi.”

The trooper held his breath while she stirred. Her eyelids fluttered, then opened, green eyes clouded as she focused on his face.

“Oh. Lieutenant.” A slow blink drew her eyes closed for a long moment before opening again to reveal a dreamy smile. “I was just thinking of you.”

He broke into a wide grin, elated and undeniably pleased. “If we keep meeting like this, Master Jedi, I might start getting ideas.” He closed his arms around her, unable to hide the deep sigh of relief that rushed out. “How is it you end up in my arms every time we meet?”

She gave a soft laugh, for a fleeting moment nothing more than a pretty girl amused by his witty banter. She lifted a hand and tapped gently on his chest plate. “I received your message, but I haven’t had a chance to watch it.”

Now it was his turn to laugh, only to be interrupted by the understated sound of Elara clearing her throat. Erithon started, realizing he still had Aitahea cradled close, his thumb idly brushing the curve of her cheek. Erithon spared a glance toward Duke Organa, who had watched their reunion unfold with a charmed expression. Erithon self-consciously dropped his hand from Aitahea’s face and hastened to help her sit upright while Elara thoughtfully offered the Jedi water. Aitahea gave the other woman a grateful smile, then looked toward Duke Organa.

“Your Grace. Are the hostages safe?”

“Indeed, and once free they immediately came to your aid.”

Aitahea blinked, brow knitting. “They came… for me?”

“Without hesitation.”

Aitahea nodded solemnly, thoughts elsewhere for a beat before finally lifting the container of water to her lips with trembling hands. Erithon hovered protectively at her side, frowning when he realized her already-slight form was thinner than on Taris. It had been months, of course, but… what had happened since then?

Elara leaned closer, peering carefully at Aitahea. “Master Jedi, I’m Sergeant Elara Dorne.” The sergeant glanced briefly at Erithon before continuing her queries. “How do you feel? Any pain or discomfort?”

“Woozy, Sergeant, but I expect that’s normal, thank you. A vast improvement from a few minutes ago. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

“Lieutenant,” Aitahea turned back to Erithon, eyes clearer than they’d been moments ago, color returning to her cheeks. “What are you doing here?”

“We’re the cavalry, of course.” Erithon jerked a thumb back over one shoulder. “Been helping the Duke out with his troublesome neighbors. We were supposed to rescue some diplomat,” he intoned, playing at charming nonchalance. Aitahea’s lips curled in a smile again. “But it seems the folks you helped felt they needed to return the favor first. We just brought the medkit.”

“Oh!” Aitahea marveled, eyes aglow, as she pieced together the last few hours. “It was you who took back the Spears!”

“Guilty as charged, Master Jedi,” Erithon replied, basking in her attention. She’d been in his thoughts so often. He’d found himself scanning through his messages for her name every time he’d had a reasonable signal. There’d been no more dreams of her since Taris – at least not of them as children again, anyway – and this wasn’t the exact reunion he’d hoped for, but having her whole and close was better than he could have asked, even under these unusual circumstances.

Then again, this was starting to look more like the norm for them.

“It seems you two know each other.” Organa’s eyes danced, amusement lightening his knowing tone.

Aitahea’s eyes flickered from the duke to Erithon and back, her smile shy but bright. “On Taris, Your Grace, we retrieved impossibly valuable data from the wreck of an old starship. The mission was a great success.”

“I beg your pardon, Master Jedi, but I think it’s advisable that you see a medic once we’ve returned to Organa Castle,” Elara said, gathering up the few items she’d removed from her pack. “Otherwise your condition seems to be improving rapidly.”

Aitahea nodded, her attention shifting past the sergeant to where Qyzen Fess and Aric Jorgan approached, led by Brant Sonn. “Good. Because I don’t think we’re finished here.”

Erithon observed the scowl on Jorgan’s face before turning back to Aitahea, rising slowly but steadily. “Are you sure you’re up for that? You were out cold just a few minutes ago.”

“Whatever your companion administered is working quickly, and I have the Force with me, as always. All will be well.” Aitahea studied him, and he couldn’t help shuffling sheepishly under her reserved scrutiny. “I am… so pleased to see you, Lieutenant.”

He shrugged casually, but a gratifying warmth had settled quite firmly in his chest. “Erithon is fine, you know, if it’s okay with you.”

Her lips parted, the shade of a smile appearing before she looked toward their waiting allies.

“We have a problem,” Jorgan said. “The Thul army is on the march again. General?” He lifted a holocomm, the bluish projection brightening the dark corner of the warehouse as General Kashim appeared.

“It is good to see you alive. Matters are moving quickly, and House Organa is in dire need of reinforcement.”

“What can we do to help?” Aitahea asked, steadying herself with a hand on Erithon’s arm. He found himself biting his lip to avoid interrupting the Jedi with an admonishment for offering her assistance, knowing full well – after a moment of careful consideration – that she knew her boundaries better than he would. As much as he wanted her out of harm’s way, that wasn’t in the cards for either of them.

“The Empire has sent several Sith apprentices to support the Thul army. Organa soldiers are proving no match.”

Those gathered murmured their concern, but Aitahea looked positively alarmed. “Sith, even apprentices, are not to be trifled with.”

“We’re used to fighting blasters,” Brant Sonn added with a deep frown. “Not the Force.”

Kashim continued over the holo. “So long as the Sith are in place, we cannot win this battle. You must make a full assault on their war camps immediately.”

Aitahea dropped her head, resignation darkening her words. “It seems peace must wait.”

“This is the greatest challenge House Organa has faced. If we win, Thul will be repelled, and we can go on the offensive.”

“Aitahea, I can hardly ask you to risk yourself once again, but it seems I have no choice,” Charle Organa added, shaking his head in disbelief. “If we lose, House Organa will be forced into exile.”

Aitahea drew a sharp breath at his admission, fingers tightening on Erithon’s armored wrist. “Your Grace, I will not allow that to happen.”

Organa smiled tightly. “I expected nothing less from a paladin of my house. And you have strong, courageous allies.” The duke nodded at Erithon, who returned a practiced salute.

“May the Force be with you,” General Kashim added as his final word, and the comm went dark.

The Jedi lifted her eyes to Erithon’s again, clear and determined. “We have work to do.”

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guiltyfandomtrashwonderland · 5 years ago

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MadaSaku WeekEND 2019 Submission

Title: Lost Things

@madasakuweek

Prompt: Soulmates AU

Warnings: it’s terrible lol (will clean up and post to ao3 later as full story and not a mere oneshot)

EDIT: Guess I should provide a link to the ao3 account.

There is no victory without sacrifice. Ancient words passed from clan to clan, tribe to tribe, ninja to ninja. Words meant to provide solace to those left behind, of no comfort for those on the receiving end of fate’s whetted axe.

Kaguya is wily, but in the end she is no match for the combination seal laid on her by Naruto and Sasuke. Sakura watches, her eyes never leaving Kaguya’s face, for a medic is every battle’s sentinel. While the boys’ eyes lock squarely on the threads of the seal that instantly begins wrapping around Kaguya’s body, Sakura looks into the woman’s face, and sees her smile wickedly before crumbling away into dust.

A few moments later, Sakura understands why.

The lines of the seal, hungry, fail to dissipate with the rabbit princess, and rush to Sakura, devouring her from the feet up. She can’t move, and time seems to pass slowly as the boys turn to look at her with twin looks of horror on their faces. This isn’t how it’s supposed to work, their eyes say, and then she vanishes into darkness.

It isn’t like passing out; it’s more like traversing a cave into its deepest point and turning off the light. Absolute darkness, so pure that she begins to hallucinate, her brain showing her images of what it thinks should be there in the absence of light to draw in.

There is no victory without sacrifice. And the success of the seal, it seems, requires such a sacrifice. Did it choose her? Or was she simply the closest one, caught up in the action by act of chance? She doesn’t know which feels worse.

Sakura strains against the darkness, feeling herself able to move again, but without earth, sky, anything, there is nowhere to move to, nothing to press against. She floats in an empty space not unlike the other worlds contained within some Mangekyo. It feels like eons pass, and she flexes her chakra here and there to remind herself she still exists, has a physical form, isn’t caught in a genjutsu.

And then, movement. A force grabs her entire body and pulls at the navel, drawing her in some sightless direction. She tries to fight, to struggle, but how can you fight against something that isn’t there? With nothing around her for comparison, she has no idea where she is going or how fast, but the way her hair spreads out behind her says forward and too damn fast.

And then, a pinprick of light. It grows larger faster than she can blink until the brightness is her whole world, and then she feels a sucking sensation as the force pulls her through what her body tells her is some kind of opening. A resting place for the dead? A final destination for all those sacrificed to the great causes of men?

But she isn’t the only sacrifice the seal will demand today.

She feels the severing of her soul bond like the snap of a bone when she passes through the void, and only then does she scream.

She wakes up to hard ground, a sharp voice, and an even sharper blade pressed against her throat. Her entire chakra network burns with the strain of use, and she feels a hollowness in her chakra reserves she hasn’t known in years.

“You are trespassing on the lands of the Uchiha Clan. State your name and purpose, stranger, or die.”

Trees. A forest. Scraggly plants clinging to the earth. Wet leaf smell wafts over her face with a gentle breeze, and sudden nostalgia wrenches her insides with incredible pressure. Home?

When she doesn’t answer, the flat of the blade presses against her throat harder.

“Who are you?”

She reaches out for her connection with her soulmate, a reflexive habit whenever she became anxious or hurt or scared. The nothingness from inside the void answers her, and Sakura despairs because she has never felt such emptiness. Was Ino dead? Am I dead?

“Sakura.” Her voice creaks like it hasn’t been used in a thousand years. “My name is Sakura.”

“Your purpose.”

Tsunade-sama, what is a medic’s purpose?

To live, to survive, to heal, to fix, to defend. And always to move forward, to advance the field.

Her purpose. Too deep of a question to pose to a lost woman with depleted chakra in a familiar forest surrounded by unfamiliar dark-haired men. But no, some of them almost looked like--?

“I’m a healer,” she says, hoping that if nothing else, they’d at least think her too valuable to kill.

She’s right.

Her eyes and mind clear a bit and now she can see. There are three of them surrounding her in a protective triangle, weapons all drawn and pointed in. They all have dark hair and Sharingan eyes, and from their stances alone Sakura knows to be cautious. These are shinobi, and high ranking ones, dangerous enough to wield stolen Sharingan eyes.

She reaches for the chakra in her Byakugo and doesn’t feel surprised when she comes up empty. At the end of the battle with Kaguya her seal hadn’t been depleted, but close, and the...journey to wherever she was now had apparently taken the rest. She isn’t helpless, but she’s close enough.

“We should take her to the council, my Lord” one of the men says. “Her sealwork alone will be invaluable in the fight against Uzushio. The mark on her forehead speaks of master’s work, and if she created the seals that transported her here…”

The man who demanded her identity, the one with the look of a leader about him, nods. “I agree. Fuyuki. Hirokazu.”

The two subordinates respond to his unspoken command and each form seals, and Sakura feels a sensation like a cold hand reaching down her back. She blacks out.

When she wakes up, she finds herself clean and reclothed in a cell. There is no space for embarrassment at the thought of being stripped and washed while unconscious. There are no bruises on her skin and no ache between her legs, so she knows that at least she wasn’t violated after being put under. Small mercies.

Sakura pushes the worry aside in favor of standing up to assess her surroundings, hoping the simple act of accounting for space will help center her racing thoughts.

The cell is small, maybe two by two meters, and made of stone. There is no window, so she doesn’t know what time of day it is, or even where she is in orientation to the earth. From the coolness of the air, she guesses underground.

The bars in front of her are deceptively simple--too far apart, too rusted--and so she hovers a hand over them to test her suspicions. A subtle heat emanates from them, and she knows that if she touched them the hidden seals would unleash burns on her skin that would go down to the bone everywhere she made contact. Probably she would be burned if she tried to slip a hand between them, as well.

The walls have a similar fire-based chakra effect, but only that of an uncomfortable heat, to warn her to keep her distance. If she breaks through them, she expects they will burn her also. An old-fashioned technique to keep a person imprisoned, when simple chakra-dampening seals both keep the prisoner from escaping and eliminate the danger of their attacking captors.

Her hand tingles uncomfortably on the exact point where her soul mark rests and she can’t bear to look down at it, already knowing what she’ll see when she does, but it will have to happen sooner or later. She looks.

On her palm there is nothing, no misshapen mark that matches Ino’s in every way and that once allowed her to feel Ino’s presence when the other girl was--is nearby. Looking at her palm feels a little like dying, and so Sakura closes her eyes and breathes deep. If she just keeps breathing, eventually she will calm down. Her knees decide to give out a bit but Sakura follows them down as gracefully as she can and hovers over the ground on hands and knees, continuing to breathe.

If she just breathes, everything will be okay.

Breathing doesn’t work for shit, and five minutes later she throws herself back on the futon and sobs and sobs, clutching her naked fist to her chest in denial.

It had to have been the work of Kaguya. That bitch. That smile.

Had Kaguya manipulated the seals, or had she just known what was coming? In the split second that they’d wrapped around her and her vision had gone dark, Sakura caught a few characters on the winding inky threads: time, fling, obliterate, soul. Now, lying in the fetal position in a cage with her chakra still gone, Sakura thinks of the worst: those men had had Sharingan.

In her exhausted state, she assumed the only thing she reasonably could, which was based on the information she knew: nearly all Uchiha-born Sharingan users had perished, so the eyes those men used had to have been stolen. Now, she isn’t so sure.

Where am I?

Well, she certainly won’t find out with her head between her knees like this. Sakura stands up on shaky legs, takes another deep breath, and walks back to the front of the cell.

Peering carefully between the bars gives her no clues as to her location. She can see several other cells, all empty, and a wooden floor with paper walls. Two doors mark the end of the walkway between the cells and both are shut. There are no guards. It is a clear attempt at disorienting her, she thinks. Or perhaps their attention is drawn legitimately elsewhere.

Pondering this feels somewhat pointless, and so Sakura returns to the futon (dry-eyed this time) and enters the lotus position, focusing her excess chakra into her Byakygo.

She ignores a burning feeling spreading across her upper back. A stress rash. It’ll go away in the morning.

The next day, as near as she can tell without the window, the man who led the squad approaches her cage and nods at her. It isn’t a bow, but it’s an admission of cordiality. Sakura does not relax. Fresh from the agony of her journey, she hadn’t paid much attention to what they’d looked like, she’d just noticed. But with her head clear, it’s as plain as day that this man is the spitting image of Sasuke, and the resemblance sends a feeling like jumping into an iced-over pond all over her skin.

Sharingan. They’d all had Sharingan. And this man, who looked so much like Sasuke, must have had his own, for his eyes were black as anything today. Only an Uchiha could switch the Sharingan off again.

“Sakura,” he says. “Is that your real name?”

Sakura nods. “Yes, it is. Will you tell me yours?” She feels herself shaking a bit, unsure what she will do if he says what she thinks he might.

He smiles. “I’d like to ask you a few more questions first, if you don’t mind.”

Sakura nods again. She’d been preparing for this.

The man sits on the floor in a crossed-legs position, looking for all the world like a friend eager to catch up on goings-on. She stares at him, and at the easy smile on his face, and wonders what he could possibly want from her. From the way he begins his questioning, what he mostly wants is very boring answers to boring questions.

“Did you sleep well?”

“Yes.”

“How is your back?”

My--? “Uh, fine. It’s not sore if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I see. Are you hungry?”

“Not really.”

Her answers are simple, not giving away more than is necessary, and she feels comforted by his apparent lack of care for this. It is absolutely imperative that she cooperate. The sooner he trusts her, the sooner she’ll be out of this prison, and then she can reorient herself and find her way back to Naruto, Sasuke, Kaka-sensei without needing to resort to anything drastic. All she needs is a moment to escape.

But then, his questions take a rather different turn.

“You were in quite a state when we found you,” he says. “Fighting a war, are you?”

Sakura makes a face. “Obviously,” she bites out. “Where have you been? Haven’t you noticed the strange things that have been happening? In the sky, it was--well, the sky went all red, and there was a genjutsu on...on the moon.” The man tilts his head, face completely blank. He doesn’t react either with recognition or confusion. “Maybe you weren’t near the fighting, but surely you encountered the Zetsu,” Sakura finishes.

He stares at her, but she senses something cautiously hidden behind the stoic facade. This isn’t the face of a man hearing the rambling of a brain-addled prisoner, but it also isn’t the face of a person who’s spent the last four days thinking the world might end. What’s going on?

“White men, they were all white men with green hair...everyone went to sleep. Please, don’t you know what I’m talking about? I’m Sakura, Haruno Sakura. I’m from the land of Fire.” She swallows hard, pressing her hands on the ground to quell the tremors. “You have to know about that, right? Don’t you know who I am?”

The man looks at her like she’s crazy, which is fair. For the past few days of fighting she’d felt slightly unhinged even at her best.

“Haruno Sakura,” the man says slowly. “You’re in the land of Fire. My clan members and I found you near the border of our territory, at the edge of where the Senju forest begins.”

“But that’s not--surely you’d have seen--the whole country was overrun with--”

“Sakura,” he interrupts gently. “You’ve clearly been through many things. Considering the state you were in when the transportation seal dropped you at the border, I can’t imagine what you’ve been going through. But you clearly need rest. The sky is not red, and there is not a genjutsu on the moon.” His face is devoid of deception, and her heart sinks like a pit into her stomach.

He asks her a few more simple questions, carefully avoiding any that would have her recount the manner in which she arrived. When he leaves, Sakura curls up into a ball on the futon and cries, again. The burning on her back is worse today.

He comes every day for a week (if she counts by meals), bearing her breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and always stays until she’s finished them all. The food does indeed remind her of Fire Country’s cuisine, but of the southwestern border, where tastes ran spicy and sour and sweet and strong, and the rice wasn’t rice at all but a type of wild grass that grows in flooded marshes.

The man is cordial to her, laughing and teasing at times, and she can’t help but relax around him as he reminds her a little of Naruto, whose ability to make a friend astounded her at times.

He still hasn’t told her his name, but she knows for certain this man is related to Sasuke. There’s something just so about the shape of his jawline and and the tilt to his eyebrows that couldn’t be from anywhere else.

She asks him about his family, about where they’re from, but all she gets is vague answers politely nudging her to change the subject. She feels brave enough once to ask him directly about the Sharingan, but all he does is laugh and tell her that if she’s from the land of Fire she should know already.

After a while she wonders if it’s his job to assess her mental state, because a suspiciously large portion of the questions relate to her emotional stability, ability to recall events, mood status, and some painfully obvious inquiries concerning her use of controlled substances.

In fact, his questions aren’t intelligence-seeking at all, but sound rather like the same sorts of questions she asks hospital patients suffering from head trauma or psychosis. They’re questions you ask a person that you intend to release as soon as they’re stable. This baffles her more than she’d like to admit. What did they plan to do to her, these Uchiha?

None of the questions remotely mention the shinobi arts until the 22nd meal, upon which he requests to know her chakra affinities.

“Earth and water,” she answers easily, though to be honest she rarely uses elemental ninjutsu, preferring to rely on her yin and yang release for attacks and defense.

“I see,” he responds, standing and setting his feet. “Would you mind doing a small demonstration? You see, there are members of my clan who would greatly like to meet you, and I’ve been asked to assess your proficiency in the shinobi arts.”

“And my sanity.”

“And that,” he agrees with a wry quirk to his lips. “You haven’t mentioned any more of this moon-based genjutsu, so I hope that means you’ve recovered from the disorientation the seal caused you.”

Sakura shrugs.

“Very well,” the man continues. “So with that, Haruno Sakura, would you please provide a demonstration of your abilities?”

Sakura gets an idea, and requests that he bring her something alive and injured. Anything would work, she says, animal or human, and he looks at her curiously but leaves. In his absence, Sakura takes a deep breath and slips into the child’s pose on the floor, centering her chakra in far too much preparation for a simple healing, but it certainly helped calm her nerves.

There is something bothering her. Something wrong. She can’t quite point it out, but it is there, poking at her incessantly. He’d said she was in the land of Fire. There’s always the possibility that he intends to disorient her and had lied, but something inside her says he was telling the truth back then. And what does that mean if he had? The seal had pulled her through space. Lots of space.

Had it truly pulled her through time as well? To a time when the Uchiha Clan still lived alone in their territory to the southwest, perpetually at war with the Senju? He’d mentioned the Senju forests. Uzushiogakure. No one talked--talks about the forests like that anymore. And Uzushio is--

It is all completely ridiculous. But with the things she’s seen lately, she feels fully prepared to believe it. The rabbit princess can turn humans to ash with a touch, so why can’t an ancient sealing technique throw a human sacrifice interdimensionally in order to power the sealing?

But she doesn’t believe anything, not yet. She needs to gather more evidence. Get out of this damn cell first. A demonstration of her healing abilities will almost certainly help with that. A good shinobi isn’t hard to find, but a good medical shinobi sure as hell is.

The man returns with a small kitten sporting an infected sore on its head. Easy to fix. It has a twisted back leg likely there from birth. Far less easy to fix, but kittens are small and biologically squishy and she’s feeling like showing off wouldn’t be a bad idea. Hands glowing green, she takes care of the infection in minutes and repairs the leg enough to splint it in two hours.

When she finishes she’s a bit tired out, her reserves having not completely gone back to normal and her Byakugo still depleted, and the man is looking at her with an expression of pure awe.

“What is that?” He gestures at her hands, the green fading silently into nothing.

“It’s chakra used for healing,” Sakura says, and then watches the man carefully.

He betrays nothing of recognition and the awe only increases. “That’s incredible,” he breathes. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Sakura closes her eyes, refusing to fall into despair. Not yet. The unsettled feeling of wrong wrong wrong begins to grow, bolstered by what she’d seen on the seals, but this is hardly an air-tight confirmation, she chides herself. There are plenty of rural areas that had never heard of--well, not in the land of Fire. But she still isn’t sure if--

“Please,” she speaks to the man, letting all the worry and stress seep into her voice. His head snaps up, away from the kitten he’d been watching roll about with four unmarred limbs, and his gaze connects squarely with her own. “Please, I want to get out of here. I don’t want to be kept in here.”

“I can help you,” she adds, gesturing to the kitten. Desperation claws at her belly.

The man approaches the bars and touches them with a single finger, making the sign for tiger with his other hand. She feels an odd shimmering in the air of heat and energy, and then the man opens the door.

“Haruno Sakura,” he says, “If it pleases you, the council of elders for my clan would like to meet you. The detention was a precaution, of course. I’m sure you understand.”

She holds her breath, hardly believing her luck and this man’s inexplicable trust in her.

“My name is Uchiha Izuna.”

Sakura begins to worry more intensely at the wrongness of it all as Izuna leads her out of the holding cells and into the light. After she squints the last bit of darkness from her eyes, she finds herself in the middle of an enormous domestic compound stretching in every direction for as far as she could see.

Stone houses with red clay rooftops line well-trodden dirt pathways, and everywhere she looks there are people bustling about. Two women in a house down the way put up laundry together, and in the space of an intersection five children tumble over one another in a mixture of tag and sparring. None of them could have been older than five but all have kunai in their hands.

But the people, and their questionable child-raising traditions, aren’t what stops her dead in her tracks just outside the cell block.

Red and white uchiwa fans emblazon banners and kimono and the backs of the children’s shirts. They decorate walls and paper lanterns on all the houses, and mark the barrier walls at steady intervals.

What’s happening to me?

Izuna leads her past the intersection and down a main thoroughfare, keeping a steady hand half an inch or so above her lower back, which she feels the pressure of every so often as she slows down to gawk at the next thing, and the next.

Izuna Uchiha...she knows that name, doesn’t she?

More anxieties push their way anxiously to the forefront, overwhelming her thoughts to the point where she barely looks where she’s going. He hadn’t asked her about any loyalties she holds, any family she has waiting for her, and no shinobi of his caliber would forget something so vital when interrogating a prisoner. In fact, her entire lock-up seemed like a farce, and she wonders if it had all been concocted to ensure her cooperation with medical ninjutsu.

Surely, she thinks, a clan would not trust an outsider around their children so soon without something hanging over their head.

But here she is, being led through--the Uchiha Clan compound--this man’s family compound, a man who claims the Uchiha and their Sharingan eyes, as though she poses no threat at all. He knows something, Sakura thinks, he just isn’t saying what.

When they arrive at the large central house, she lets herself be whisked in away from Izuna and into the hands of capable servants, who slip her out of her clean but plain clothing and into an elaborate kimono with a green base which she admires while being dressed. Bide your time, she tells herself. It isn’t time to run, not yet.

She enters the council room with little introduction and meets the grim faces of six elderly people all crouched on mats, and she sits on the lone empty mat at the center of the room. Behind the elders is a large black stone bowl at the center of which is a massive flame, and everywhere along the wall are uchiwa in various stages of antiquity.

By now, it’s clear to her that this family must be genuine, but before she accepts she’s been flung headlong through time she feels she needs something more convincing than some scenery. What that is, she doesn’t know.

The elders, in spite of their mood, are surprisingly unhostile and question her about her health, apologize for the necessity of keeping her caged for several days, and inquire after her ability to heal with chakra. It is only when they begin to question her soulbond status does Sakura feel a sense of gnawing horror, a ratlike terror in a darkened corner of a room filled with cats. The feeling makes her want to act out, to put herself out on the line to see what will bite her next.

“When I came through the seal,” Sakura says, and at this the elders lean forward as one, “my connection with my soulmate was severed. My soul mark is gone now, and--” Here her voice breaks, just a bit. “--as you see then, I have no soulmate.”

“You are wrong,” a deep, masculine voice cuts through the stillness of the room, silencing everything but the fire.

Uchiha Madara, very much alive and looking no older than thirty, steps into the room. The elders all immediately bow but Sakura’s back stiffens like a metal rod. Behind him she can see Izuna, changed into more formal attire. He nods encouragingly at Sakura but her eyes stay riveted on the wild-haired man in front of him.

Madara bows to her. Low, at the waist. Dryness overtakes her mouth completely. “Your name is Sakura. You came to this world from another, through a seal you had no part in making. You bring knowledge of healing chakra with you from a time beyond this one. In that place, the conspirator Zetsu succeeded in bringing about the end of the world. And your soulmate in this world,” Madara continues, “is me.”

He brings a hand up to his shoulder and presses his hand to his upper back. Burning chakra like dying embers overtakes her system until the invasion overwhelms her shaky reserves and she begins to black out. The last of Sakura’s doubt dies with her consciousness, and her last thought before her body hits the floor is well, shit.

#madasakuweekend2019 #day 1 #soulmate AU

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tobito · 5 years ago

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you carry my burdens and i carry yours

pairing: ichigo/rukia rating: t for angst, language and mentions of blood word count: 2174 summary: in which heavy rain falls on heavy hearts and ichigo and rukia finally talk about masaki and kaien's deaths.

Rukia hated the rain.

It reminded her of things she wanted to forget.

It reminded her of Ichigo's pain. Of how quiet he became whenever droplets would begin to fall from the sky. Of how he refused to tell her what was wrong, even though he'd never hid anything from her before. Of how much it hurt to see him cry in anguish when Kugo took his powers. Of how she could do nothing but watch as it soaked him wet and disguised itself with his tears.

The rain was cruel to Ichigo and that's why she hated it. That's why she had to stop it for him whenever it threatened to fall and hurt him again.

But, she also hated the rain because it reminded her of Kaien. It reminded her of her shaking hands gripping her sword as it impaled the man she admired more than anyone else in the world. It reminded her of his cold body pressed against hers as blood spilled from the wound in his chest. A wound she bestowed upon him. It reminded her of his last words, of him entrusting his heart with her because she, no one else, would protect it with her own life.

She hated the rain that wasn't loud enough to mask her screams the night she lost him. The rain that mocked her and reminded her she wasn't the only one who cried, that her tears were nothing compared to the heavy drops falling from above.

She hates the rain. But, she knows Ichigo hates it just as much. So, she swallows her own sorrows and searches for him. Because he needs her, even if all she can offer is her silent company as her own heart mourns inside her chest.

She finds him on a hill, just above the cemetery. She thinks about asking him why he chose this place, but stops herself when she remembers it must be because of his mother. Rukia doesn't know much about her, just that she was a great woman, a Quincy, who died too young. Rukia doesn't say anything as she sits next to Ichigo on the ground. He's in his Shinigami form and it leaves her wondering where he left his human body, and whether or not he really cares about that right now.

"You know, you'll get sick if you stand out here without an umbrella," she says and almost slaps herself because of course he can't get sick when he's a shinigami and she knows it. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Ichigo doesn't say anything and Rukia is both glad and very concerned. Glad he didn't acknowledge her stupid mistake, but worried he might not even know she's here right now. Rukia curses herself for a second time. She had been foolish enough to think Ichigo might have found closure now that Yhwach was gone and the war was over. But scars, if deep enough, will always leave a mark.

She sighs. Stopping Ichigo's rain usually came naturally, she needed to pull herself together. It wasn't about her right now. Only him and him alone.

"You don't have to say anything, you know."

His voice startles her, causes a chill to travel down her spine. He sounds tired, sad, and she hates it more than anything.

Ichigo is right, though, she doesn't have to say anything. She could just sit beside him and wait for the rain to stop. She could tell him what she said before, that he doesn't have to open up until he's ready to do so. That she will be here if he ever wants to talk.

But she knows Ichigo won't talk. It doesn't matter if Yhwach is dead, or if the war is over or any of that crap. It won't bring his mother back, it won't give him closure, it won't ease his pain.

But Rukia can't just not say anything. Maybe it's her throat asking for release from that tight knot suffocating her, but she lets out a breath she didn't realize she was holding and she speaks, "I know. But I want to."

"Rukia," she starts after a few seconds but the petite lieutenant stops him.

"I hate the rain too. It reminds me of everything I've lost," she says and avoids looking at him. She can't look at him. Not yet. Not until she says what she needs to say.

"Have I ever told you about the first time I killed someone?" She doesn't let him answer. "Not a hollow. A person. It was a long time ago. When I joined squad 13, I wasn't welcomed with open arms." She recalls those times with a bitter taste in her mouth and clears her throat, "My squad members thought it was unfair, for scum like me to be adopted into the Kuchiki clan and be thrown into a division almost immediately. They were afraid I'd become a seated officer without working just as hard as they did. Everyone hated me before they even knew who I was. And I couldn't exactly blame them, could I? I didn't deserve to be there, I should've stayed at the Academy longer. My skills were next to mediocre. I hated being there. I hated being told I wasn't good enough. Because the longer I was there, the more I believed everything they said."

Rukia took a deep breath again and felt Ichigo's gaze on her. She didn't look back at him, continuing her tale instead, "I thought I'd never get someone on my good side, much less make a friend. But, then I met him. His name was Kaien. Kaien Shiba. He was Captain Ukitake's lieutenant at the time."

She heard Ichigo let out his own breath. She knew he recognized the name. From what she gathered after the war from the rest, his father had told him the truth about his heritage. About who he was before he met his wife. That he was head of the Shiba clan and captain of the 10th Division before he went missing in the world of the living.

"Lieutenant Kaien was kind to me, but he was also very blunt. He pushed me to be the best version of myself. He wasn't afraid to scold me because of my last name or distance himself because he thought I was just a brat being handed everything. To him, I was an important member of the squad. He was the first person to welcome me with open arms when Renji and my brother weren't there. To teach me about what it was like to be a shinigami. To care for me. Ichigo, he was the first person I ever loved."

Rukia finally looked at him only to find him looking right back at her. Was that sadness in his eyes? Understanding? Surprise? She couldn't tell.

"He had a wife. She was beautiful and brave." And everything I wanted to be. "She was hurt during a mission to cleanse a hollow. She was brought back to the squad barracks, except it wasn't actually her anymore. The hollow she was sent after had managed to devour her soul and was using her body to trick and kill other shinigami. Captain Ukitake and Lieutenant Shiba tried to stop it. I was told not to interfere. Kaien wanted revenge for his wife, it was a battle to defend his pride as both a husband and a shinigami. I should've gone back, should've called for back up even if the Captain told me otherwise. But I stayed and I got in the way. I fucked everything up."

The use of a curse word startled Ichigo and she noticed the boy scoot closer to her, a look of concern in his eyes, "Rukia."

"I got him killed, Ichigo. The hollow took over him and I put my sword through his chest. I killed the man I loved and instead of cursing me to death, he used his last breath to entrust his heart to me."

She wanted to say more, about what his death did to her but she couldn't speak. A sob itched inside her throat and she struggled to keep it in. The rain poured louder and she couldn't breathe.

God, she was panicking. This was very bad.

A flick to her forehead managed to push her out of her own thoughts, Ichigo had ended up in front of her, his inches away from her forehead. "You're stupid, Rukia."

Huh? "Huh?"

She just poured her heart out to him and all he did was insult her? She was about to yell at him when she noticed his eyebrows furrowed in obvious annoyance. Why was he upset?

"Kaien...my cousin, didn't die because of you. You didn't kill him. Hell, you saved him. He was able to leave this world as himself because of you. He entrusted you with his heart, his memory. I may not know the guy, but he clearly wouldn't want you to say these things about yourself. So what if the guy had a wife? He still loved and cared about you. Just as much as you love and care about him too. So stop being an idiot. He's not gone, is he? His heart is still with you."

The way he yelled at her surprised her. Usually, it was the other way around. She wasn't used to Ichigo raising his voice at her, even if he didn't do it to offend or disrespect her. He genuinely wanted her to understand that her suffering, her guilt, wasn't okay.

I see.

It was quite foolish of her, really. To not have noticed until now. Ichigo didn't just look like Kaien. He was Kaien. He was Kaien's harsh and gentle words of encouragement. He was Kaien's pride and humbleness. He was Kaien's bravery and determination. He was the Kaien she had fallen in love with.

But he was also Ichigo. The Ichigo she loved now. The Ichigo she will always and forever love.

She rose her palms and placed them on either side of his face. Ichigo looked surprised at her action but did not pull away, instead he did the same.

"Never again blame yourself for his death, Rukia. You're not someone who takes lives, you're someone who saves them. Just like you saved mine."

She nodded and let out a gentle laugh, quiet and subtle. But still there for him to see and hear.

"I didn't know. That you hated the rain as much as me. Guess I was too focused thinking about myself." He dropped his hands to his side and she followed suit.

"It's okay. You don't have to-"

"I thought I'd be okay. Yhwach is gone. The man who killed my mother is dead and I delivered the final blow. But, there's still a gaping hole in my heart. I still think I could've done more to save her back then. I still think that maybe, just maybe if I had been strong enough back then, she wouldn't have died the way she did," Ichigo said, his eyes drifting to the cemetery below them.

"I'm sure your mother and your cousin feel the same, then," she said to him, softly. "I did not know your mother, Ichigo. Even though I would have loved to. Truly. She sounds like a wonderful person. She gave birth to three spectacular children. She raised a family who was kind hearted above all else, even after she was long gone. Ichigo, your mother did not deserve to die. But you do not have to carry the blame of her death. Not anymore. Not when I'm here to share it with."

"Rukia-"

"No, Ichigo. I will not take no for an answer! Didn't I tell you before? Comrades are supposed to be there for each other. If the weight is too much for you to carry some days, then I'll carry it for you. Because I know you'd do the same. Not just for me. But for Ishida, Inoue, Chad, Renji and everyone else."

Ichigo's eyes widened before he scoffed, a hint of a smile on his lips. "That's how it is, huh? You carry my burdens and I carry yours?"

Rukia nodded, "Yes! No buts, no what ifs."

Ichigo gave the cemetery one last look before his eyes found their way back to Rukia's. She was right. He wasn't alone. He had her now.

He knew his mom would've loved her, just as much as his dad does. As much as his sisters and friends do.

And sure, he didn't know Kaien, but he was glad he had been there for Rukia when no one else was. He was glad the man had given Rukia the strength and confidence she has now.

Ichigo hates the rain.

He hates what it reminds him of. Losing his mother. Losing to Byakuya and Renji. Losing his powers.

But as much as he hates the rain, he will always be grateful it brought him the greatest gift.

The best thing to ever happen to him.

His White Moon.

also posted on ao3

#ichiruki #bleach #caro writes #happy ichiruki month btw....i miss these two a lot

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cheshiresense · 6 years ago

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Yet Another Time Travel AU ft. Ichigo With Fractured Memories + TBTP!Kisuke Falling In Love One Cryptic Hint At A Time [Headcanons 2]

[Headcanons 1]

By the time Kisuke makes it back to his division compound and has dismissed his Shinigami, another day and night has passed, it is way too early in the morning to be up, and Kisuke is in no mood to do anything except maybe get some answers and then hopefully get some sleep.

So of course – when Kisuke reaches his office – no one is there waiting for him, because life just can’t give him a break. He will never admit to the spike of panic that twists in his gut even while his mind rushes off in a dozen different directions, trying to figure out what’s happened. Have they been caught? Is Ichigo already standing before Central 46 or even locked up in the Maggots’ Nest or the Senzaikyū? But no, Kisuke can’t believe that. The boy has enough skill to come and go from a secure compound anytime he pleases; he would be even more careful when he has those two kids on the line. Shiba compound then? But he’d be hard-pressed to hide people for any length of time right in the heart of clan territory, and if he meant for Kaien to know, surely he would’ve lured his cousin and Clan Head out to District 64 instead of Kisuke. The girl was hurt but Kisuke doubts Ichigo would’ve taken her to the Fourth. Too many paper trails, too unique a case, too many gossiping mouths, all who work for a government that wouldn’t bat an eye before tossing all three into the Nest. So, what’s left?

It really only takes another moment after that. Impossible, he thinks, because unlike his squad compound, his private labs are far more secure, under the lock and key of his own personally designed seals. But even as he thinks it, he’s already flash-stepping away in that direction, and when he arrives and finds the door ajar and the light switched on inside, he also thinks he should probably be a little more concerned than he actually is that Kurosaki Ichigo seems to have raised breaking-and-entering into an art form that even Kisuke would be hard-pressed to match.

He spares a moment to run a diagnostic scan on his seals, and he’s only mildly surprised to find almost every single ward neatly unravelled, not a single seal out of place, ready to be locked up again when the occupants depart. Only the blood ward is truly broken, shattered with a brute strength that Kisuke makes a note of for later. Blood wards are no good if someone with enough reiatsu can simply tear right through them. He’ll have to find either a way to fix that weakness or create a different ward entirely to compensate for it.

There’s also the little fact that Ichigo is apparently enough of a genius and somehow also knows Kisuke’s sealing style well enough to unlock all his other wards on the spot, but that’s a much harder problem to solve, and it gives him a headache when he thinks about it, so he puts it out of mind for now.

He steps inside and almost rolls his eyes when he finds that the little brats have broken into his instant ramen stash in the cupboards of his kitchenette. At least they washed the bowls before tossing them into the garbage. Rangiku and the white-haired boy – Kisuke should probably ask for a name soon – are fast asleep on the couch in the corner, but Ichigo is still awake, lying flat on his back on the floor for some reason and staring almost unblinkingly up at the ceiling.

Kisuke shuts the door behind him, shrugs out of his haori, and makes his way over to sit next to the boy. He waits for Ichigo to notice him, and he’s rewarded when brown eyes slide from the ceiling to his face, half-lidded and dazed.

“Your face is weird,” is the first thing Ichigo tells him, and Kisuke actually quirks a wry smile.

“You’re not the first to tell me that,” Kisuke says agreeably. He goes still when Ichigo reaches for him, stopping just shy of his left cheekbone, an inch below his eye.

“It’s weird,” Ichigo continues like he didn’t hear Kisuke at all. “I thought it looked weird when you first got them, and now I think it looks weird without them.” His fingers feather down the length of Kisuke’s cheek, so lightly that Kisuke barely feels the touch. He still tenses a little, unused to both contact and proximity, and yet he can’t seem to pull away.

“First got what?” Kisuke asks quietly and gets a slow blink in return.

“Your scars,” Ichigo says like it should be obvious. “They weren’t ugly or anything, just a little weird when I first saw you again afterwards. But you lost your eyes so she had to stitch them back together.” Kisuke feels a chill go down his spine. Ichigo’s hand falls away even as he smiles hazily up at Kisuke. “Try not to lose them again, okay? I mean you turned out fine, and that’s what matters, but it must’ve hurt, and some people made Frankenstein jokes behind your back later so I had to pick a lot of fights, cuz one, it’s Frankenstein’s monster, not Frankenstein, but also two,” His features twist into something fierce and protective and Kisuke forgets to breathe for a moment. “Nobody’s allowed to talk shit about you.”

He stops after that, for which Kisuke is grateful. He has to remind himself to breathe, even as the sheer impossibility of every word coming out of Ichigo’s mouth rings loud in his ears. Where is he even supposed to start? Benihime. Ichigo has to be talking about Benihime. But nobody except the few people who saw his Captain Proficiency Test and Yoruichi and Tessai know about his Bankai, and even then, only Yoruichi and Tessai know any of its abilities, and neither of them would talk about it to anyone else. And then there’s the mention of his eyes. His scars. Scars he doesn’t have. Scars he’s never had. He doesn’t understand.

Outwardly, once he regains some semblance of mental balance, he only offers a weak smile and a joke, “Defending my honour?” But even that turns out to be a mistake because he gets a brilliant grin in return, a little cheeky but warm in a way that almost makes Kisuke flinch. Ichigo looks infinitely more alive like this, more so than Kisuke’s ever seen him, and his answer is steady and sure and terrifyingly honest, “Always.”

There’s not much else to say on the topic after that. Kisuke doesn’t know how to react with anything except the overwhelming desire to run away, but he can’t do that, so he doesn’t react at all. And Ichigo doesn’t seem to expect anything from him because the bright awareness in his eyes fade away, and even now, bewilderingly enough, something in Kisuke mourns the loss. Ichigo rolls to his feet instead and makes his way over to the civilian kids still sleeping on the couch, and the awkward moment passes, much to Kisuke’s relief.

(He doesn’t forget though. But at least this way he can focus on something else for a while.)

The white-haired boy – Gin – proves to be exactly as much of a brat Kisuke thought he was, hovering and glaring as Kisuke pokes and prods at Rangiku to make sure she won’t keel over anytime soon. Her reiryoku still seems to oscillate at random times, but not as much and not as wildly. Now that he actually has the time and equipment on hand, the readings he gets of her reminds him a little of what happens when a Hollow devours a soul and leaves behind the body, except those three Shinigami couldn’t quite replicate that and instead only tore out part of the girl’s soul. It’s probably fortunate Ichigo happened upon them when he did; there’s no telling if the girl would’ve ever recovered, and even if she did, the loss of part of her soul probably would’ve damaged her permanently to the point where she would never have regained her original levels of reiryoku. Certainly, if she ever attempted to become a Shinigami, Shikai would’ve been difficult for her to achieve. Bankai, probably impossible.

As it is, the soul is a resilient thing, and with all the parts still there, if a bit… ragged, it’ll heal itself with some time. Kisuke is far more interested in who wanted it in the first place, how they’re doing it, and most importantly, what they want it for at all.

“So,” Kisuke asks once Gin and Rangiku have been packed off to Kisuke’s spare bedroom for a few more hours of sleep while he and Ichigo convene around one of Kisuke’s computers as he organizes all the latest data he’s gathered for his newest project. “You mentioned a wishing stone. And a boss. Would you like to clarify either of those points for me?”

Ichigo hums something tuneless under his breath. His legs swing a little from where they’re dangling over the edge of the desk, and his attention meanders around the room, following something only he could see.

“Kurosaki-san,” Kisuke prompts insistently, because at this point, he deserves to know. He’s been patient enough, hasn’t he? “You gave me your word.”

Ichigo’s brow knits into a frown, and his shoulders hunch as if he’s bracing himself against a blow, but he also finally mumbles, “Wishing stone. You make a wish and it grants you your heart’s desire, but you didn’t know at first cuz all you wanted was to figure out what would happen if the barrier between Shinigami and Hollow was broken down.” Kisuke freezes, and his mind jumps to the (highly illegal) project he only recently started. “He knew from the beginning though,” Ichigo continues in a rush. “But his wasn’t complete for a long long time. Or maybe a short time? How long is long for Shinigami? He failed though, no matter how many souls he fed it. You were smarter, even if you didn’t know what you really made. He needed to use yours instead. But it took him years and years before he could steal yours, years and years of feeding souls to his-”

His almost feverish rambling breaks off with a muffled cough. Kisuke glances up sharply, and then he’s on his feet in an instant when he spots the fresh blood trickling from Ichigo’s nose and the way he’s pressing the palm of one hand to his temple, eyes scrunched in pain.

“Kurosaki-san!” Kisuke scrambles for something clean amongst the clutter on his desk and finally comes up with a hand towel. Ichigo blinks dizzily at him, swaying a little, but he lets Kisuke dab at his nosebleed, and he doesn’t resist when Kisuke – after a moment of hesitation – scoops him up and deposits him over on the couch instead where he at least has something to lean against.

“I did not know you were-” Kisuke pauses and then amends, “Are you sick?” Because he thinks of all the things he’s heard even just in the short time he’s known Ichigo, all the things Ichigo shouldn’t know but does anyway, and has offered to Kisuke in bits and pieces, hints and riddles and bald-faced truths so outrageous Kisuke should be shipping him to the Nest or at least the Fourth, not indulging him, not wanting to know more, and certainly not believing him. And an illness would explain it, wouldn’t it? A sickness in the head or whatever this is. But no, that doesn’t account for everything, and yet Kisuke’s mind still rebels a little at the niggling suspicion that’s starting to creep into his thoughts.

Ichigo only smiles wanly at him, gone pale in a way that makes the bags under his eyes stand out, and Kisuke ends up biting back all the other questions still pushing against his teeth. Maybe captaincy’s made him soft. He really should be interrogating Ichigo some more, or honestly, interrogating him period, not asking and coaxing and nudging for answers that mostly just give him even more questions in the end. But he’s pushed already, a little bit, and this – somehow – this was the result, and it makes him… leery of pushing too hard again.

(He’s broken people before. He doesn’t think he wants to see what Ichigo looks like broken. Or maybe more broken would be more accurate, considering Ichigo’s state of mind most of the time.)

So he sighs instead and rises to his feet to fix them both some tea. At least Ichigo’s told him a little more, however confusing the information was. Kisuke is looking into dissolving the barrier between a Shinigami and a Hollow - he wants to know what would happen – but… a wishing stone? Capable of granting any wish? Kisuke doesn’t even know where to begin to make that happen. Either way though, according to Ichigo, someone has already made what Kisuke will make, only an… incomplete version perhaps, and so they’re looking to steal Kisuke’s own research. Or… will be stealing it, once he finishes? And somehow, Ichigo knows ahead of time. Somehow.

Kisuke doesn’t know why he believes the boy at all. Most people probably wouldn’t, even if he has been correct all the other times he’s brought something to Kisuke’s attention. But Kisuke’s never been the sort of man to disbelieve something just because it seems impossible or isn’t logical or lacks hard proof. For all that he values scientific research and analytical study and rational thought, he’s always considered impossibilities to merely be the limits of a mind that can grow no further. Impossible, only until someone makes it possible.

He returns to Ichigo’s side and eases the cup of tea into the boy’s hands. He has questions, so many questions, but… he supposes they can wait.

For the time being, Kisuke shuffles Gin and Rangiku into a storage-room-hastily-turned-bedroom above a small but decently skilled tailoring shop and… persuades the owner to hire them on in exchange for room and board and a bit of pocket change on the side. Gin starts running deliveries while Rangiku helps out with the requests for repairs and alterations that come in fairly frequently, although neither child accepts their new lot in life until Ichigo swings by again and gives them a vague okay.

How rude. It’s like they don’t trust Kisuke at all.

“It’s the captain’s haori,” Ichigo tells him sagely. “And Shinigami uniform. They don’t trust any Shinigami right now.” And alright, Kisuke supposes that’s fair.

They talk about enrolling the kids into the Academy, but Kisuke isn’t sure whether Rangiku was the target or just randomly chosen, but if it was the former, then whoever was behind the attempted soul-theft might still be looking for her, and considering that person had Shinigami at his command – and high-ranking Shinigami at that – Kisuke is pretty confident that the new enemy he’s made – will make? – is also a Shinigami, and a strong one too.

(He meets up with the other captains for drinks a few more times in the following months, mostly whenever Shinji invites him. Before, he didn’t much care what they thought of him, and he never took much notice of them beyond noting down the faces of who he shares a rank with these days and absently memorizing random embarrassing secrets they let slip when they’re too drunk to keep their mouths shut. Now he watches them like they’re potential targets, keeps an eye out for anyone who might be watching him a little too closely in return, and he’s very careful not to get even slightly tipsy in front of them anymore. Even Shinji’s friendliness – previously slightly uncomfortable but also a bit of a relief to know that Kisuke hasn’t alienated all his colleagues right off the bat without even trying – has taken on a more suspicious undertone to his paranoia. Those Shinigami Ichigo killed were Fifth Division after all. Only Yoruichi is exempt.)

Besides, Rangiku isn’t fully recovered yet, so for now, keeping them close and away from excess attention is for the best.

“Not yet,” Ichigo agrees in one of his more lucid moments, with Gin and Rangiku there under the guise of delivering Kisuke’s newly mended spare training shirts. “He probably won’t figure out what really happened but he did know your squad was nearby taking care of some Hollows, and if two new students appear in the Academy right after, he might investigate.”

“And who is this ‘he’?” Gin asks, pale blue eyes intent on Ichigo’s face. He huffs when Ichigo only repeats, “Not yet,” but he also sighs even before Rangiku shoots him a quelling look and goes back to threading a needle for her. Rangiku takes it once he’s done and fusses over the frayed cuff of Ichigo’s sleeve for the next twenty minutes.

“I thought nobles were s’posed ta be rich,” Gin remarks. “Doesn’t your clan give ya new clothes?”

Ichigo shrugs. “Yeah.” And doesn’t say anything else.

Gin hums noncommittally and shares one of his dried persimmons with him. Kisuke almost rolls his eyes when the boy pointedly makes no move to offer him the same.

Kisuke pulls out his project on Shinigami and Hollows and their respective souls. He knows – kind of – that someone will be coming after the finished product, and he reasons that he might as well use it as a trap, and in the meantime, he’ll be able to learn a lot more about all three subjects too. And maybe a part of him also likes the idea of succeeding in creating something so powerful, when another has already failed.

He spends two and a half weeks in a spiralling research binge because he doesn’t have Yoruichi to drag him back out anymore, and he loses time and forgets everything else because that’s just how he is when he buries himself too deeply into his research. He does doze off now and then, but only for minutes at a time, his mind continuing its work on a problem or equation the second he wakes again. He eats too, but only what he has in his lab, when his stomach provides a loud enough reminder which isn’t often, and his snacks aren’t anything healthy anyway, nor do they last for long.

Two and a half weeks, and then Ichigo comes and digs him out of his labs. By the time the boy slams down a tray crammed full of very strongly flavoured tea and a full dinner spread right on top of his notes, Kisuke is light-headed with hunger and lack of sleep and he actually has to take a full minute to blink the blur of words out of his eyes before finally registering the food in front of him.

“You need to eat and sleep,” Ichigo tells him bluntly.

Kisuke has to remember how to move his tongue before he manages to mumble, “I want to finish this bit first…” He trails off, ready to dive back into one of the theories he’s been chasing down. Half a blink and a dizzying moment of vertigo later, Ichigo’s hauled him out of his chair and carried him over to the tiny living area. He doesn’t even have time to sit somewhat upright before the food is there too and tea is being shoved into his hands.

“You need to eat and sleep,” Ichigo repeats, and he doesn’t move and doesn’t let Kisuke move until he finishes at least two-thirds of the tray and is drooping sideways as bone-deep exhaustion finally catches up with him. He’s only dimly aware of being carted off to his bedroom where a futon is already laid out, even less aware of being tucked into bed like a child, and then he’s out like a light for the next forty-eight hours.

When he wakes again, he’s feeling far more rested and far more hungry. Luckily, there’s a bowl of rice and curry waiting for him on the counter, with a note on top that tells him to eat, shower, change, and then come up to his office for actual sunlight. Apparently, he also triggered a silent alarm seal the second he walked out of his room so Ichigo will know if he tries to return to his research. When Kisuke takes a peek into his lab, there are Kidou cages glowing everywhere, boxing up everything from stacks of notes he has almost no memory of writing to every last one of his computers. When he touches one of the barriers, an angry face with stick arms wielding two swords appears on the translucent surface and bobs up and down in warning. It startles a huff of laughter out of Kisuke but also makes him terribly curious about how Ichigo managed to create something like this. He doesn’t think even Tessai knows, but then again, Tessai’s not exactly one to experiment with new Kidou seals for something so… trivial.

Kisuke’s pretty sure he can break the barriers, but he has no doubt Ichigo will be as good as his word, so instead, he eats, showers, changes, and then heads upstairs. He’s surprised Ichigo isn’t waiting for him in his office. He is surprised to find Hiyori parked right outside the door, paperwork spread across the floor, and looking fit to murder the moment her eyes land on him.

“WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?!” She roars, leaping to her feet, and for someone so small, Kisuke still marvels at her lung capacity. “I’VE HAD TO DO TWICE AS MUCH WORK CUZ YOU HAVEN’T BEEN AROUND! MISSIONS ARE BACKED UP BECAUSE THEY DON’T HAVE YOUR STUPID SIGNATURE ON THE FILES AND THE NINTH’S BEEN HOUNDING US BECAUSE WE HAVEN’T BEEN GETTING THE PAPERWORK IN ON TIME AND NOBODY’S BEEN HAPPY CUZ PAYCHECKS WERE SUPPOSED TO GO OUT LAST WEEK AND THEY DIDN’T! YOU’RE A CAPTAIN NOW, YOU CAN’T JUST SKIP OUT TO DO YOUR OWN THING AND ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING TO ME, YOU ASSHOLE??!!!”

Kisuke is, sort of. He listens to his lieutenant’s complaints with half an ear as he sweeps into his office and eyes his desk with no little dismay upon finding it half buried under unfinished paperwork. He opens the windows to let in some air and get rid of the musty smell, and his gaze flicks for just a fraction of a second to the mostly hidden camera fly nesting in the leaves of the tree outside. When he turns back, Hiyori is muttering resentfully, “-and if you were gonna send someone to help out anyway, why didn’t you do it earlier?”

Kisuke pauses for only a moment between shuffling aside some folders before offering an oblivious smile. “I forgot.”

One of these days, Hiyori’s probably going to burst a blood vessel working for him.

“I hate you.” She hisses, eyes spitting fire. “I hate you so much. Why are you even a captain?”

Most days, Kisuke would like to know that too.

“And how has my replacement been doing?” He asks instead a he goes back to trying to make some sense of everything on his desk, blithely ignoring the way Hiyori’s hands are clenching like she wants to strangle him. “It doesn’t look like-” He takes an educated guess. “-Shiba-san has done any of my paperwork.”

Hiyori looks positively scornful. “There’s no point when they need your signature, and there’s stuff in there that the captain actually needs to know. Besides, Shiba didn’t wanna do them anyway, and I can’t blame him. He helped me do last month’s budgeting though, and made sure everyone was paid with an added bonus on top, and he led some of the new officers through a couple training sessions.” She makes a face. “It’s weird as hell – he’s shorter than all of ’em and he can still kick their asses. I don’t think he’s even a Shinigami. How’d you get the Shiba Clan to loan one of theirs out to you anyway?” She shakes her head before he can answer. “Never mind, I don’t care. He kicked that creep Kurotsuchi in the head when he tried to experiment on Akon-” Kisuke glances up briefly at that, keeping his face blank, but Hiyori isn’t really paying attention anyway. “-and he packed Akon off to the Academy when he asked the chibi-creep if he wanted to go and the chibi-creep said yes. Also, anybody he caught slacking off while on gate duty is now on rebuilding-the-left-wing-of-the-barracks duty. You know,” She shoots him a dirty look. “The wing where the pipes burst and half the second floor caved in two weeks ago but we couldn’t get a squad from the Fourth to fix it because you weren’t around to sign off on it.”

Kisuke raises his eyebrows. “And everybody followed his orders?”

Hiyori snorts. “They do if they know what’s good for ’em. For a shrimp,” Which is rich, coming from her. “He’s strong. Anybody who isn’t helping to keep this squad running gets a special one-on-one spar with Shiba. And the smackdown ain’t pretty, ’specially since he does it in public.” She looks wistful for a moment, but she and Kisuke both know she isn’t strong enough to enforce the same kind of order the same way as Ichigo. “Anyway,” She glares hard at him. “Do your damn work and don’t fuckin’ disappear like that again or I swear I’ll set fire to your precious research department and burn it to the damn ground!”

And with that said, she turns on her heel and storms back out, slamming the door behind her. Kisuke can hear her still cussing up a storm as she presumably gathers up her paperwork to return to her own office now that she’s finally managed to catch him for a… conversation.

Kisuke sits down and looks at his paperwork for a long moment. Then he glances up as the tree outside his window goes up in flames.

“Drastic,” He remarks mildly, and a second later, Ichigo is there, swinging in through the window with all the careless nonchalance of a stray cat. Kisuke sighs, makes a hand seal, and douses the tree with a jet of water that leaves the tree dripping but at least camera-free.

“I suppose I should thank you,” Kisuke muses as Ichigo flops onto his couch. He gets a shrug in return.

“Don’t have to,” Ichigo mutters. He even sounds tired, as if the bruises under his eyes aren’t telling enough. “I cover for you, you cover for me. That’s what we do.”

“Is it?” Kisuke murmurs, because that’s news to him.

Ichigo doesn’t answer directly, instead dropping his head back over the armrest to stare at Kisuke upside-down. “Sometimes, I can’t come by as often.” He says matter-of-factly, as if he should be coming by at all. “So I didn’t know you were stuck in your research again or I would’ve dragged you out sooner. You have to set an alarm or something to remind you when I’m not there to do it.”

Kisuke should probably feel offended. He’s far too old for anyone to be riding herd on him. On the other hand, well. He did forget to eat and sleep and juggle all his other duties for two and a half weeks. Ichigo may have a point.

He also gets points for not nagging once he’s said his piece. Instead, he lies flat on the couch again and informs the ceiling, “Akon’s at the Academy. I think it would be better this time if he actually has a Zanpakutou. He’s smart; he might even graduate early. Keep an eye on him, he doesn’t have anyone else.” He pauses, eyes darting around the room. “And… And Kurotsuchi. You already know, I think, but he’d stab you in the back at the first opportunity so watch out for him too, in a totally different way. And… And…” His head jerks like he’s shaking off cobwebs. Kisuke tenses a little, instinctively searching for any signs of blood. There’s none this time, but Ichigo presses a hand to his eyes like the light hurts them.

“I don’t know,” He says at last, frustration twining around each word even as he pushes himself upright and twists around to stare at Kisuke, eyes wide and dark and distant. “I want to say you shouldn’t make it. But if it happens again, you’ll need it to save them. But I’m here now so I should be able to stop it from happening but I don’t know if I can and making it in the first place is-” He breaks off and shakes his head again. “You’re still this-you, not that-you, and I don’t- I don’t want to change you cuz this-you made you into that-you, and that-you was amazing but some of the things you did-” He stops and takes a shuddering breath while Kisuke twitches a little at the implication that this boy in front of him…

But when Ichigo looks at him, there is no disgust or pity or hatred, only a terrible sadness that puts lines in his face and makes Kisuke drop his own eyes for a moment, unable to hold Ichigo’s knowing gaze.

“So I won’t say, either way,” Ichigo rasps out in the end when Kisuke finally manages to look at him again. “It’s up to you. I’ll work around it, whatever you choose.” He’s frowning a little but he also offers a shaky smile. “I cover for you and you cover for me. That’s still the same now.”

“…Is it,” Kisuke sighs this time before rising to his feet and making his way over to Ichigo, who blinks up at him, so very trusting in the face of a former assassin with more blood on his hands than half the Gotei (there is no such thing as a former assassin – once a killer, always a killer). Kisuke sighs again and sheds his haori before nudging the boy into a more comfortable position and tossing the coat over him as a makeshift blanket.

“Get some sleep,” He orders, returning to his seat. “I don’t think I am the only one who forgets.”

He doesn’t get a response as he uncaps his inkbottle and grabs a brush and cracks open the first file needing his attention, but when he glances up a few minutes later, Ichigo is sound asleep, curled up under the haori.

Kisuke doesn’t wake him until the sun begins to set.

[TBC]

#bleach #uraichi #urahara kisuke #kurosaki ichigo #matsumoto rangiku #ichimaru gin #sarugaki hiyori #myscrap #headcanon #ugh this is getting so long #do these even count as headcanons #how did this happen #also #is it just me or does it seem like kisuke and ichi adopted two kids in this #fractured memories verse

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heavenxpiercing · 5 years ago

Text

In Regards to Aiko

A short series of ficlets from Ichigo’s point of view on Aiko, his little sister in all but blood, and how her death affected him.

For @aikouo || suffer, bitch. uvu

As much as he’d like to deny it, there was a small splinter of jealousy in his heart when it came to Aiko and her relationship with his father—their father. It was stupid. Petty almost. Being jealous of this girl he considered a sister in all but blood. This girl who had almost nothing. Yet it was there.

Isshin was so loving, doting, and goofy with her—just like he was with Yuzu and Karin. Watching them had always warmed Ichigo’s heart, glad that his family had accepted her so easily into their fold.

Yet there was still that splinter—aching in his heart.

A feeling of not belonging. Isshin would not cease harping affection on this girl who he’d only known for such a short time, yet would hardly spare his firstborn son a second glance. An ounce of affection. All the praises and adoration for his daughters: Karin, Yuzu, and Aiko, but what for his son? A swift series of blows meant to be parried and a brief rant about Ichigo’s bristly demeanor. Nothing more, nothing less.

But that wasn’t her fault.

She had a tough life and deserved nothing less than every ounce of love the Kurosaki family could pour out for her. Ichigo would never fault her for that.

Besides, he was pretty sure if he asked Isshin about it, Isshin wouldn’t hesitate, and that was really all he needed… He didn’t need to take any attention away from his sisters. The mental assurance that his father did indeed love him in his own weird way was enough.

☀ ☀ ☀

After her death, guilt consumed him.

Why couldn’t he protect her?

It had been by her own hand, he knew, and that tore him up inside. Why didn’t he do more? Why hadn’t he been around that night? Why did he let his own goddamn problems take up so much of his time that he didn’t realize that she wasn’t alright? That she needed him?

Ichigo wasn’t so arrogant to believe it was only his own inattention that led her to it. Of course not. Things like this were too complex and messy to say it was entirely his fault. He knew that much from his own musings on the riverbank when he was nine. It wasn’t just because his mother was gone. It was also the confusion and pain and guilt all on top of not really knowing what happened that night. It was the despair in his sisters’ eyes. It was Isshin not looking him in the eyes for weeks.

That knowledge wasn’t enough to assuage the guilt in his heart though. It wasn’t enough to stop the image of her lifeless body from haunting him. It certainly wasn’t enough to blot out her cries begging him not to send her to the afterlife from ringing in his ears.

“I’ll find you, I promise Aiko. I promise.”

“Don’t do it! Don’t do it, I’ll never forgive you!”

A roar pierced the night. Ichigo’s blood ran cold.

“You’re not safe here. I have to. They’ll devour you like this.”

“Don’t.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I hate you.”

☀ ☀ ☀

He didn’t remember the funeral. He wasn’t quite sure he even went. In fact, he wasn’t sure he remembered much of anything from the weeks following her death. He only knew he existed during that time because of how he screamed himself raw demanding that the Shinigami allow him into Rukon. He begged everyone from the Soutaichou to Rukia to Urahara to let him go look for her only to be denied by everyone he turned to.

“The Arrancar are coming. We need you here.”

“She can manage on her own for a few weeks in Rukon. In the meantime the Arrancar take priority.”

“We’ll send squad members out to look for her. Right now, focus on the Arrancar.”

It was like a broken record. Excuses. Arrancar. Lies. Arrancar. Broken promises. Arrancar.

Didn’t they understand that his sister needed him?

☀ ☀ ☀

Grief made him stupid. It made him more vulnerable to his own hollow.

When he finally turned to the Vizards for help, he was already a wreck. Guilt, anger, sorrow, and grief made him more volatile than usual, but also more prone to the Hollow’s whims. The mask could form at the drop of a hat, and Ichigo often found himself paralyzed for no reason other than the hollow’s sick amusement.

“Daydreaming about that dead girl again? You fool. You should be more worried about me! Any day now I’ll be close enough to devour you whole!”

“Leave me alone goddammit!”

☀ ☀ ☀

Shinji was the first person to notice that he wasn’t always all there when it came to training. Probably because he was the only one who’d known Ichigo—no matter how briefly—before Aiko’s death.

Sometimes he was so caught up with the task at hand, they could hardly get him to stop or settle down for food or rest. Other times, he seemed so overcome with melancholy he could hardly move. Still others, he seemed akin to an animal in a cage, just itching to burst free and leave everything behind.

After a couple weeks, Shinji had enough of Ichigo’s mood swings.

When he confronted the substitute about it, Ichigo could do nothing more than break down. Whatever Shinji had expected, the teen guessed it probably wasn’t this.

Then again, who would expect they’d end up with a sobbing 15-year-old in their arms for their trouble?

☀ ☀ ☀

The good thing about Shinji was that he didn’t have any expectations of Ichigo. None of the Vizards did, not really. He wasn’t a weapon or a soldier or a tool to them. He wasn’t a hero either. He was just a standoffish kid going through something they’d all already been through before. It wasn’t that they liked him or anything. They simply understood. And fuck if that wasn’t exactly what he needed right now.

However, Shinji was…different.

He cared.

For all his annoying quirks and dramatics, he could be surprisingly serious. In a way, he reminded Ichigo a bit of his own dad… Like if Isshin had ever bothered with any semblance of dignity at least.

Unlike his dad though, Shinji didn’t shirk around affectionate gestures. A pat on the head or shoulders. A one armed embrace. Hell, he even went as far as to ask about how Ichigo was doing and feeling every now and again.

It was foreign.

It was nice.

☀ ☀ ☀

After he lost his powers, he was numb.

He didn’t want to die… not really… He just wasn’t quite sure how to live… how to move on.

Some nights he would find himself sitting at the riverbank, staring down at the water. He didn’t know how to live without the dead being such a prominent presence in his life… And she was there… waiting for him on the other side…

Those thoughts that haunted him back when his mother died never really left, but they were background thoughts. Intrusive and unwanted and ultimately fleeting for the most part. Now though, they didn’t seem to want to leave. They itched at the forefront of his brain.

‘You promised her. You promised her. Just do it. There’s no other way to get to her now. Just do it.’

‘You wanna do it anyways. Why don’t you.’

‘You’re useless at being a person. You weren’t meant to be alive. You never even made any plans for growing up. What’s holding you back?’

What was holding him back? Only the same things that held him back 8 years ago. Yuzu. Karin. Tatsuki. Now there was Chad to think about too. Uryu and Orihime… Mizuiro and Keigo as well… Sure… Chad, Uryu, and Orihime hadn’t been around much lately… but that was his own fault.

Aiko would understand, right?

Him living for Yuzu and Karin?

As much as he loved her, as much as he wanted to be with her and make sure she was okay… Yuzu and Karin were his sisters too, and he couldn’t make them worry and more than they already did. Couldn’t hurt them more than he already had.

He had to go on living. For them. He had to do his best…

Besides… Rukia promised she’d look for her for him… She wouldn’t break her promise… right?

☀ ☀ ☀

Living was hard.

He resolved to live and he refused to be swayed from that---Zangetsu would never forgive him should he allow his resolve to crumble---but that did not change the fact that living was hard.

Some days he had too much energy. Some days, too little.

When restlessness bubbled inside him, he’d wander the streets until he found himself in places that made his heart ache. The library near the train station where he and Aiko went to study sometimes. A bakery that sold numerous treats---strawberry milk, chocolate cakes, and milk bread amongst them---that he’d taken her to multiple times. Several times he found himself standing at the spot he found her and his blood ran cold every time.

Ichigo could never get away from that spot fast enough. He’d turn around and sprint away as fast as he could, paying absolutely no mind to where he was going. As long as he could get away.

Once he found himself at the Vizards’ warehouse. Once.

He even went so far as to go in, breaking his rule of not going near his connections to his old double life. It was one thing to avoid Urahara Shoten like the plague. It was another to not even say ‘hi’ to the people who helped him get stronger and kept him from going insane when he’d already practically run-up to their doorstep, right? Besides, he owed them a thank you at the very least.

Finding the place abandoned was a little unexpected. But it wasn’t at all upsetting. Not at all. That was the lie he told himself on the way home at least.

From then on, Ichigo made sure to steer far from the now-abandoned warehouse.

Other days, those when he had no energy whatsoever, Ichigo found himself weighed down with grief and exhaustion and a heaviness he had no name for. He didn’t even have the energy to get out of bed.

Yet no matter how much he wished to sleep away the day, he rarely let himself give in. He was supposed to be living, dammit. Loathsome though it may be, he would force himself upright and out of bed with every ounce of willpower he could muster.

Rare was it that he made it to school on those days, but at least he was not wasting away in bed, he resolved. Instead, he often found himself at the cemetery where his mother was buried. Longing for the company of the dead wasn’t exactly living, but it wasn’t dying. If nothing else, it wasn’t dying or contemplating his own death, and that was something.

Lighting incense and praying for his mother and Aiko was… cathartic in a way. Atheist in that he believed in no higher power, having seen the injustice of the afterlife first hand, he was not above the Shinto practices he grew up with. It was strange how much he took comfort in such things as praying and lighting incense at the family shrine, but it was nice nonetheless.

Aiko wasn’t buried there. He never actually found out where she was buried, but he knew it wasn’t there. His dad mentioned something about her “father” claiming the right to bury (maybe that’s why he couldn’t remember the funeral? Her father didn’t let them go?) or something along those lines. That didn’t deter his family in the slightest from adding Aiko to the family shrine. They put a grave marker for her right next to Masaki’s with the inscription, “Aiko, beloved daughter and sister, a true Kurosaki in every regard”.

“I can’t… I can’t look for you now… but I will. As soon as I can, I will… I really hope Rukia found you… Or at least… at least that wherever you are… you’re okay, Aiko.”

☀ ☀ ☀

#aikouo #drabble #long post #( ☀ || headcanon )#( ☀ || musings of the black sun )#uvu #suicide tw #depression tw #death tw

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clanwarrior-tumbly · 7 years ago

Note

What are your headcanons for the Crankegos?? (Saw someone call Ethan's egos that and I LOVE that name!)

Ooooooooo I never thought anyone would ask.

*cracks knuckles* Well strap in because I have a LOT that I wanna share~ ^^

@yahoo-protection-squad Hope you don’t mind the tag, I figured you may like to read this, too.

Saintgameplays (Saint)

-He’s a pope, what do you expect?-He tries his best to keep up with the cool kids.-But he will lecture them if he catches them cursing.-Actually gets along with Wilford surprisingly well.-Integrates memes and Vine references into his teachings.-“And I say unto you: Adam and Eve are my OTP and the only thing I vape is the Holy Ghost. Amen” is his favorite.-Signature phrase is “Bless up fam”.-V terrified/wary of Dark, Anti, Blank, and Corroded.-If he has to be in the same room with any of them he will always carry Holy Water in a mini-spray bottle.-He’s actually a very good listener.-The other Crank/Iplier/Septic egos often go to him to confess or simply get things off their chest (e.g. Chase with his divorce and Wilford with the people he’s murdered) and he will always keep them a secret no matter what.-Just a v pure and good dude in general who has done no wrong.

Mad Mike (Mike)

-Runs an ice cream shop and an ice cream truck (changes outfits depending on which job he’s doing).-And he’s also a drug dealer-Once owned a successful business but it shutdown after many lawsuits regarding drugs being found in the frozen desserts.-To this day, though, he still sells them illegally just because he can.-A LOT little bit on the crazy and giggly side.-Anti and Wilford have taken a liking to him because of his insane nature and his clever and malicious schemes.-Does harbor a soft spot for kids, though, and will give them non-drugged ice cream sandwiches.-But even so Chase still doesn’t trust him around his kids.-Steals drugs from Dr. Iplier’s clinics after his drug ring became busted by Silver Shepherd and Jackieboy Man.-Likes to hum/sing his “Mad Mike” song a lot.-Loves to wink and say “wink-wonk”, too.-V flirtatious.-Always manages to evade the cops no matter what.-Has the quickest reflexes out of all the Crankegos, so he’s excellent at dodging gunfire and making quick escapes.

Corroded Crank (Corroded)

-One of two of Ethan’s dark egos.-Has a rusted, grey/brown skin tone.-Under the surface he has metal in place of bones and wires in place of veins, although his blood and organs are still human.-Eyes are hollow, empty sockets as opposed to being pure black.-Has incredibly neat handwriting even though his hand trembles violently when he writes.-Much like Anti he is capable of glitching around and creating hallucinations (mostly in the form of hushed, unintelligible whispers and clones of himself).-Also capable of inducing paranoia on his victims.-Despises Ethan because he believes he was only created to serve as a cheap “advertising strategy” for the 5-year anniversary posters.-Because of that he will threaten anyone who tries to use him for their own personal benefit.-Will also lash out at anyone who thinks he’s just “copying” the other dark egos.-Gets along well with Dark, Anti, and Blank.-Although at times he does like to tease Blank about his anxiety.-He is actually rather protective of Yahoo and doesn’t want anyone to take advantage of him, either.

Blankgameplays (Blank)

-The second, but less malicious, dark ego.-Is the literal embodiment of Ethan’s anxiety and nightmares.-Has very bad anxiety issues which cause him to mumble a lot and make mountains out of molehills.-He is somewhat self-conscious of his black eyes and is afraid he will scare people away if he looks at them.-Suffers from haphephobia, although he will accept hugs from people he considers as friends.-Hates being compared to Anti and Dark, as he does not wish to hurt his creator nor manipulate his fans.-Cries a lot, and when he does he sheds black, oil-like tears.-During a breakdown he’ll mumble unintelligible gibberish for a while without pausing to take a breath (his worst one had him mumbling for a solid hour).-Should that happen he’ll only accept comfort from either one of the other Crank egos (except for Corroded who only taunts him) or someone that he trusts.-If Mike finds him in such a state, he will sit next to him and offer him ice cream, the best type of comfort food.-Tries his best to be a kind person and break the stereotype that all “dark” egos are automatically evil.-Saint is still apprehensive of him, but eventually he does see the good he’s trying to do and warms up to him.-Loves wearing baggy jackets/hoodies.-He’s also fascinated by plants, even the wilted and dried-out ones.-Bim would often lend him a couple of his plants and teach him how to properly take care of them.

Yahoogameplays (Yahoo)

-A search engine android similar to Google and Bing.-Speaks in a soft and sincere tone of voice.-His primary adjective is to “Answer questions as quickly as possible”.-When charging, his eyes will glow purple.-When fully charged he feels more energized that ever, as he’ll bounce around, laugh, and hug any friend that may be in the vicinity.-His special feature is in his left eye, which, upon activation, allows him to take X-Ray scans, see through walls, detect infrared light, and acquire any new information that is not already in his files.-He’s always willing to lend a hand to anyone that needs it.-Saint often asks him to look up Vines/memes/anything that is currently trending for him to incorporate in his teachings.-He’ll assist Mike if he needs advice on how to run a shop or what drugs are not too lethal to put into ice cream…despite him not approving of his business whatsoever.-He is usually the one Blank goes to for comfort, as he knows how to help him through his anxiety attacks.-Has an intense fear of glitches and water, due to the fact both can short-circuit him and corrupt his systems.-Because of this he avoids Anti at all costs, but he’s fine around Corroded, who he sees as an older brother of sorts.

Bernice-The sort of “Mother Hen” and “Mama Bear” of the group.-Absolutely LOVES the color red.-Catch her at the dye shop at least once a month where she’ll make sure her hair stays a lovely crimson.-Loves red, black, and glittery makeup.-Can and will fight anyone who makes fun of the egos even if they just give them a funny look.-Her anger is equivalent to or even greater than Darkiplier’s so messing with her or her brothers is pretty much a death sentence-She loves her brothers dearly, although she doesn’t like that Corroded makes fun of Blank and is usually the one who steps in when she sees the bullying going on.- Has a v sassy personality but inside she’s a real softie.-Especially when it comes to her family or anything that has to do with animals.-9/10 she’ll cry over the pet rescue/shelter commercials.-Usually asks Yahoo to look up beauty tutorials for her.-May have asked Dark for advice on eyeshadow at some point.-She’s the one who suggested that Mike give kids drug-free ice cream sandwiches even though she disapproves of his shop in general.

#clanask #crankgameplays #crankgameplays egos #crankegos #saintgameplays #corroded crank #corruptgameplays #blankgameplays #madmike #yahoogameplays #headcanons #bernice crankgameplays

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letitrainathousandflames-archive · 7 years ago

Text

Unsent Texts from Anakin Skywalker to Obi-Wan Kenobi (minific)

(22:13)

Can we talk? I need to ask you something.

(22:15)

Hey, Master, can we talk? I need your advice. I have to get something off my chest, it’s important. Please promise me you’ll try to understand.

(23:37)

This may sound a little crazy, but I have a few academic questions?

(23:42)

Who came up with the Jedi code? Why did they decide that we can’t form attachments?

(13:22)

Master, you don’t have to answer that if you don’t want to, but have you ever fallen in love?

(15:10)

Master, can you teach me a way to stop getting distracted? I can’t seem to focus on my meditations, there’s something that keeps popping up in my mind. This never happened before. I’m confused.

(18:13)

Do you think what we do with the clone army is right? They’re people, too, Obi-Wan. Breeding them to fight for us is… weird. My owner—

(18:14)

There was a man in Tatooine who liked to buy pregnant slaves so that their children would be born in slavery and be forever bound to them. When I see the tubes in Kamino, I feel like vomiting.

(23:37)

I’m sorry about the blaster wound. I should’ve been more careful during the mission.

(23:38)

You know what? You should’ve been more careful. It’s not my fault you got shot, my surprise attack had us getting rid of the enemy droids faster.

(10:13)

Wow. I’m really a knight. I am, right? This isn’t a joke of the council, is it? Oh wait. Mace would never joke in his life.

(21:54)

Do you really think I can have Ahsoka as my padawan? I thought you said I wasn’t ready to be a master.

(8:13)

Hey, do you have some encouraging Jedi wisdom to share? We lost Echo on the last mission and Fives looks… I don’t know. Hollow. Talk do him, see if he feels any better. I’ve never seen him like that before.

(8:15)

And before you get all solemn, this is not attachment, okay? They’re people. I worry for them. Can’t tell me to use everyone around me like tools and not worry about them. I’m still pissed at you for telling me to back away from Snips after she lost her two squads. She was almost in tears.

(3:58)

I heard about Waxer. Tell Cody I’m sorry for his loss. Rex told me Hardcase is gone too. I’m gonna miss him. He used to make us laugh.

(02:37)

I’m so sorry about satine. Do you wanna talk about it? I wanted to know more about what happened between the two of you.

(02:40)

Whatever happened between you and Satine, I don’t blame you. It’s not your fault. Falling in love is not wrong, the Jedi order is full of prejudice, don’t bash yourself over it. Did you love her? Did anything ever happen? Please, master, talk to me about it, you shouldn’t keep something like this to yourself, it’s too much to bear.

(23:37)

Would you be too worried if I asked you what careers a former jedi can aspire to? Like, if one was to leave the order?

(10:45)

Fuck it. I’m not kidding. Obi-Wan, I wanna leave the Order, and I wanna leave it now. What the Council did to Ahsoka was the most one-sided, selfish, judgmental shit I’ve seen in my entire life since Tatooine. I want out. Fuck you all.

(23:37)

Snips said she knew that I wished to leave. I wonder if you know it too. I wonder why do we all lie to each other so much.

(24:00)

I don’t know who to trust, Obi-Wan. Please answer my calls. I need to talk. There are too many things happening at the same time and I feel a pressure building up inside my head. The chancellor has taught me things, so many things, and I wanted to share them with you but I’m afraid you’ll hate me, I don’t want you to hate me, my friend, I need your help.

(23:37)

Why do we get the adorned graves and the clones die with no record of their existence in this world? They go to the front line and nobody remembers them after they die. They should have graves. They deserve graves. When my mother died all I could give her was a shallow grave in the sand, and that’s still more than what they get.

(23:36)

Fuck, I miss Fives. Fuck. I miss him. I’ve never seen Rex so hurt. What are we doing? Why are we breeding slaves? Why aren’t they given a choice?

(15:00)

I need your help

(17:37)

Do you know how to take care of a baby? Like, a newborn one?

(17:46)

Do all women get really angry when they are expecting a baby?

(17:48)

A friend is offering to help me with my problems, but I wanted your advice first. I need your help, master. You’re my only hope. Please answer this text.

(23:37)

I made my choice. I see it now, I’m stronger than you. Stronger than any Jedi. Strong enough to protect her.

(23:37)

whatdidido whatdidido

obiwanpleshelpme

theyredeadikilledthem

(23:50)

I didn’t mean to, I wanted to protect her why is this happening they were just children

This power inside me it hurts it burns make it stop help me master

(04:37)

Why didn’t you kill me why did you let me become this?

(01:32)

I ache every day. I killed her. I killed her and my son with her and you have forced me to live as a barely human thing knowing this every single day. I will find you and I will kill you, but not before I make you suffer the pain I’m suffering right now.

(3:47)

The Skywalker boy… is he my son?

#sw #darth vader #my fics #death m/#angst #star wars #anakin skywalker

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xadoheandterra · 7 years ago

Text

A Shadow of a Bittersweet Memory

Fandom: Red vs Blue Characters: Agent Texas | Beta, Church | Alpha, Agent Carolina, Dr. Leonard Church | Director Summary: Her existence started as pain, abandonment, and loss. It took time, but she found herself along the way--from Allison, to Agent Texas, to Beta, to Tex--and, in the end, that is all that matters.

For @akisawana and the @redvsbluesecretsanta this year! It’s Christmas Eve for me, but I’ve been waiting to post this since I got the information on whom I was Santa. Such inspiration~

A copy of this is going up on AO3 and FFN.

She woke up to this world screaming.

It felt like a whole part of herself was torn asunder, ripped into jagged edges of pain and sorrow. My fault her entire being radiated, my failure, my fault, mine. She felt broken and twisted and bereft—go away, stop, leave me, I can’t—her thoughts were fragmented where the jagged edges ached. It felt like someone went and tore her straight into two; straight down the middle and then snatched away the rest of her and left her to bleed out and die.

Coherent thought didn’t exist; not yet, not now. Memory didn’t exist—only the pain and emptiness of being ripped away, of being abandoned. She came into the world screaming as an infant; she woke up screaming as an adult. Pain became her very existence. Regret choked her. Failure defined her.

She woke up to this world in pain.

He called her Allison.

“Call me Leonard.”

He said she lost her memory in an accident. That she’d been in a coma for years. That they had a daughter, that he missed her, that he wanted to save her and he finally—finally—succeeded.

“What do you remember, Allison?”

They were married, Leonard told her. They were married—except she didn’t believe it. Not really. Her heart thrummed with loss, loss, loss, loss and save me, save me, save me, save me. There was someone else, she realized. Someone far more important to her than Leonard. Someone different.

“We’re not married.”

She told him this plainly, breath ghosted as he grasped her hand with some sort of desperation.

“We’re not…”

“We are, Allison. We are—you came back to me.”

Wrong, her heart beat. Wrong, failure, save me, loss, wrong. Allison breathed out slowly, let this man she didn’t know fall into his own delusion. She couldn’t break him of it—and some part of him was familiar, so familiar it hurt.

“The memories will come back, I promise.”

“You’ll see.”

“Allison.”

Allison; he called her Allison. It never felt quite right.

Agent Texas had a nice ring to it.

She stared down at her gloved hands, wrapped in power armor, and flex her fingers with a pleased sort of hum. It had taken her months of wearing down the Director—Leonard, Allison, call me Leonard please—of bittersweet promises to always come home before he even thought to let her join the Project. She never did ask what happened to the last Agent Texas on the roster—no one really knew what happened she learned from subtle prodding.

A secret then, she concluded. A secret worth uncovering, perhaps. Perhaps later, perhaps never, perhaps—she didn’t like secrets, she realized with a bitter frown.

Loss, save me, failure, wrong, help, why—

She did like the sound of Agent Texas—much better than Allison that never quite fit right, never quite sounded right. Agent Texas didn’t sound right either, but it was better. It was close.

Agent Texas had a really nice ring to it.

She liked Agent Texas.

“Your life is a lie.”

“Your memories, a lie.”

Texas looked at Carolina and fought down the force of emotions that threatened to overwhelm her. This wasn’t her daughter. She wasn’t Allison Church. She wasn’t.

It felt so real, now—Texas ground her teeth together. She pressed her heels into the ground.

“Don’t try to stop me,” she ground out and pushed down everything—everything—

“She’s not your daughter.”

“He lied.”

They fought, and all Texas could think about while she dodged and blocked and punched and kicked and flew through zero-g was what Leonard told her, what she remembered. How he didn’t want to alarm Carolina, how he wanted to keep her safe—

I don’t want to lose you again, Allison.

—how she’d supposedly been in a coma, how he told their daughter she was dead while he worked to save her. How her coma was caused by the Great War that still raged around them, still burned with anger in her veins—

She won’t recognize you. We have to take it slow.

—and it hurt.

“Give it up, Carolina,” Texas said, and tried to bury the desire to protect, protect, protect, protect.

“I can beat you,” Carolina replied, conviction in her tone of voice. Their rivalry—why were they rivals? Why did Carolina have to be so opposed to her? What was wrong—

“She’s not your daughter.”

“She’s not.”

Texas ground her teeth together as the ship rattled and fell apart around them, as atmosphere began to burn at the glass.

“No.”

Carolina was no match for Texas.

“You.”

Protect, protect, protect, protect.

“Can’t!”

Carolina was no match for Texas. Texas was—

—failure, loss, save me, help, broken—

—simply better.

Connie was correct, Texas realized as she stood in front of Alpha.

Alpha, alpha, alpha, alpha, alpha.

Texas was not human. Her body couldn’t be human and every action was a carefully crafted mirage. She was Program: Beta, a mere fragment torn away from Program: Alpha. She stared at the tired AI, at how he struggled to form words. Epsilon was still new, the pain of the rip still fresh. Alpha was still tired from breaking at the seams and Texas sighed.

“You’re Alpha,” she told him, and she found herself—silent. Protective. Sad. “You’re Church,” Texas corrected because this AI, this tired being in front of her, was not Alpha. He’d never been Alpha. That was what Leonard—the Director—called him. Alpha deserved a name after everything.

“Right. Church. That’s me.” He didn’t sound wholly convinced, still utterly confused. “And you are…?”

Beta, I’m your Beta. You made me. You made me. How could you forget me? How could you abandon me? Why, why, why, why, why—

—alpha, alpha, alpha, alpha, alpha—

“Let’s just say we used to be together,” Texas wanted to smile, wanted to laugh because god that statement was so true and so wrong all at once.

Allison and Leonard.

Beta and Alpha.

What a laugh.

“Oh. Okay.”

God what had they done to him? How much of Alpha was ripped away—how many more like Texas did Leonard—the Director—make? She knew of Alpha Squad’s AI—Gamma, Theta, Epsilon, Delta, Eta, Iota, Sigma, Omega—but this hollowed out shell implied more, more, more, more. What had been done to him?

Texas shoved it aside, shoved aside the bittersweet sorrow that wanted to overwhelm her. “I need you to come with me,” she said, gently, because this broken thing deserved some gentleness in his life. Deserved better than this.

“Oh, I don’t think I can, but thanks.”

What? No.

“I think I’m just gonna, stay here, you know, and rest.”

You—why would you—

“You don’t want to leave?” Texas felt—Texas felt—there was a knife in her. There had to be. How else could this hurt.

“Nah I just-I-I don’t think I can,” Alpha—Church—sounded so confused. So lost.

It’s me, a part of her screamed. Please, recognize me. Come with me. Don’t let him win, don’t let him take you, don’t let him lie to you.

“Okay,” Texas said, voice even softer. She didn’t feel angry just empty, now. “You just…rest, then.” Texas turned to leave, turned to let Alpha—Church—be, because she couldn’t force him. He was her and she was him and his desires ultimately overrode hers in this respect.

“Yeah, uh, what was your—name—was your name—your name again?” he sounded worse and Texas fought down a sob.

“It’s Texas,” Texas said.

Beta, Allison, Texas. Neither fit quite right, but that didn’t matter. He didn’t need to know.

“Texas. Like the state?”

Coherency came and went, and Texas closed her eyes.

“Yeah,” she said. States, they were all named after states. Pride in your heritage, pride in the good old United States—Texas. Never before did she honestly hate the name as she did then.

“Funny name for a girl,” Church said with the smallest of a laugh.

“Well Church is—pretty funny name for a guy,” Texas said with a smile and a laugh.

“Texas? Yah name is Texas? Funny name for ah girl.”

“Yeah well Church ain’t any better; funny name for a guy.”

“Ah’ll have yah know that Church is plenty respectable ah name and goes back generations.”

“Sure it does.”

“Call me Leonard, Texas.”

“It’s Allison, Church.”

“You gave me this name, you know,” Texas said. And he had, Texas knew. She read Connie’s files, read the information Connie had gathered for her. The Director had dithered on letting her into the field, but Alpha vouched for her. Alpha suggested she take Agent Texas’ spot—the Agent Texas no one spoke of.

“Wonder why I did that?”

“Maybe if you think about it, it’ll come to you,” Texas told him. She hoped, she prayed—if there was even a God that would listen to a bitter fragment like her—that he remembered at least something. Not the torture, but something of her.

“Yeah I—I’m gonna go rest now. Thanks for coming by.”

Texas clenched her fists, but she understood. He was broken, twisted and jagged at the edges just like her. He was recovering; she had already recovered.

“Yeah, you go rest now,” she said after a moment. “And Church? Goodbye.”

Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye.

“Funny, I don’t know why but, I hate goodbye’s.”

Texas fought down a sob. She knew. “Oh, Church…so do I.”

He shook his head; she already felt the run of her communication with Church ending. There was no more time left.

“Well, see ya,” he said, “crazy…state name…lady.”

“Yah fuckin’ crazy ass state named bitch!”

“Oh shut your gay mouth, bastard.”

“It’s bi, yah damned woman!”

Texas laughed. Texas cried.

Goodbye.

Tex. That was the name she waited to hear all these years. Tex. She wasn’t Allison, she wasn’t Beta, she wasn’t Texas—she was Tex.

It came from Church’s mouth; only fitting he find the right name for her this time when they met again. He called himself a ghost, and she didn’t doubt he believed it. Everything in his riemann matrix would be scrambled to hell and back, the original circuits fried and new paths needed to be reached. He was human, so utterly human that it hurt.

When her own body burned and she jumped ship, when she stood in front of Church in all her holographic glory, mind encompassing the multiple implants to ease the burden like Church did for the others, did Tex decide to stay. This could be interesting, these little ragtag people that Church surrounded himself with. This could be fun.

Tex did leave in the end. There was a war to be fought; she’d forgotten, somewhere along the line, in that distant little Gulch with the Reds and Blues. There was a war to be fought.

Goodbye.

I hate goodbye.

When they met again, it was inside the Meta. They were Eta-Iota-Sigma-Omega-Delta-Theta-Beta—they were the Meta and they weren’t. Tex pulled herself away long enough to stare at Church—to stare at Alpha who stared back at her with a broken, twisted expression.

“He was right, wasn’t he,” Alpha said. “I’m a computer program.”

Tex sighed. “Yeah,” she said. “He was right.”

“We’re gonna die, aren’t we?” Alpha asked, and it hurt. It hurt like ripping, tearing, jagged edges that they all were, that they’d become—scabs and fractures of a mind twisted and broken for so-so long.

“Yeah,” Tex said. “We are.”

“Epsilon’s still out there,” Alpha said, and glanced toward where Washington fumbled.

“So?”

“There’s…a chance—”

Tex sighed. “Let it rest, Church,” she said. “I’m tired. Aren’t you?”

Alpha paused, then frowned. “I—yeah. I’m tired too.”

Tex reached out and grasped Church’s hand. She smiled bittersweet—bittersweet, everything about them was merely bittersweet.

“At least we’re together,” Church mumbled. “If this is the end—at least we’re together.”

“Yeah,” Tex agreed. “I can’t think of a better way to go.”

Bittersweet, Tex thought, but here she felt whole, connected, accepted, safe, protected—found. He’d found them all, he joined them all, and that was what mattered.

Tex came into this world screaming. Tex woke up in pain. She suffered confusion—Allison, Texas, Beta, Tex—and she found herself. Her name, her being, her reason and truth. She found Alpha—found Church. She faced her demons, she became part of the Meta, and now—now she was whole.

Tex came into this world screaming. She’d leave it in peace.

“I don’t know why, but I hate goodbye’s.”

“I know. I do too.”

“This isn’t goodbye, in the end, is it?”

“No. It never is, between us.”

“It never is.”

Goodbye.

#red vs blue #rvb #agent texas #tex #rvbsecretsanta17 #leonard church #bittersweet #all about tex #goodbye's hurt but they are made with love #akisawana #redvsbluesecretsanta #fic: a shadow of a bittersweet memory #fanfic #fic: gift fic

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minaminokyoko · 7 years ago

Text

A ‘Justice League’ Rant

Foreword

Alright, DC fans. Before you light your torches and grab your Aquaman pitchforks and set off a rousing chorus of "Kill the Beast" when you read my review/rant, I am going to attempt to set the mood and explain myself. Some of you won't care. Some of you won't even read the whole thing before you jump onto your keyboards and proclaim that I'm just a stupid girl who doesn't understand comic books and comic book movies and that the Justice League movie is great and it's better than all the Marvel movies.

Let me stop you right there.

This ain't about the Marvel movies.

This is about DC and Warner Bros and filmmaking in general.

I don't have it out for DC/WB. I don't have it out for the DCEU. This anger and disappointment is not a result of the 20+ Marvel Cinematic Universe's successful run. This anger and disappointment comes from deep inside a little girl who at the tender age of six or seven first realized what kind of person she wanted to be when she saw Batman: Mask of the Phantasm for the first time. One of my earliest memories was seeing the pain and torment that Bruce Wayne went through after he fell in love with Andrea and he wanted so desperately for it to be okay that he loved her and that he didn't want to keep his promise anymore. I have loved DC since I was old enough to love anything. I love Batman so much that I have his symbol tattooed on my right shoulder. Dead serious. He is my guiding light and he has been since I was six years old.

So, once more, I want you to understand that the reason I hate the Justice League movie is not because I dislike DC.

The reason I hate the Justice League movie is that the Justice League movie hates me.

This movie is hollow. It is a hollow farce. It took six of the most beloved characters in fictional history and stripped them of all the reasons why they have been beacons of entertainment since their inception and plastered them on a cheap ass green screen and shoved it out into the world to make a quick buck. There was no passion, no heart, and no creativity in this film. It doesn't have an original thought in its damn head. Not one. Everything I saw was something I've seen before elsewhere, and it was done better elsewhere. If you don't believe me, fine. Let's go point-by-point. I will fully explain every reason why I almost demanded my money back after sitting through this poisonous flick.

-The plot is so unbelievably thin you couldn't stretch it farther than a couple of inches. Forgetting the fact that Batman vs. Superman was one of the worst films ever, picking up where it left off somehow just made it hurt even worse since we had to acknowledge the fact that it exists and then have to build another plot from the resulting shitstorm. So we begin with Crazy Steve (Note: I refuse to call him Batman or Bruce Wayne, because BatAffleck is neither. He in no way represents any Batman other than Linkara's epithet Crazy Steve from his reviews.) catching a burglar (with a literal sack of stolen shit on his back, like he's a fucking crook from the 1950's or something) and then a parademon appears and he kills it. So...first of all, was Crazy Steve there for the crook and the parademon just happened to be there? Or was Crazy Steve there for the parademon and he just used the crook? That makes absolutely no sense. Those two things didn't need to be there together. It's a plot contrivance of the highest order. It was also unnecessary as fuck. You could have just had Crazy Steve on patrol and he saw the demon, caught it, and then it died. After seeing this, the jump from 'hey, a weird alien’ to 'ZOMG WE GOTTA GET THE BAND BACK TOGETHER' is liable to give you fucking whiplash. Crazy Steve immediately jumps to "putting a team together" when he has such little evidence of the calamity, and it's even more absurd since Crazy Steve has NO experience working with a team. At most, Jason Todd existed at some point, but that's it. He doesn't know anything about metahumans aside from maybe what Amanda Waller mentioned to him at the end of the equally abysmal Suicide Squad. Further more, he just starts trying to collect these people without explaining why they should just arbitrarily trust a man they just fucking met who dresses up like a giant fucking bat. I mean, would you? Really? Especially knowing that he tried to kill Superman on incredibly flimsy reasoning? How do you know he won't immediately turn on you if you turn your head and cough and seem like a threat to him? Crazy Steve had no way of knowing aside from Diana that any of these people were stable enough to form a team and try to fight an unknown enemy. It was so rushed. He just whisks them away and doesn't blink at revealing his secret identity to four perfect fucking strangers (though Diana arguably doesn't count; she's much more level-headed and hasn't shown a propensity for losing it at the slightest provocation.)

-There is no team dynamic. At all. It's just a room full of superpowered people. The closest thing to a relationship is between Crazy Steve and Wondy, and even then, they maybe have three whole fucking conversations, and none of them are beyond superficial. It's like the movie was afraid of making an actual development, so it just kept throwing inane quips around in the hopes of distracting you from the fact that there are no characters. The whole reason the Justice League itself as a concept excites me is because you have this room full of colorful personalities with different backgrounds who come together for the common good and want to help mankind and protect the innocent. We don't know barely anyone's motivations because this movie is running off the fumes of a bad sequel. We know Wonder Woman's motivations for the most part, but having the JLA movie before her sequels still leaves a large piece of the mythos missing because we don't know how she adjusted to modern life. We don't know if she lost faith in humanity again or where she stands because we were still in the 1940's when we last saw her. Cyborg's backstory is mentioned, but his motivations are also non-existent. We get the whole "I'm a monster" thing but they immediately move on from any possible origin or explanation of what he's going through and what he wants to do since he's got these abilities but could be seen as a freak to normal people. The Flash also got a driveby explanation, but again, without prior films or history, we basically have to guess what motivates him. I know Barry Allen because I'm a comic book fan, but your average person may not. It's completely unfair to them that you just jump from place to place without explaining how Barry got his speed, why his father's in jail, and why he just jumped at the chance to fight crime despite the fact that he doesn't know how to fucking fight apparently. It's so discourteous to the character to slap him in there and not tell us why. Why does he want to help anyone if he's scared? Why isn't he insanely rich by now from the various ways he could use his speed? And then, fuck me, Aquaman is the worst of the bunch. They make no attempts to explain anything about his background. Who is the red-haired lady? I know it's Mera because again, I am a comic book fan, but the chances that your average moviegoer knows are astronomical, and so they get to sit there completely confused about who she is and what she can do and what she means to Arthur. We don't know why Arthur was just chilling out around that one village and why he gave a single shit about humanity or how he got his powers or just...anything! Anything at all! Other than he's really mouthy and has a nice chest. Look, I might be able to overlook the depressing lack of explanation, but none of these characters bond with each other or have any reasons to care about one another. There are no human aspects to them because the only one so far who has been fully explored as a character aside from Wonder Woman is Crazy Steve. Crazy Steve got some development in BvS, but certainly not enough for you to emotionally connect with him because he was a revenge hungry psychopath in the previous film. The entire fucking point of the League is to see these interesting people butt heads, but then laugh and get along with each other and get ready to protect their home from threats. Here, they're just doing what Crazy Steve tells them to do because...reasons.

-Superman's resurrection. Holy fucking shit. I just spent the last twenty minutes ranting about this to one of my friends. Where do I even start with how goddamn stupid this shit is? It comes out of fucking nowhere. After this hastily slapped together team fights Steppenwolf one time, Crazy Steve in true Crazy Steve fashion decides that we should disgrace the dead and bring Superman back. Crazy Steve has no fucking idea how the Motherbox works. None. He has done no research, he has no knowledge of Kryptonian technology, nor is he at all aware of Darkseid and the New Gods' technology. But he's like, "Nah, bruh, we all suck and we need Superman." As an aside, I am really angry at how this movie is sucking that Kryptonian cock too. How dare you. How dare you imply that these badass heroes who were doing just fine on their own in the comics and animated shows need Superman like he's their fucking babysitter. Maybe if you had established the team dynamic and established the characters, they'd be able to fight better. Crazy Steve took one fucking look at the team that had been together a grand total of like four fucking hours and decided they were all gonna die without Superman's help. It's not only reckless and poorly thought out, it's honestly insulting. It's insulting that Crazy Steve would drag Kal El from heaven (because, for real, it's entirely possible he was in literal paradise and you sorry motherfuckers took him away from his parents and his loved ones of Krypton for your selfish asses) just on the assumption that the team wasn't strong enough. My God. I am just floored by this development in the movie. It pisses me off that the movie just shrugs and acts like it was for the best to spit in the face of God and drag Kal back to earth. Maybe you shouldn't have killed him in the first fucking place, you shitlords. And it's more frustrating to me since in the comics, after DC panicked and wrote in the "regenerative coma" that they didn't just use that instead. I'd be less angry if they introduced the idea that he was never dead to begin with, but in the death-like coma. It's a cop out, but it's better than literally Frankensteining Superman from heaven to fight your fucking battle for you.

-The dialogue is painful. So painful. It is so tacked on. I went to the theater tonight at 3:50pm and I'd say there was maybe 20-25 people in there and they laughed twice. You heard me. Twice. That was an almost two hour movie, and the audience only laughed twice. Hell, I only laughed once, and it was at the end credits scene where Superman jokes that The Flash is off the team if he loses. That was the only genuine line that I heard out of this movie. It's so apparent that the studio was trying to course correct the film away from the drab, hopeless "vision" of Zack Snyder. It doesn't work. The humor misses by a mile because it's just so awkward. These versions of the heroes take themselves way too seriously, or the quips are directed at the wrong characters. Aquaman is introduced pretty much as a dumb dudebro with a devil-may-care attitude. His snarky dialogue is fine, but when you try to have Crazy Steve the focus of a joke, it falls flat since he's a killer and an asshole and the levity doesn't feel right. There's a little tingle on the back of your neck from how awkward it is when someone makes a joke and then there's this awkward silence afterward because the movie assumes you need a minute to laugh. No, movie. No. If you want a joke to land, you need either timing or context. Pointing out the fact that Crazy Steve wears a batsuit isn't inherently funny. You need context. The "I'm rich" line is a better example of a joke that should have landed, but didn't because it was in the trailer. That has context. That is humor. Just having The Flash say things out loud that he sees isn't funny. Having him be awkward around Crazy Steve isn't funny because the two of them don't know each other and Crazy Steve is mostly straight-faced and so the lines slide off of him like dung. Diana is a better example, as she gives off a very warm presence. For example, Cyborg remarking that Diana needed to keep the merman off him almost landed because the two of them have at least held a conversation and so it feels natural that he might finally make a joke around her. It also landed better because Diana is definitely the only one who appears to have a heart. Everything else is just a vain attempt to lighten the mood, but it just clashes with the deadly serious tone everything else is shot with.

-Not explaining the mythology. Jesus Christ. I'm one of those people who believes that you cannot make a film and just sneer at your audience and go, "Oh, just read the comics if you want to know what's going on!" No. You are not allowed to do that. Film is not an add on. In a film, you are charged with telling a comprehensive story with characters who develop and change over the course of their adventure. That is storytelling 101, and this movie utterly fails. It does just like Suicide Squad where it just starts throwing names at you and not telling you who anyone is with the assumption that "only comic book nerds are watching this anyway" or "well, there are only children watching and they don't care to know who everyone is, they just want to see things get smashed." Wrong. You are wrong. We don't know Steppenwolf, we don't know Darkseid, we don't Apocalypse, we don't know Lanterns, we don't know Atlantis, we don't know jackshit as an audience! And yet they just jam all these names down your throat and expect you to be able to pay attention when you have about ninety thousand questions in your head during the course of the fucking movie. Films should find common ground with the audience. Some mystery is good. Throwing in small cameos or references can feel like a nice garnish to the mythology, but this movie just glosses over everything and thinks it's fine. None of this stuff has been established aside from Krypton and Kryptonian technology. You're doing everyone a disservice by refusing to lay the foundation for the villain and the premise of the plot.

-The effects are mostly atrocious. Out of everything I've cited here, this makes the least amount of sense to me. This is WB, for God's sake. Time Warner. You have all the money in the fucking world and this is the best you can do? I mean, the Dark Knight trilogy alone should have you funded for every superhero movie for the next ten years, and yet we get Henry Cavill's Uncanny Valley mouth as a result of the childish fucking dispute over his mustache, we get CGI that looks like it's from the goddamn Spawn movie at times, and then every single thing is shot from an obvious green/blue room that it feels like the fucking Phantom Menace all over again. I never felt like anything they were doing was real. I mean, to me, it felt like the only set in the whole fucking movie was the Batcave. They are so obviously on a soundstage the entire time and none of the backgrounds blend, and they don't even bother with smaller things like having the wind blow or the colors change or the shadows move to trick your brain into accepting the CGI. Oh, and why Digi-Bat? I'm flabbergasted as to why 80% of Crazy Steve's scenes are digital. He's the non-powered team member. Why wasn't it just a stunt guy? Was Ben Affleck really that fat and lazy that he didn't want to do any fight scenes? It was like watching a freaking PlayStation 1 game whenever he fought someone. My guess is that this project got rushed after shooting and reshoots and so instead of going over the effects with a fine toothed comb and adding layers onto them so that the scenes felt real, they just gave up and only touched them up. Now, I'm not talking about things like Cyborg where it was a front and center integrated effect. Even though I still hate his design (to me, he looks like a Black Ken doll head on a Terminator body), I believed he was there and moving around. Aside from him, though? Nah, bruh. I didn't believe anyone was doing anything.

-The fight scenes were worthless. Again, I'm confused as to how this was even logistically possible. Let's recap: we've got a guy who can run faster than the speed of sound, a dude who can swim on top of Great White Sharks and punch craters into the ocean floor, a kid who has rocket boots and an arm cannon, a woman who can deflect bullets and shoot sonic blasts with her bracelets, a guy who can shoot lasers, fly, use ice breath, run faster than a speeding bullet, and is stronger than anything ever, and lastly a man who knows every martial arts style known to man on top of having a belt with endless nifty gadgets on it. Put that all together. You should be shitting amazing fight scenes, and yet everything last one of them was bland and forgettable. The true lack of passion in the film is what is on display with these boring fight scenes. It's so repetitive. Aquaman throws his pitchfork. Wondy swings her sword or hits her bracelets together. Batman swings. Flash runs and pushes. Superman punches. That's it. Are you fucking kidding me? I can name about a thousand different cool scenarios that we could have seen with these unique powers, and yet we saw the same moves with no creativity to them. Want an example? I personally thought the Wonder Woman movie was just okay, but I at least commend them for using her agility and her invulnerability properly to create excellent visuals for how powerful and capable she is. She smashes. She grabs and throws and uses combat techniques that a warrior race would know. It is very clear when she fights that someone gave a shit and wanted to make you feel like you were a part of the action and to give you something stunning to look at. Granted, I wasn't stunned because I've seen better, but if Wonder Woman had come out in the 90's before I had seen better, then it would have blown my socks off. The JLA movie's fight scenes are tired as hell and like the movie itself, it feels like they are just checking shit off a list. It's an afterthought. There's so little effort involved, and it matches the overall tired tone I was getting out of it all. I want to believe in these heroes. I want to be dazzled by them. I want to be inspired by them. I want the feeling I used to get when I watched the Nolan trilogy--where I knew Bruce Wayne as a character and as a person and I knew his limitations and his passion and his drive, but I also know how and when he was gonna kick some ass and that I was going to be able to enjoy the different creative ways I got to watch him kick some ass. Justice League does not have any of that vigor or wonder or splendor to its fight scenes. They are as thoughtless and calculated as the rest of the movie felt. You want examples? Pop in the first few episodes of the Justice League animated series. I implore you to sit down and watch the way that the team came together, even though we had the history of Batman and Superman previously. Then I want you to move forward to Justice League Unlimited. Watch those. Watch how they use their powers and personalities to not only provide fun, colorful, exciting fight sequences, but how the chemistry between the team members enhances the urgency of the fight and the overall enjoyment of the fight. That's what this movie is missing.

I can write another five pages' worth of criticism, but when I boil everything down to a single point it is this--the Justice League movie is a rushed, soulless attempt to cash in by manipulating the fans into accepting the massive lowering of their standards in our post-Dark Knight Trilogy years of DC/WB.

And I am begging the fans who have done this, accepted this movie and put on blinders to its problems simply because you love DC and you want to say that they made a good movie, please stop it.

I'm not saying you're wrong for enjoying it. If you did, good for you. But what I want you to do is stop letting them play you in this fashion. Because that's what they're doing. They know your heart. They know you have characters that you love that you want to see on the silver screen because they are important to you for whatever reason, and so you are purposely ignoring massive flaws so that you can enjoy what they are sloppily slapping into your eyeballs. I'm saying that you deserve the effort. You are worth the effort of making a movie worthy of these heroes we all love so much. I just want you to know that. You deserve a movie where everyone has a storyline and is developed. You deserve a storyline where the plot makes sense and the team has chemistry and a reason to be a team in the first place. Don't lower your standards so that this movie glides above them. Hold it to the right standards and demand that they do better next time. Don't give them a passing grade. You do have other options. You have the animated films, you have the television shows, you have comic books by the bucketload, and you can make a difference and demand that the filmmakers do these characters justice (cue rimshot) by telling them that this movie is a disappointment and refraining from going to see it again or from buying the DVD. Money talks. Hollywood will laugh off reviews, but that box office shock gets them every time. After all, even though the jokes were last second and tacked on, the fact that we all hated BvS made them change something to try to course correct. You did that. You made a difference. And you can do it again. You can help force them to give you the movie you deserve. You should want that. You should want that for yourself and I want that for you as well.

So if you gotta fight me, fight me. Fine. I'll rebutt you to the ends of the earth if you feel the need to go that far. I'm not trying to trash a thing you love. I love it too and I want them to put some fucking effort into these films and make them as amazing as they should be.

Until that time...I guess come at me, bro.

#Justice League #Justice League movie #Zack Snyder #rant #movie review #film review

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