#light brown since he still has a vague sense of sight except everythings on fire

[antlercollections]

You ever read a fic so good it changes your life? No? Oh

Well anyways here's the lineart for fanart I'm making of the best fanfiction I've had the pleasure of reading

Bird watcher fic the beloved 🫶 please go read it

[willowaudreykeyes]

Prompt: myths and chaos with Logan with the line “so apparently microwaving this ancient manuscript isn’t a good way to find out its secrets.”

Remus’ Puzzle Temple Of Friendship And Chaos

Warnings: Baby eldritch thing, tentacles, one eye, vague sexual reference that’s from a song

Platonic Logince, brotherly-and-on-good-terms Creativitwins and Intrulogical of whatever relationship interpretation that you want.

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

Roman

“Remind me to thank your brother at dinner tonight.”

“That’s if we make it to dinner. And you all call me extra; he made an entire temple for us to explore within a week!” He spent a lot of energy on it too. I still remember the shaky finger he pointed at me after the second day of working on this Incan-like temple; slurring tiredly about not going into the space between our Kingdoms and ruining the surprise. He also forced me to carry him to his room as he dangerously swayed on his feet. I’ll have to thank him by working just as hard for his and Logan’s adventure after the two of us finish this one.

“I know; yet I’ve yet to thank him for doing so. And I must ask how long it took to make this language.” Taking my first glance at said language, I recognise it immediately as the first language that Remus and I had known. We had known it better than English at one point, until Patton insisted that we make English our main language so that we wouldn’t confuse Thomas. 

“Oh, we’ve always known it. We used to speak it in front of Patton as kids to confuse him and we still use it occasionally whenever we send a letter, or in his case a slab of mysterious leather, between our Kingdoms.”

“So you can translate this?”

“Of course!” I hold the slightly chipped black and red tablet out at arms length, quickly noticing that everything on the tablet makes no sense. No wonder he was so tired after every day in the Imagination; he even made us a puzzle. “It’s encrypted though, so we have to figure out what the cypher is first. And knowing Remus, it could be anything.”

He takes it from my hands and adjusts his glasses for the fiftieth time today before tapping his chin. I doubt Logan realises that he has so many visual tells when he becomes passionate and interested. “He would leave a clue somewhere where we could find it. He’s chaotic, not unfair.”

“Aha!” In a spark of inspiration, I rough up my hair and gain a huff of defeat from the neighbourhood nerd as I do the same to his own. It had dust from the temple in it anyway. “We just have to think like Remus! Now what’s the most logical place to put a cypher for this thing?”

“Where we found it.”

“Okay. Now what’s the opposite of that?”

His eyebrows do that cute thing where they pinch down a bit when he’s confused. I don’t bother hiding my smile as his eyes shift around, taking in invisible words as he tries to find my line of thinking. “I’m… not following. The opposite of where we found it is every room that we didn’t find it in, and we went through forty-three rooms and eight hallways; perhaps half or less of the entire temple judging by the size and spacing between each room.”

“And only twelve not-too-tough traps, which is less then his usual quota…” Probably because of the exhaustion, but I should have figured that out earlier. I’ll up the level of hazards in his next one as a double thank you for his hard work. “Anyway, we must think chaotically if we are to beat the chaotic one!”

With a silent nod, he attempts to fix his hair as I take in our camp and the temple before us. It’s very reminiscent of an Incan temple in design yet is mainly made out of pitch black obsidian; with intricate wall carvings engraved with pure ruby, emerald, moonstone and diamond; and a whole lot of animal and human skulls that are packed tightly into every ceiling. And I must say, adding the creatures from both of our Kingdoms as the wall carvings is a nice touch. 

Except I won’t say it out loud because the majority of them are of naked people, naked cannibals and of naked murders. 

At least our camp has some more class to it! Logan wished for something realistic, but was soon swayed by my enchanted Harry Potter tent that’s magically large enough to have a working bathroom and still look like a ‘regular’ camping tent from the outside. I do like regular camping, but I prefer to have a shower after a tub of Thomas-knows-what is dropped over us and getting into every uncomfortable crevasse. Just thinking about that disgusting concoction makes me shudder.

“... Perhaps our microwave?”

I snap my gaze back to him, beaming at his rather shy sounding remark. He always sounds shy when he says something that deviates from his path of logic. At least he’s opening up a little more. “Perfect! I knew you’d think of something!”

“It was the first usable thing that I saw. Were you daydreaming again?”

“Nope- Using the microwave to solve a cypher sounds like something Remus’ mind would think up. He did mix sardines, lettuce and one of your ties in the blender before drinking it once.” I mumble the last half -I probably shouldn’t out Remus just yet for drinking Logan’s tie a few months ago- and put the tablet in the microwave and set it to three minutes. Three is the magic number after all.

“Did you say something?” 

“Mumbling ideas to myself is all!”

The microwave suddenly glows a bright purple and I manage to drag Logan in close before blocking something from hitting the both of us with my summoned shield. With a pop, crackle, fizz and several loud noises that sound like tearing metal; I risk peeking over it in perfect sync with Logan. The sight of three large tentacles wiggling out of the new holes in the camp's microwave brings out a sigh from me. A very loud sigh. Remus could probably hear it and currently giggling to himself from the comfort of his bedroom.

“It may be best not to touch those. Or the microwave.”

“But the tablet!” Logan pushes by my shield and barely escapes my reach before I am able to pull him away. With a straight posture and a quick slick back of his hair, he opens it and nearly jumps into my arms Scooby-Doo style from the loud pop that occurs. I’m in front of him again within a moment, but the usual feeling of hostility that Remus puts on his dangerous creatures as a warning is lacking. At least this thing won’t try and face-hug me like that faceless chicken that guarded the temple did.

Inside was a brown-black-blue ball of tentacles, with three longer than the others that retract out of the newly-made holes in the microwave. My heart stutters as a singular, goat-like, boysenberry coloured eye opens from one of the many seams in the creature; just to quickly dart it’s vision between the two of us before landing it’s creepy gaze on Logan. “Huh. So apparently, microwaving the ancient manuscript isn’t a good way to find it’s secrets- but a great way to hatch an eldritch abomination.”

“If you’d hand me a blanket, perhaps bringing it with us would be advantageous in future explorations.” Of course he wants to bring the nightmare creature; he always does. I hand him the nearby dish towel instead as I don’t feel like leaving this thing alone with Logan would end nicely.

“As long as you're carrying it.”

“Of course; you’re the one with the sword and shield.” I’m rather sure that that means that he would make me carry the disgusting creature if I wasn’t the one with our only ways of defending ourselves; and I don’t know if I should dramatically put my hand to my chest in horror or just pout.

I go for the pout.

Only for it to be rather rudely ignored as he cradles the little beast in its new home, wrapping it’s longer tentacles around Logan’s hands and attempting to remove his watch for a moment before I manage to grab it before they do. Logan’s too busy holding it in one hand and going through his cue cards to notice though. “And I shall name it as randomly as I can; since Remus seems to name all of his creations.” 

“Why?”

“It’s only polite to follow custom; and the custom for Remus is to name his creatures.” I hate everything about this -plus the tablet is just full on missing or destroyed now too- but Logan seems enraptured by the little thing. I roll my eyes and put on my backpack as Logan already begins walking up the temple steps. We just had lunch, so we have a chance of leaving before dinner, but I highly doubt it.

Despite not being able to see, the creature manages to grab out one of the cue cards from Logan’s hand before letting him snatch it back. With a quick smile after reading it, he pockets them all again before getting a better hold of the thing before it runs away and eats a whole deer or something. “It’s name shall be Anaconda-Do-Not.”

God-fucking-dammit Remus. I frown at the thing as we enter the fire-lit entrance, glad that its eye is hidden under the dish towel. Sheep eyes have always kind of creeped me out; especially on things that aren’t sheep. “You’re not allowed to hang out with Remus, Virgil or Janus anymore if they keep giving you those weirder cue cards.”

“This one’s from Remus. It’s a metaphor about-”

“I KNOW WHAT IT IS!” A light pain follows my facepalm, but I ignore it and march onwards. Hoping to get rid of this thing as quickly as possible. “Let’s just… go shove it into a keyhole or something already.”

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

By the way, I really hate that stupid Anaconda song and so I know that it’d be perfect for Remus. Hopefully the ending is alright because it was the only bit I really had issues with ^^’

Oh and Remus definitely fell in love with the new Eldritch creatures name.

@ladyedwina @5am-the-foxing-hour @sparrowofsong

[commander-orca]

COTW FANFICTION

CHAPTER 10: SEDITIOUS TALKS, SEDITIOUS TRUCES

Eyes fixed on her pocket watch, Itia grinned when she heard the young caregiver rush into the infirmary. Resting her book on the edge of the bed between the folds of the blanket, she brought her legs up against her, carefully following the large hand of the clock; it had just passed the number twelve again. Near the entrance, the wall clock accompanied the new hour with a few gleeful tinkles.

“I see you’ve made an effort to be on time, Kannavi. That’s good, ”she commented with delight.

His philtrum slightly sweaty, the young man leaned against the large cupboards, his back bent. His hands on his thighs, his half-open mouth was letting out his short, hoarse breath. After a few heavy breaths, he looked up at her and tried to articulate a handful of words before giving in, dipping his head forward. Amused, Itia asked him what frantic race he had just ran and if by any chance he had sprinted around the entire Whale. A few more gasps later, Kannavi replied that he kept forgetting instruments and that he must have ran back a dozen times over. By what miracle had he then managed to be on time ?, was a question Itia could not help asking him, his eyes widening with curiosity. The young man straightened up, going back to his nonchalant self. With his free hand, he took care of some of his locks, stuck to his moist forehead.

"I know it sounds like a lie, but I can run fast ...," Kannavi assured, tilting his head to the side, "Although I don't see the use of it except in case my life would be put in danger. But let's say that it is mainly thanks to the five alarm clocks that Orca gave me in addition to mine ... ”.

Itia gave a small laugh:

"Sure you couldn't sleep after all that racket," she added.

The conversation fell flat and, processing their short conversation, the young woman felt a strong sense of pride radiate from her. All those days spent in the infirmary had mentally worn her down and made her feel more helpless than ever. Knowing that her words had had a positive impact on her comrades soothed the desperate restlessness that weighed on her chest. She had the power to make a difference even locked in here and that was what she wanted to do more than anything from now on. Perhaps it was those suppressed emotions that finally resurfaced, but her freezing apathy on other people's feelings had started to disgust her; she would no longer deign to remain passive in the face of injustice. However, it went without saying that she could not fix everything... Despite the efforts of their two peoples, their reconciliation was still delayed and although it something was off between her superior and the prince of Amonlogia ... She could not force them to find a common ground...

It was unbearable to her. But she also knew it was inevitable. People with strong temperament tended to ram into each other and tread on each other’s toes and there could be no agreement without a little confrontation. Luckily, his boss had seemed little tormented by the exchange - or rather the one-sided taunting - of the incident from the day before. Itia prayed this would not last and that the damage could be lessened by those around them. No, rather, she was confident; Suoh had succeeded in lifting her spirits and in altering her way of thinking in considering only the favorable outcomes.

Suoh being the leader of the Mud Whale had taken her aback at first, but now she fully understood why all of his people respected and loved him. His boundless benevolence and the inner peace he managed to convey to his surroundings as well as his mental stability made him an ideal commander. If he ever allowed them to stay, Itia would be honored to pledge allegiance to him.

Pulling his sleeves up, the young nurse walked up to the sink and began the sanitary procedure. Little by little, the small prickling sounds of the hammering against the sink and those of the terracotta jars colliding with each other shrouded the infirmary in a cottony and reassuring atmosphere. Laying in her bed, Itia no longer knew where all these clicks and tinkles came from, but she noticed vaguely that a saucepan had just been put on the fire and was simmering gently. Water was trickling into the dishes and a scent of jasmine reached her nostrils, mixed with a faint scent of denatured alcohol. Her eyes gradually closed, struggling against a desire to stay awake that had no obvious purpose. The glow of the candles in their copper plinths seemed to have faded, the penetrating light of dawn already, and slowly, entirely eclipsing their glow.

She must have grown soft, she figured, on the threshold of a heavy sleep. She, who could not bear to remain still, now enjoyed remaining idle, snuggled under the saffron sheets, contemplating for hours the walls the ceiling, also saffron-coloured. Everything was a quiet yellow. It felt nice to stay there and not have to worry about anything for once, other than choosing meals or having conversations with other patients. Perhaps for the first time in her life, she was spending time with herself, following her own feelings. And that drowsy state was wonderfully soothing ...

“Ah Itia, don't fall asleep just yet!”, a voice protested above her.

Tediously opening her eyes, the young woman recognized Kannavi's face at her bedside, leaning over her, a roll of gauze in his hand.

"I have to change your compress," he gesticulated, looking a little puzzled and at the same time bewildered, making his face look comical.

“Of course, I forgot”.

The slats squeaked under her weight as she got up and leaned back against the headboard, still sleepy. Her gaze caught sight of two patients in the hallway which was parallel to the windows, sipping their teas in silence and a few bunks away, three more eating breakfast in large spoonfuls. A little unsettled, she asked what time it was.

"It's twelve to twenty. You've been drowsing for three hours, I think, ”, Kannavi said nonchalantly, busy soaking alcohol in a piece of cloth and preparing a clean compress. "Could you lift your top up to the solar plexus, please Itia?" "

Itia did so and turned her uncovered abdomen towards Kannavi who knelt down and began to peel off the bandage. Shortly after, the young woman wiggled a little on the spot, inconvenienced. The nurse was not insensitive to her discomfort; Abashed, he rubbed his palms and fingers vigorously against his apron two or three times, hoping to improve the quality of his care.

"Forgive me, my hands are cold".

With delicacy, he began to peel off the adhesive part and collecting in a cloth the lumpy pieces from the previous poultice before making sure of its effect. Behind his long lashes, his deep-browned eyes were perched on the wound, forming the new diagnosis.

"Looks like the epithem has taken effect. It caused a slight scar keloid, but that did not turn into a general infection and we are lucky to have sterilized equipment here which also prevented nosocomial infection”.

"Uh ... In English, Kannavi?" Itia said, puzzled.

"Hm? Oh ... Well ... Everything is fine. You’ll be able to return to your daily tasks within a few days ”.

Quickly applying the disinfectant to the swollen skin, not sparing his patient from a few grimaces, he finished by placing a new strip of clean gauze on her. Itia thanked him for his work, feeling the compress with the tip of her fingers then readjusting her top on her bare skin. She had looked quite embarrassed some minutes from now.

"Say, Kannavi ..."

The young nurse now didn’t face her anymore, busy gathering his equipment on a medical platform. The velocity in his gestures was a warning sign to anyone who wouldn't even bother to notice that he was overwhelmed with this morning's chores. And yet Itia risked asking the question all the same. It couldn't wait any longer. She waited for him to turn to her and move closer to the edge of the bed to begin asking. Before uttering the words she dreaded, her eyes wandered over the hospital wing door and beyond. It was a calm morning, nothing it would seem, would come to disturb them in their conversation and yet, now that she had been granted the opportunity, she was seized with a violent temptation to run the other way and pretend she only wished a glass of water from him.

"I know you're really busy today but ... It's about Sir Orca."

The moment had arrived; she finally dived in. Kannavi raised an eyebrow, his fingers playing with the pen attached to the front of his white work coat pocket.

"You know him well, don't you?" He said you were his one and only friend ”.

Her interlocutor raised two fingers to his chin, lost in thought for a few seconds.

"… If he told you that, then it must be true," he conjectured, nodding sharply, "Now that you mention it, I have never seen him confiding or having a good time with someone else his age.

- Well ... Kannavi, that seems obvious to me. If he had another friend other than you, he would be here too, ” Itia retorted flatly, stunned by his lack of discernment. "Anyway ... Since you are close, I was wondering if he had let you in regarding ... Something about us ...

- Something about you–?

- Ah, forget it, I should have guessed that with you, I must go directly to the point. Tell me, did he tell you that he’s proposed to me? "

Kannavi looked genuinely rattled; his jaw unhooked and that stunned air now never leaving his face. From the pen his fingers were playing with, a sudden creak rose and the metal bar serving as a retainer and the pen both crashed to the floor.

" Really... ? He asked, after a long painful silence.

Itia replied in the affirmative. Filled with an embarrassment whose origin she did not know, she scratched her forearm lightly, her eyes looking away from Kannavi.

“It happened while we were in the invocation circle. He hasn't spoken about it since… This situation is very embarrassing. And besides, I'm sorry to have to get you involved in all of this. I'm just ... Clueless. And I was wondering if ... If you could ... "

Hearing her, the young caregiver raised a hand to his face, his thumb and index joined to signify that there was no problem and that he would gladly take care of the matter. Then he left quickly, leaving Itia to her thoughts; the day would still be long for him and he did not have time to devote himself to matters of the heart. Falling in love ... That seemed like a poor choice in these precarious times ... Didn't people have anything better to do? But maybe he was asking himself the wrong questions. People who fell in love seemed happy, at least for a while, and hardships were said to strengthen love. Younger, he would have liked to understand this feeling. But could someone find him attractive? The answer so far had been inconclusive...

He was about to go and treat another patient when the front door squeaked in the familiar creak and a silhouette entered the room in a small din of crumpled rain gear and growls. Taking off their shoes and sending their soggy boots waltz under the coat rack, the figure joined Kannavi at his counter as he was thinking sadly of his futile efforts to mop the hallway. Kannavi gave them a glance over his shoulder. The Prince of Amonlogia?

"What a foul weather ...", began the Prince, in order to strike up a conversation, however formulating his request without further time-consuming transition. "Tell me, doctor, don’t you have any herbal infusions left?" "

The young nurse bit his lip for a second, thinking less about the potential they still possessed rather than where they might have been stored. Things went on like this every day, he had a little trouble getting used to the infirmary's tidying up methods, he who usually didn't bother tidying up ...

“I think so…” he said, tiptoeing up to search the cupboards over the sink, “There are several. Which ones would you need? "

"I have visitors, so it would be soothing herbs, preferably."

- How many guests for? Kannavi asked politely.

“Only one. For me, ”Rochalizo retorted, rolling his eyes, his nose wrinkled in annoyance,“ They're already getting on my nerves ”.

                                                         OoOoO

Rochalizo thought he had grown used to being in poor company. The monkeys on this island all had the same irritating idealism as well as a steadfast worship of rules and protocols. If these weren't followed strictly, they then gave in to a frenzied panic, perhaps expecting to be struck by the thunderbolt of their wrathful ancestors. Even if he had been relieved that he could escape for a few minutes the advisers who had come to squat at his house, he now wondered what mess they been causing and if it had been wise to leave them alone there. Well... Suoh was with them. But, no offense to Suoh, he believed he would not be the strong hand he needed to help get them out.

He crossed the threshold, holding little bags of herbs, pushing open the door and sighing hard. Dazzled for a moment by the fire burning in the hearth, he stopped in the middle of the entrance, blinking in the orange light. A slight hubbub filled the small room interrupted from time to time by the creaking embers in the fireplace and the wet sound of water flowing through the gutters under the skylights. The consultants conversed with each other around the oak table, talking with liveliness, surrounded by cushions and other comfortable assortments. They hardly noticed his presence. But at the end of the table, oblivious and inattentive to the conversation anyway, Suoh turned his head, sensitive to the noise and almost instantly, his gaze lit up when he met Rochalizo's. The prince greeted him back, waving his hand discreetly, a smile creeping into his frustrated expression anyway.

The island chief kept smiling at him, so Rochalizo waved vaguely with both his hands, a silent question on the topic of the conversation. The smile Suoh gave him was a heartwarming smile; looking close to laughing, he shrugged casually, the hair wrapped around his neck sliding like snakes down his humerus. Rochalizo wrinkled his nose in amusement too and waved his hand to ask him if it was really important and especially that it all looked extremely boring. A finger pinched on his lower lip, half-hiding a smile, Suoh gave him a fake disapproving look. With his other hand, wrapped in a bandage, he mimick for the prince to leave. "You, get out of here," Rochalizo moved his lips at him silently, his smile so big it hurt a little, then imitated a Suoh bored to death, tongue out. Suoh suppressed another laugh behind his hand and aped back at him that he was stupid before drawing an invisible zipper over his mouth, playfully telling him to shut up. Rochalizo huffed, more and more amused and with a nod, tried to get him to come to him.

"… That's a good idea, isn't it, Suoh?" Kuchiba said at that moment, turning to his boss.

His expression went through several stages of surprise, anger and exasperation within seconds when he realized that Suoh hadn't been listening for a while. Staring at the two young people exchanging inconspicuous signs, annoyance took hold and he crossed his arms, followed by Kanae, looking less accusing and more discouraged. Shinono appeared to be the most entertained of her peers but tried to keep a professional attitude.

“Hey, Suoh. Rochalizo. Would it be too much to ask that you focus a little ? "

The two leaders froze, in a very childlike manner, as if they’d been caught stealing treats. Suoh got out of it faster and smoothed his hair down with his fingertips, looking embarrassed.

"I'm sorry," he uttered softly.

Rochalizo's cheeks flushed a bit from the shame of being caught in such a ridiculous conversation, but categorically refused to apologize; filling the distance between them, he leaned his elbows on the table and gave the councilors a very annoyed look, an annoyed smirk clearly announcing what he thought of this small assembly.

"Kuchiba, and you guys... How would you like to get the heck out of here?" My home’s not a meeting room! ”

"Ah shoot…" Kanae grimaced, strongly expecting an argument to break out.

Beside her, Suoh sighed desperately, knowing all too well what was about to happen, his forehead in his hand. Kuchiba clenched his fists and raised one in the air, explicitly directed at the prince.

“Maybe I must remind you that we are in war times, there is a lot to do at the moment. And you're supposed to help us just as much as an advisor. We're not just busy escaping the enemy, we also need a plan to get ourselves out of this stressful situation and seek for a new hom, in case you’d forgotten”.

- Oh I haven't forgotten”, Rochalizo stubbornly persisted, his voice dropping a few tones in the low," But your five-hours-a-day-councils is a big pain in arse. Especially if it is to talk endlessly as you do and not even finding a concrete solution. And if I'm hosting Suoh here, it's not so that you can come and piss him off ?! Got it? "

"Of course you don't care," Kuchiba retorted angrily, "You're just a kid. You shouldn't have any responsibility at all!

- What did you say ?! Do you think you are more useful, you old man !? "

Both had grasped the other's collar, determined to throw fists when, with a knowing look, Kanae and Suoh both rose from their chairs in an attempt to pull them apart. Suoh circled Rochalizo's waist and tried to forcefully pull him back. Kanae grabbed Kuchiba's left arm.

“Both of you stop !! The young advisor muttered, breathless trying to push her superior as far away as possible.

"Rochalizo, please," the young chef urged him, his whole face crumpled from the slightest physical effort.

“Suoh, let go of me. I'll give him a good beating! "

They struggled a little longer, to the protests of their comrades. When all at the end of their breath, collapsed to the ground, Shinono, who had remained seated without saying anything, took advantage of the silence that had finally settled down to show off his diplomatic skills.

"Are you all calmed down?" How about you all sit down at the table now? She offered, trying to sound cheerful.

Taking a few steps away from them, she picked up the small bags of herbs the prince had brought back from the infirmary.

" Oh ! I found some tea! Anyone wants some tea? "

Not waiting for an answer, she whirled around the kitchen area and hastened to heat some water in one of the large pots that hung on the wall.

“Hey…” Rochalizo grumbled, still breathless, his cheek glued to the ground and his side slumped to the ground, “The tea originally was for me… Because you all get on my nerves”

His last words were muffled in his throat as Suoh put an arm around his shoulders and declared, beaming:

"I would really love a tea".

Having had time to calm down a little, the small group had gathered around the table, all pressed against each other, this poor piece of wood not being used to welcoming so many people. Cups filled with tea let out thin miasmas of white steam and they all had curled their hands around the hot mugs - except Shinono who was telling a story - surprised by the coolness of the night which, despite the crackling fire, had infiltrated inside. Rochalizo had wrapped himself up in a blanket, a little sensitive to the climate of the Whale as soon as the sun went down. Suoh's head was starting to tilt down slowly, though he tried to pay close attention to the anecdotes that were being told. Rochalizo glanced at the window to his right, it must have been around seven o'clock. Their company turned out to be rather pleasant, unlike the first and major part of the day, but he had to admit that he wished for calm now.

"S’cuse me," he spoke up through the hubbub, leaping up from the bench which began stiffening his bones.

Suoh, who hadn't said anything for a while, his chin resting on his arms, looked up at him with a slight smile of relief.

“It was nice, really. But I am compelled to have you leave now. I'm serious this time, ”the prince continued. “You’re as funny as you’re invasive, and all good and bad things must come to an end”.

"What is this half-kind, half-passive-aggressive farewell speech," Kuchiba complained, laughing, extricating himself from his seat and meticulously combing his matted red hair.

"It's a respectable elocution dismissing you all home and strictly forbidding you to come back at least - and please don’t be afraid to abuse of this 'at least' - before eleven o'clock tomorrow morning", Rochalizo clarified, posing, one foot on the bench, arms raised in the air like a statue honoring a war victory.

" Eleven o'clock ?! Kanae choked as she picked up her rain jacket from the coat rack and slipped an arm inside. " It's late ".

The other councilors joined her one by one in the hall, donning their rain gear and soon said their farewells for the day. On the way home, as the small group of elders slaloming between muddy puddles, walking in a comfortable silence, Shinono turned to Kuchiba in order to convey her concerns.

"Kuchiba, are you sure we can let them tell us what to do? These are hard times after all ... "

The latter sighed, his eyes staring in the void. He too was wondering that same thing and had even thought of taking advice from the assembly of veterans and asking them to intervene to get the young leader to take better responsability for his role. Many incidents had started this way in the past and they could not repeat the disaster Dyo's reign had been; each leader had to be under control to avoid any upheavals and he had always revered this rule which for him was of an implacable justice and logic. So why loosen up now? Maybe it was because he was barely sixteen and ended up getting attached? Maybe because he wanted to alleviate his burdens out of compassion? No, it was rather ...

"I meant what I said earlier ... But not in that mean way. They are just kids after all, who have already been given so much responsibility. If we don't let the children live, they will live by force when we need them to be responsible the most... And I'm sure they know what they're doing. I will stop interfering ”.

Shinono's expression brightened, dumbfounded. Her comrade’s response was wise and she slowly nodded, cherishing that hint of comfort that had just dawned within her. Her lids closed over her eyes and let a glimpse of the raindrops that had clung to her lashes.

" You are right. Let's leave them ”.

[melodiouswhite]

Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde rewritten, Ch. 01

(A/N: I didn’t think it was necessary to include warnings for this one, except for the fact that I shamelessly rewrote the 2nd chapter from the book)

1. Searching for Mr. Hyde Gabriel John Utterson was, as a lawyer, not someone who could easily be startled. But the incident his cousin Richard Enfield had told him about was nagging at him. No, nagging at him was an understatement. Ever since he had heard the story, he had been plagued for nightmares. They were always the same. His dear friend, Henry Jekyll, being haunted by dark shadows, usually in the shape of a man. Or a replay of the occurrence Enfield had told him about. The man was always faceless, which in itself was uncanny enough. And every time he awoke from his nightmares in cold sweat, he was compelled to go to his safe and read the will of his friend Dr. Jekyll over and over. The good doctor had declared a certain Mr. Edward Hyde to be the sole heir to his fortune. And that very man had trampled over a little girl without even a shred of sympathy, cold as ice. What was compelling Jekyll to leave his fortune to such a creature? Did he even know? In what kind of relation did Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde stand with each other? Who on earth was this Mr. Hyde? A visit to Jekyll's former friend, Dr. Hastie Lanyon, didn't bring any answers. Utterson couldn't stop pondering about it, no matter how hard he tried. So often he tried to calm himself down, that he was just being unhealthily obsessed with the matter and that this was nothing a good night's sleep couldn't solve. But he never got one. After several nights without sleep and an incident that involved him dozing off in his own office (luckily with no one around), he decided that this state of perpetual unrest was unsustainable.

He was convinced that the only way to end this was to face the source of his nightmares. He wanted to look this Mr. Hyde in the eye, if only to either confirm or shatter his suspicions. He wanted to see the man in person, hoping that just one look at this peculiar face would answer his questions. What was so repulsive about it, that his calm and collected younger cousin felt such an irrational loathing just at the very sight of it? So it came that every evening from then on, Mr. Utterson went to the street where the scene had happened, stood in his chosen post and waited. He was aware of how creepy this seemed to be, but for the sake of his own rest and the well-being of his friend, this had to be done. If he be Mr. Hyde, I shall be Mr. Seek. After what seemed endless nights of waiting, his patience was finally rewarded. One frosty, clear winter night, when he had just assumed his usual – uhm, watching duty, as he would have loved to shamefully call it, but couldn't bring himself to – well, his spot, he was alerted by hasty, oddly light steps coming down the lonely road. They were coming closer and for some reason, Utterson felt an inexplicable sense of triumph and quietly hid in the shadows of the court entry. When the footsteps came around the corner, their owner came into view. The lawyer sneaked a glance to see what kind of man he would be dealing with. He was small and plainly dressed, but that alone wouldn't have been too noteworthy. However, there was something about him, a dark aura, that made the beholder uncomfortable even from a distance. The man hurried down the street, crossed the road and purposefully made his way across the courtyard. The lawyer could faintly see him take out a key, as if approaching his own home. Then Utterson decided to step forward and tapped the smaller man on the shoulder. “Mr. Hyde, I think?” The other started rather violently, with a hissing intake of breath. But he collected himself quickly. Despite avoiding to look Utterson in the eye, he finally answered coolly: “That is my name. What do you want?” To know why my best friend would leave his fortune to a man like you, Utterson thought, but what he said instead was: “I see you're going in. I'm an old friend of Dr. Jekyll's – Mr. Utterson of Gaunt Street – you must have heard my name; and meeting you so conveniently, I thought you might admit me.” “You won't find Dr. Jekyll; he is from home”, Mr. Hyde replied, blowing the key. He's using every excuse to avoid eye contact with me, isn't he? How would he know that the doctor is from home anyway, when he himself has been out until now? Suddenly the smaller man startled him by asking suspiciously (but still without looking up): “How did you know me?” “On your side, will you do me a favour?”, the lawyer countered. This seemed to surprise Hyde in return, before he recovered and guardedly replied: “With pleasure. What shall it be?” This is my chance! “Will you let me see your face?” For a moment, Mr. Hyde seemed to hesitate, like he was considering whether he should do it or not. Then, as if making up his mind, he turned around with an air of defiance, lifting his top hat far enough to show his eyes. A few agonizingly long seconds of silence followed, as the two men fixedly stared at each other. Then the lawyer nodded politely and said: “Now I will know you again. It may be useful in the future.” “Yes”, returned Mr. Hyde and the way he smiled back sent shivers down the older man's spine. “It is fortunate that we have met; and apropos, you should have my address.” And he gave him the number of a street in Soho. Good God! Could he be thinking of the will? But Utterson didn't voice what he was thinking and simply grunted to show his acknowledgement of the given address. “And now”, Hyde continued, obviously getting agitated, “How. Did. You. Know. Me?” I must be careful with what I'm saying. “By description.” “Whose description?”, the smaller man inquired suspiciously. “We have common friends”, the lawyer said vaguely. For the sake of his cousin's safety, he chose not to give any names. “'Common friends'?”, the other echoed incredulously and rather hoarsely, “Who would that be?” “Jekyll, for instance”, Utterson offered. “He never told you!”, Hyde blew up, red with anger, “I didn't expect you to lie to me!” “Come!”, Utterson cried with a frown, “That is not fitting language.” To that Hyde reacted by bursting into a savage laughter that was even more disturbing than his smile. Then, before the older man knew what was happening, the younger one had unlocked the door and disappeared into the house without so much as a goodbye, slamming the door shut. For a few minutes Utterson stood there, shaken to the bone from the meeting. Then he left the street and went home. Every few steps, he stopped to take a deep breath. Come on!, he scolded himself, Pull yourself together! You're being hysterical! But it didn't help. What is wrong with me? He had a feeling that this question would never be answered. Mr. Hyde sure wasn't like any man Utterson had ever seen. He was ghostly pale and dwarfish, definitely a lot smaller and younger than Dr. Jekyll. There was no sign of malformation about him and yet, he gave off an inexplicable air of deformity. He had dark hair, in the darkness of the street Utterson hadn't been able to tell if it was black or dark brown. But determining the colour of his eyes was just the easier: they were of such a startling green that they almost seemed to glow in the dark. He had a displeasing smile – no, displeasing didn't describe it. No smile had ever been this cold. The man had borne himself with a murderous mixture of timidity and boldness and spoke with a husky, whispering and somewhat broken voice that didn't sound remotely pleasant. All this in its own made him repulsive enough, but even all these traits combined couldn't explain the deep aversion Utterson was feeling towards the young man. There is something else – there must be more! If only I could name it. God help me, this man seems hardly human! Maybe it was that strange, dark aura that had made him uncomfortable even from a distance earlier. Perhaps the evil of that man's soul was leaking through and that was what … yes, that had to be it. Oh god … for such a man to be acquainted with Jekyll … if I have ever seen a monster, it's him! Now he felt even more uneasy. He had to see Jekyll right now and confront him about – wait, Hyde had said that Jekyll wasn't home. But how would that demon spawn know, if he himself had just been returning from god knew where? The lawyer gritted his teeth and made his way around a few corner into a nearby street full of formerly grand houses. Most of them were now in decay and inhabited by all kinds of people, but there was one house that was splendid and beautiful and still inhabited, although now the lights were off. But still he knew that someone was awake. So he knocked. The door was opened by a well-dressed, elderly servant. Utterson asked immediately: “Is Doctor Jekyll at home, Poole?” “I will see, Mr. Utterson”, the old butler replied, letting him in. He guided the lawyer into a large, low-roofed, comfortable hall paved with flagstone, warmed by a large, open fire and furnished with expensive oak cabinets. It was the doctor's pride and Utterson was quite sure that this room was the most pleasant one in London. But not even this place, where he usually felt at peace and at home, could calm him down tonight. As he waited, he tried to get rid of his inner unrest, but the shadows that the light of the fire threw onto the wall seemed to make it only worse. The demonic, ghostly visage of Hyde was branded into his mind like a burn scar and it made him feel horrible. Why do I suddenly feel so sick … so averse to life … what is wrong with me! He was ashamed of the relief he felt when the butler came back and announced that Jekyll wasn't home. When Utterson inquired about Mr. Hyde entering the house from the back door just like that, Poole informed him (to his horror) that, not only did Hyde have a key, but that also Jekyll trusted him enough to order his servants to obey him in everything. And when Utterson asked why he had never met Hyde before, the butler explained that the young man was rarely seen in this part of the house. This put the middle-aged lawyer even more on edge and he politely wished the butler a good night, before going home. He couldn't recall when or even if he had ever been as depressed as he was feeling right now. Memories flooded through his head, of when Henry Jekyll and he had been young. Digging in his own memories, he couldn't find anything that could be put against him. And still he felt tainted, like he had committed an unforgivable crime. Jekyll on the other hand … he hadn't exactly been a paragon of virtue in his youth either. In fact, he had been a rather wild youth. Only Utterson and Lanyon still knew about the adventures he had been up to. Oh my god … what if Hyde knows and is blackmailing him! What does he have that he could put against my friend? What is he doing to him?! How do they know each other? When did they even meet? What does Henry see in him! He is … he is … Utterson shook his head. Sure, it was perfectly normal to be concerned for your friend, but this was just ridiculous! He was thinking like a jealous wife, when there wasn't even– The black-haired man groaned and gripped his head. So much for there being nothing that could be put against me. I thought I was over that! And the thought, that he might have something in common with someone like Hyde, made it even more nauseating. Knowing that he would get no rest for the night and desperate to confide in someone who wouldn't judge him, he opened one of the drawers of his desk, got out a visiting card and crept into the next room to the telephone. There, as quietly as possible, he dialled a number on the telephone and listened intently. Finally, someone picked up and Utterson was relieved to hear the sleepy voice of the person he was wishing to talk to right now. “…Hello?” “Good evening, this is Utterson speaking-” “Ah, Mr. Utterson! You mean good morning, it's almost one o'clock. I hope you have a good reason for calling me at this hour. It's not exactly becoming for a gentleman like you”, the voice remarked with a light German accent. Utterson sighed. Of course, what had he been thinking? Of course she would have been sleeping. He really had to be out of his mind, calling someone in the middle of the night, tearing them out of their slumber. Some fine gentleman he was! Luckily the voice spoke up again, tearing him out of his self-loathing thoughts. “Mr. Utterson? Are you still there?” He blinked. “A-ah! Y-yes, I'm still here. I'm truly sorry, Madam. What am I thinking, waking you up at almost one in the morning.” “Don't mention it. But tell me why you're calling me in the first place. It must be something really disturbing, if you're desperate enough to call me at this ungodly time.” “It is. It truly is”, Utterson admitted. The voice at the other end of the line sounded concerned. “You sound like you're crying, Mr. Utterson. What happened?” “I …” He wanted to tell her, he really did. But now was not the time. He would just … wait, had she said that he sounded like crying? It was only now that he noticed that his sight was blurred with tears and that his voice was hoarse and choking. No wonder the other person was concerned. “… Never mind. I owe you a million apologies for disturbing your rest, Madam. I will consult you later at five in the afternoon.” “Are you sure? Are you sure you don't want to get it off your chest now? You dialled my number, after all.” He swallowed the lump in his throat. How could a person as open-hearted and empathetic as the woman he was talking to possibly be German? That was incomprehensible! “No, it's fine. But thank you. It's good to have someone who's willing to listen no matter what time it is.” He could practically hear the smile in her voice, as she answered: “Please, that's what I'm there for. And God knows, you really need someone to confide into. Just one thing: I already have a visitor at five in the afternoon. But I am free at eleven o'clock. And you would even have more time, since the client I had at noon cancelled her appointment. So come then and feel free to pour your heart out. You know that I will listen to you.” That answer made him smile as well. “Yes, of course. Thank you. Good night, Madam.” “Good night, Mr. Utterson.” Utterson hung up the telephone. He might not have been able to tell what was ailing him just yet, but knowing that someone was willing to listen to his problems even at this hour, had made him feel so much better. 

(A/N: Yup, I rewrote the second chapter from the book here. Utterson is a bit OOC, I apologise. And we also get a glimpse at my first OC in the story. And just in case you're wondering why I'm talking so negatively of my own country - this story is supposed to be written from the POV of Victorian people in the 1880s and at that time the British and German empire had a ... complicated relationship (that is, it was starting to get complicated). So I'm going to employ some of the stereotypes about Germans (and Prussians in particular), as tough as it is for me. Btw, if you're wondering about the telephone - yes, telephones and cameras were already a thing in the 1880s, even though they were more primitive of course. Just like phonographs (the predecessors of recorders). Hope you like this chapter anyways.

[jabbajambler]

05

When We Were Young

Obi Wan Kenobi x f!OC

Word Count: 2,191

*GIF by @pixelahsoka​*

        It was so incredibly green outside of the star fighter, a place like no other. The mountains were high, their tips just reaching the clouds that floated amongst the sky. Then there were smaller stones, still boulders in comparison to the pebbles at our feet, but they levitated in the air. I had a feeling in my gut that they weren't doing that entirely on their own.  

         A shallow fog circled around us and everything around. It was white and whimsical as though it had a mind of its own. It rolled down the hills in waves and collected at the base of the mountains. The entire scene was like one from a dream.

         "Are you the one?" A voice whispered in my ear. It was a gentle, feminine voice that echoed in my head.

         "Who was that?" I asked.

         "What?" Anakin looked dumbstruck, although I figured I didn't look much different. "Did you hear that?"

         Obi Wan shrugged and continued to peer out of the binoculars. "I didn't hear anything."

         "I did." I whispered, just loud enough for Anakin to understand me. I didn't want the others to think I was crazy, even though I thought I might be. I'd heard voices in my head in the past, but nothing like the one I was hearing.

         "Are you the one?" It repeated.

         As if on cue, Anakin and I both turned to face a magical woman. Her hair was a lively green that flowed down her back like silk, contrasting her pale skin that was decorated with a long, golden dress. She shimmered in the light, like a figment of my imagination. If I didn't know any better I would say she was nearly transparent. I swore I could see through her figure.

         "Hello." Obi Wan all but purred.

         "Who are you?" I demanded. I could feel a growing pain in my head from the pointed look I was giving.

         "I am Daughter." She explained as vaguely as possible. "Are you the one?" She asked again. I tried to look in her eyes, but I couldn't tell if she was looking at me or Anakin.

         Anakin grumbled under his breath while his hands rose to rest on his hips, "Uh, the one what?"

          "I will take you to him."

         "Him, who?"

          "Did you bring us here?" Obi Wan and Ahsoka both questioned.

         The woman appeared to sigh at what I could only assume was our ignorance, "only he can help you," she stated firmly. "There is little time. Follow me. We must have shelter by nightfall."

         Anakin scoffed, "and we thought the planet was strange. How about this one?"

         "Tell me about it," I rolled my eyes and bumped my shoulder against his, bringing a smile to both of our faces.

         "We'll be fine as long as we stay together," Obi Wan reassured us. I knew in my gut it wasn't going to be that simple, but we could hope.

         The walk was peaceful as we all remained quiet a majority of the journey. I thought it would be warm since the light was so bright, but nothing appeared to be real here. When we first arrived, there was no bright sun, no greenery to be seen at all, yet it surrounded us now. I certainly couldn't be the only one that was suspicious of this random planet.

         "Have you noticed the seasons seem to change with the time of day?" Obi Wan whispered among our group of four.

         I nodded, feeling a sudden chill creep up my spine. "Or the fake, rubber feeling of the planets?"

         "And there are no animals," Ahsoka added.

         Obi leaned towards Anakin and I as we trailed the mysterious woman, "and you two sense it?" he asked.

         "Since we saw the planet - or, whatever this is." I wrapped my arms around myself, feeling the cold temperatures increase yet the others seemed entirely unaffected. "The Force is incredibly strong here, it's like I feel it flowing through me."

         "An intersection unlike anything I've ever felt before," Obi Wan agreed. "Be wary."

         "Excuse me. Who are you taking us to?" Anakin asked the lady. She hadn't so much as glanced at us since we left the ship.

        "The Father, of course," she answered simply

        I scoffed and rolled my eyes. How very vague of her. "Well, of course. And who are you?" I snapped.

         Her gaze shifted around the area, gesturing widely to the plants - or maybe it was the rocks, even the planet. I thought I could see the faintest inkling of a smile on her face when her head turned towards us. "We are the ones who guard the power. We are the middle, the beginning, and the end"

         Another breeze rolled through the canyon, sweeping my hair from my shoulders and forcing me to wrap my arms tighter around myself. I could feel a hand rest on my shoulder, it was gentle and comforting, but the sensation was soon replaced with a tight grip as a large boulder came tumbling down the canyon walls. If I hadn't been pulled from it's path, I soon would've become a splat at the bottom of the forest.

         I lifted my head from the ground, finding Obi Wan dangling from the ledge. My heart stopped for a moment and before I could process anything, I was hauling him back onto the small path.

         "Thank you," he breathed. His blue eyes darted across my face, wiping a small cut that developed on my cheek after hitting the rocks. "Are you two okay?"

          "Yeah," I tried not to smile at the sight of his tousled hair, "we're good. What about Anakin?"

          The three of us looked to the rock that now blocked our path while Obi Wan quickly turned to his communicator. "Anakin, are you there? Are you alright?" he asked worriedly.

          The line was quiet for a moment and if it weren't for Anakin and I's connection, I would've shared Obi Wan's concern.

         "Yeah," he scoffed, "but our friend here has run off!" Anakin shouted. "Go back to the ship and try sending another distress call. I'll follow her and find out how to get off this rock."

         Obi Wan sighed, "and if this is a trap?"

         "Then I'm not gonna wait around to find out."

         "Anakin, stop." He demanded. "Wait for us to find another way around and meet you. Anakin?" His chest lifted as a sigh escaped him. "So reckless and impatient. Must be a Skywalker trait." He turned to me with a small grin. I couldn't decide if I wanted to slap it off of him or return it.

        "Maybe it is. You would be the one to know," I shrugged. Sounds of thunder rolled through the hills as the sky quickly darkened. The cold grew stronger and a sort of dizziness briefly took over me. "A storm?" My eyebrows stitched together in confusion at the sudden appearance.

          Obi Wan's hands wrapped around my shoulders, helping me stand upright. He was just as confused as I was with the familiar creases in his forehead.

         "We need to go," he mumbled. His breath was warm against my ear, a momentary ease to the chill I felt.

         We traced our steps back to the ship, trying to avoid the rainfall that was destined to come. The darkness slowly encompassed us as it spread across the sky, painting the sky a dark, dreamy blue. The green plants were no longer, replaced by rotten, brown-looking leaves that were deteriorating as the seconds passed.

        Our surroundings grew familiar, but there was nothing but an empty landing. There were no remnants, scraps of metal, or even indentions in the ground that signaled that our ship was once there. Everything was like new. Well, dead, but new.

         "The ship's gone!" Ahsoka exclaimed.

         "Yes," Obi Wan sighed, "I see that."

          "It was here," she threw her arm out towards the vast space, "no question."

          I felt the dizziness take over again, my hands flying to my head to stop the spinning. "Guys," I groaned, feeling faint like I could drop at any moment, but the two continued talking about our strange surroundings. "Guys," I tried again, nearly stumbling over my feet until a hand bunched up the back of my shirt and pulled me back to my feet.

         "Did you lose something?" Another echoey voice came. His piercing red eyes stared into me like a pair of lasers. "You didn't do as you were asked."

           "Actually," I pried his hand from my clothing as the sickly feeling soon faded away, "we did exactly as we were told."

         He scowled, "my sister said to wait."

        "Did she, now?" Obi Wan asked, his fingers brushing my arm as he tried to pull me back. Instead, I reached for the hilt on my hip, igniting the white blade. "Well," he continued, "we were unfortunately separated. We'd like our ship back if you don't mind."

         "Not yet," he hissed. "Is it true they are the chosen one?"

         Obi Wan tugged me behind him forcefully despite my saber while he and Ahsoka both readied theirs. His face sunk, illuminated beautifully by the blue light, while his eyebrow rose daringly. "What do you know of such things?"

        "What is about to happen shall occur whether you like it or not," his voice boomed. He swiped his hand through the air, shrinking all of our blades back into their hilts.

         "You are Sith." Obi Wan quickly pointed towards the man. I finally took notice of his face, looking past the evil eyes. His skin was white with harsh red markings, nothing like his 'sister,' except for the hazy appearance.

        "Sith?" He chuckled, quickly meeting my eyes. "Yes...And no. The storms here are quite lethal. If you want to live, I suggest you find shelter." He took off in a sprint before his body morphed into some dark, winged being and taking off into the stormy skies.

         I gasped as the rain started to pour down, pelting my face with the harsh drops. I paid no mind to the pain. I was more focused on the coolness of the drops as they hit my skin and soaked my robes and hair.

       Lightning struck all around, but seemed to avoid us. "Quick," Obi Wan grabbed my arm,  "there's a cave over there."

        He ushered us into the dark cave, both of them wearing grim expressions while working on starting a fire. I looked around the dreary space, then back outside where the rain poured down, and I started to laugh.

        I couldn't stop laughing, no matter how hard I tried. We were in the most absurd of situations, I swore I had to be part of some large prank or a dream. Obi Wan and Ahsoka looked at me like I was crazy. Maybe I was.

         "Aaryn?" Obi Wan questioned. "What is it?"

        "Nothing- Nothing it's just," I huffed and tried to catch my breath. "Actually, no. It's not nothing. My brother is missing and we're on some strange planet or whatever it is! We're surrounded by these weird creatures who, if you haven't noticed, are Force users. Dangerous Force users."

         "What, like you? Do you think I don't care that Anakin is gone?" Obi Wan seethed as he inched closer to me. "He may be your brother, but like it or not, he's my family too. Of course I'm worried about him, but he can handle himself just fine. He's not nine anymore, you missed all of that, you missed him growing up because you left."

          I groaned and shoved him back before getting into his face, his eyes narrowing into mine. "You're incredibly insensitive, General Kenobi. I envy anyone who's had the pleasure of not meeting you," I snapped.

        "You have a sharp tongue, General Skywalker. It's a shame it's not put to better use," he grinned, "you'd make a terrific Senator."

        "You despise politicians."

        He leaned close to me, a fierce glimmer in his eye, "exactly."

         We remained still for a moment, tied in our argument once again until Ahsoka cleared her throat with a smile threatening to spread across her face. I forgot we had extra company.

        "As much as I enjoy watching...whatever  this is, maybe we should get some rest? That storm isn't going to leave anytime soon, we might as well," she shrugged and gestured towards the large fire she'd set up.

        Obi Wan nodded quickly and pulled his shoulders back, always the professional. "Right," he agreed, "rest sounds good."

         Rest did sound good, if only for a little bit. The creepy Sith-thing said the storms were deadly, so we didn't have anything to worry about.

        I sat down against the cold rocks, curling into the most comfortable position I could find. I would only close my eyes for a few minutes, just a few. All I had to do was remind myself that Anakin was smart and safe, then I could fall asleep.

       What could possibly happen in just a few minutes?

[scribbleswrites-blog]

The Fight

Fandom: Bleach Pairing: Ichigo/Orihime Rating: T

Ichigo winced as the door slammed behind him, feeling a twinge of regret as soon as it happened; but it wasn’t enough to stop his stomping progress away from their apartment. He scowled ferociously at the solid concrete steps and their refusal to respond to his hard footfalls with the satisfying thump and rattle wooden stairs would have provided. His anger needed an outlet in noise and lots of it.

Why did she have to be so impossible? So unreasonable? So stubborn? Ichigo growled at the memory of that stubborn chin in the air and those furrowed eyebrows above flashing brown eyes and that tightened mouth that refused to say anything remotely rational. He reached the bottom of the stairs and paused; waiting, straining, begging for some evil thing to manifest itself so he could kill it—or at least send it into the next life very violently. Which was the same thing, he realized, except…not, because the evil things he “killed” were usually already dead, but— The tips of his ears perked at a distant hum, a tremor in the air, and he grinned an awful twisted grin as he set off after it. Not five minutes later, he had finished. And he was irritated. It was nothing but a short and easy fight that had done nothing to release the boiling, oozing, sinking lava in his chest. Now he was angry, frustrated, and irritated. Grand. Ichigo continued down the streets, hands shoved in his pockets. Evening was fast approaching, and he found himself following a few drifters into a bar. The place was mostly empty as it was a little too early for anyone except drunks, the after-work crowd, and a few people who actually wanted to meet for conversation and not stilted, sweaty mating rituals. He looked around uneasily before sliding into a stool, misjudging it the first time and ramming his hip into the side with a grunt. He cleared his throat after he set his bottom on the seat properly with a self-conscious glance around the bar and leaned his forearms over the counter, his back and neck stiff as he tried to decide what to do with his hands so he looked cool, like he belonged in any bar he chose to saunter into. The bartender, a young man around his age, walked up and raised a questioning, pierced eyebrow. “Uh,” Ichigo said. The bartender’s attention was grabbed by a wave and a bark from another customer, and as he watched him walk away, Ichigo’s mouth still hanging open with whatever stupid thing he was about to say, he realized this may have been a bad idea. The only times he had been in bars before was when he was dragged in by friends. They were in groups and he would slouch nonchalantly in some chair and, with a shrug, have whatever someone else was having. Going into a bar alone and angry and with the express purpose of getting drunk was disconcertingly new territory. Because that was what he was doing, he realized. He came in here to be alone and get drunk. That was what people did when they got in fights, wasn’t it? He scowled at the lines of shelved liquor bottles. Someone near him ordered something, and he ordered the same thing when the bartender and his eyebrow returned. It wasn’t like this was the first time he and Orihime had argued. They had had arguments of all kinds ranging from light-hearted to nearing dangerous levels of hurt and anger, while never quite reaching that point. But they were pretty rare and had never lasted very long at all before one of them crumbled in either laughter at how silly they were being or in regret and apologies and kisses and other things. This one, though—he nodded his thanks, took the drink, sipped it, gazed at the sloshing liquid for a moment, and then gulped it down, not even tasting the concoction—this was a Fight. He caught sight of a miserable looking man with a bottle and a glass and decided that was much more up his alley. The bartender may have given him some kind of look that was judgmental or pitying or disdaining or a combination of two options or even all three. Since he couldn’t pinpoint the look, Ichigo suspected the look had been nothing but the blank look of someone who couldn’t care less and that he was merely being paranoid. With that last flare of blessed logic, he pulled back the urge to glare his best go ahead make my day look before it made it to his face and threw the first shot of alcohol down his throat. After a moment, Ichigo’s nostrils flared and his face turned red as he held back the coughing and choking. Flinging booze down his gullet is where his Clint Eastwood imitations end. Orihime always said he wasn’t the bad boy he thought he was. He scowled at that and scoffed and flung back another shot, finding the fire scratching down his throat to be a sudden comfort. Ha! Now he was gulping hard liquor with the best of them. That’ll show her how much she knows him. Ichigo sniffed dismissively at the total lack of triumphant feelings at that thought. No matter how much he scowled or insulted, she was always going on about how kind and sweet he was. His snort echoed against the bottom of his empty glass. She was probably eating her words now. After what happened earlier, no one knew better than her how much of a bastard he could really be. He drowned the heavy feeling in his chest in more alcohol. Things were starting to feel a bit fuzzy. Good. He idly turned the bottle around, not even sure what he had ordered. Whiskey. All he needed now was a pair of cowboy boots and a poncho. He smirked a little, thinking how Orihime would be delighted with the picture and would insist he make her fantasies come true. What would she be? He tapped the side of the bottle with his finger, and then paused as a little smile crept up one side of his cheek. He would hopefully suggest saloon girl, but she would probably insist on being a pirate or something that was nowhere near any dusty wild west town at any time in its history. The sound of glass clinking against glass made him look up and see the same miserable looking man looking even more miserable as he drooped further towards his liquid comfort. Ichigo’s smile slipped away as he remembered why he was here. Halfway through the bottle, his heart began to really hurt. He hated this, hated this whole thing. Sitting in a bar, alone and drinking his troubles away. He felt stupid and sad and the feelings only increased as the place began to gain a crowd of happy people, or at least people giving happiness their best shot. He wasn’t even giving it a half-hearted shot so what was he doing here? “Hello,” a gentle female voice said. It almost sounded like—Ichigo popped his head up, but the hope that had leapt into his throat dropped like a cannon ball. He eyed the smiling woman seated next to him, her long, dark hair nothing like the ribbons of caramel that filled his life. Her lips were moving, she was saying something and she looked nervous but determined. He tried to concentrate on her words, but all he could see was the shape of her mouth and how that shape formed words and how it was all wrong. She scooted her stool closer to him, and he could smell her perfume. She smelled like some kind of flower. Roses, maybe? Whatever. He wrinkled his nose. That was wrong too. He didn’t want to smell flowers, he wanted citrus and a little bit of mint. He wanted caramel and pirates and cute chins that could turn stubborn. The woman next to him slid her fingers over his forearm and oh god that was… no, no, no, talk about wrong, and he jerked so harshly, the alcohol in his glass sloshed out onto his hand. Her hand recoiled and he could feel the offended humiliation coming off of her in waves. He frowned and tried to search where he had encouraged her, but his brain was pretty murky. She was saying something about lips and that sounded… yes, he could see how staring intently at her lips might send the wrong message. “I’m… sorry.” Ichigo pulled out his wallet and put down a few bills that more than covered everything. “I’m…” He slid off the barstool and stumbled on his feet slightly, trying to shove his wallet into his back pocket. “I have someone I…” The wallet finally slid into place on the fourth try. “I have to go back to my… my someone. She…” He finally looked up at the woman and saw embarrassment written all over her face. Guilt stabbed him in the gut and he shook his head and waved his hand towards her. Orihime would want him to say something nice so, “Y-You’re very pretty.” He was vaguely sure he was right, he wasn’t paying that much attention. “But you’re not… She’s my someone.” She sighed and gave him a smile of understanding, and he felt relieved that he was making some kind of sense. “We… We fought and…” And what? What now? “Uh, well, good luck.” He stumbled away from her and through the crowd of people that had suddenly descended upon the bar. Or was it suddenly? How long had he been there? He crashed into a woman and she grinned up at him and he shook himself. What was he doing here? He didn’t want to be here. Cool, night air finally hit his face and he sighed in relief, leaving the cacophony behind him as he made his way towards the only place he wanted to be right now. At one point a policeman approached him, and he was sure he would spend a night in the slammer, which would really seal that bad boy image for him, but then the officer helpfully escorted him to the apartment building. Apparently, Ichigo had saved the cop’s daughter’s dog or something, and he was grateful and wanted to see the poor young man home safely. Orihime was right. What bad boy Eastwood wannabe saved little girls’ dogs? She was always right. He must have slurred something about it, because the policeman nodded sagely and said something like the woman is always right, m’boy, in that wink-wink, all-knowing, one-man-to-another tone. The cop insisted on following him up to his door, watched him scratch the paint around the lock a few times, and then sighed, took the keys, and unlocked the door for him. Ichigo took the keys back and bowed a little too deeply in gratitude before stumbling inside. Ichigo scowled around the dark apartment. Had she gone to bed? Hadn’t even left a light on for him? She really was mad. And so was he, he reminded himself. So angry he could spit. He lost his balance and cursed when his hip rammed into the corner of some piece of furniture. There was a faint light ahead, and Ichigo followed it into the living room. He breathed in deeply at the comforting smell of citrus and mint… a lot of mint. More mint than usual. His eyes found the bright head of hair facing away from him under the lamp that was the only the only light on in the house. His socked feet shuffled along the hardwood floor and her shoulders stiffened as he rounded the couch where she sat and plopped down on the chair across from her. He winced when his bad aim caused his bum to slam onto the arm. His issue with not being able to place his ass in a seat correctly was getting old fast. She wasn’t looking at him, just staring at the table and the shot glass filled with green liquid next to a bottle of that nasty mint alcohol she loved. A clock echoed throughout the silent room as it ticked the seconds by. He didn’t even know they had a ticking clock. He studied her, watched the slight sway as she sat there and the slow way she blinked. “You’ve been drinking?” he said. Her lips pursed a little before answering his question by grabbing the glass and throwing its contents to the back of her throat. She shuddered slightly and reached to grab the bottle, leaning over and eyeballing glass and bottle with exaggerated care as she, amazingly, managed to fill the glass without spilling a drop. The bottle thudded when she harshly set it back down, and she went back to staring at her two green companions. She looked up and narrowed her eyes. “What’s it to ya, bub?” If Ichigo wasn’t so angry, he’d laugh. Whenever Orihime got drunk, she would become some character. Last time, it was Uchiha Sasuke and she kept her hair in her face and her fingers laced under her chin and wouldn’t stop mumbling about revenge. He looked at the more than half empty bottle. “How much did you drink?” Orihime regarded the bottle and then shrugged. “It was full when I got it.” Ichigo sighed, and Orihime narrowed her eyes at him again, swaying as she leaned back a little. “What’s a matter, shurriff? Can’t a,” she hiccupped, widened her eyes, and hiccupped again before continuing. “Can’t a person drink in the privacy of thur own home?” He narrowed his own eyes, partly because he was matching her expression, mostly because he was trying to figure out who she was supposed to be this time. “Why are you all the way over there?” She squeezed her eyes shut before popping them open again. “What? Yer the one all the way over there.” He harrumphed at this and got up, promptly losing his balance and shakily grabbing the arm of the chair. “Ah!” she pointed accusingly. “Yer drunk! Go home!” “I am home,” he said as he teetered around the table to collapse next to her on the couch. She glared as his heavy weight jostled her. “That’s true, ‘spose. Sssmartypants.”

“I am smart,” he agreed as he picked up her shot glass, sniffed, and put it down as he wrinkled his nose. “That’s mine,” she said. “You can have it.” She turned her body towards him and gave him an appraising look. “You tryna say something, punk?” He mirrored her position, folding one leg underneath him. “Yeah, I’m saying your taste in booze stinks.” Orihime gasped. “You take that back, you, you yellow-bellied yellow-livered canary bird.” “That’s a lot of yellow,” he pointed out. “And how does me pointing out your bad taste in alcohol make me yellow?” She opened her mouth, closed it, and frowned. “Give me a minute.” Ichigo looked at her empty hand, laying palm up on her lap, and reached over to gently grasp a few fingers. “I think I’m drunker than you,” she said, looking down at her captive hand. “How did that happen?” He shrugged. “Why are you drinking?” She looked at him like he was daft. “Because we had a big fight!” She tried to tug her hand away and failed. “A-And that’s what people do, when they fight. Right?” Ichigo nodded. “I think so.” He scooted closer. “Where did you go?” she asked as she studied the closing distance between their knees with a frown. “There was a hollow. And then a bar.” “That’s why you smell funny.” “A woman flirted with me.” Orihime snorted. “She has good taste.” “Thank you,” he said, thinking that was very generous of her considering everything. She shrugged. “Don’t mention it.” The hand holding hers moved to run along the skin of her bare thigh. Orihime eyed the roaming hand imperiously. “Do ya feel lucky? Well do ya, punk?” “You’re Clint Eastwood,” Ichigo guessed. She tipped an imaginary cowboy hat at him. “Yes, ma’am.” “I’m not Clint Eastwood,” he said, and she just looked at him. “Or a bad boy of any kind. I save little girls’ pets.” Orihime closed her eyes and nodded slowly like an old sage well used to young knowledge seekers coming to her with new revelations of old truths. Ichigo started to pull his hand away, but she stopped it and placed it firmly back on her thigh. “I missed you,” he said as he reacquainted himself with her knee. She jerked when he found her ticklish spot and bit her lip to keep from laughing. “You were only gone a few hours,” she said. “I’m sorry I left like that.” Her eyes flicked up to his, and she shrugged again. “I’m sorry too.” “For what?” “For…” she trailed off with a frown. “Um… what were we fighting about?” Ichigo blinked, realized he wasn’t anywhere near being angry anymore, and couldn’t for the life of him remember what they fought about. “I don’t remember?” Orihime hummed in thought. Or it might have been from the way his fingers were exploring underneath the fabric of her shorts and slowly approaching her hip. He scooted even closer until his knee gently bumped hers. It was probably both. His Orihime was good as multi-tasking. Whereas he was having trouble remembering he was even having a conversation as his fingers squeezed the curve of her bum. “If neither of us can remember,” she mused, her voice a little too breathy. “Then I suppose we’re not fighting anymore. Your hand is going on quite the journey, mister.” He let out the sigh of a long-suffering parent. “It was itching to go on an adventure. I couldn’t bear to hold it back from its dreams any longer.” She nodded and looked down to her shorts where his wandering hand was forearm deep. “What about your other hand? More of a homebody?” Ichigo brought up his other hand and looked at it in exasperation. “No, just a bit nervous about taking the plunge. Needs some encouragement or something.” “Oh, I see,” she said sympathetically. “Well… if I may?” “Go ahead, make my—” he stopped short at the glare she gave him. “No stealing my lines, punk,” she admonished. He waited, contrite. Eyeing him suspiciously, she grasped his free hand in hers, rose up on one knee, and swung the other leg over his thighs so that she was comfortably straddling him. “Good thing there are two mountains to explore, one for each hand,” she said as she placed the shy brother on her other thigh before placing both her hands on his chest. “Good thing,” he mumbled as he quickly moved inside her shorts. Orihime squeaked. “That one catches on fast!” Ichigo smiled, happy to be surrounded by caramel and citrus and mint. He kissed the not-so-stubborn-anymore chin, too, smelling the boozy mint on her breath. The funny thing about her awful alcohol, that he had tried—and gagged on—when she had first discovered it and couldn’t stop squealing in delight, was that it tasted different on her. It was sickening by itself (or in anything else. He remembered a dramatic episode from last year when she was making his favorite triple chocolate cookies and he caught her just in time before she poured the green liquid from hell into the precious batter. She had huffed and pouted and insisted that it would be amazing, but finally relented when he ended up on his knees in the middle of the kitchen getting flour all over his trousers. She had managed to sneak it into other things, and he knew for a fact that it would taste anything but amazing). But on her? Mixed with her own taste? He kissed her with several chaste but searing kisses before slipping his tongue past her lips and gently engaging hers. It wasn’t bad at all, that sweet minty-ness on her tongue. She pulled back and contemplatively tasted her own lips. “What did you drink?” “Huh? Uh…” He thought back, remembering the miserable man in the bar and Clint Eastwood. “Whiskey.” Her mouth twisted cheerfully. “Clint Eastwood wannabe,” she accused. “This town’s not big enough for the two of us.” He tilted his head and suddenly wondered. “What if we remember what we fought about, and we have another duel?” Orihime slid her hands up to the sides of his neck. “Then… I guess we’ll fight again, but…” She ran her thumbs along the skin at his jaw causing him to shiver. “If we get really mad and need to drink, let’s just drink together and glare at each other. Nobody goes anywhere. Deal?” “Deal,” he said, and kissed her to finalize the promise. “So… even though we don’t remember, can we still have make up sex?” She started, looking at him in horror. “Of course!” Ichigo made a satisfied noise and slipped his curious hands out of her shorts and up her sides, taking her t-shirt with them. “So,” he said as she lifted her arms and he tossed the shirt somewhere behind the couch. He faltered slightly at the lack of a bra. “I-If we fight twice, that means we get make up sex twice,” he reasoned. She could only answer with a strangled moan as she arched her back into his hands at her breasts. “So,” he said, gently licking her skin between his fingers. “We should definitely try our hardest to remember our very serious talk and fight again.” He nipped at her collarbone. “What do you say?” Orihime took his head in her hands and tilted his face. “Go ahead,” she said against his lips in a sweet, husky voice that Clint Eastwood would never, ever use. “Make my day.”

.

.

.

[antlercollections]

THE FINISHWD PIECE.....

You ever read a fic so good it changes your life? No? Oh

Well anyways here's the lineart for fanart I'm making of the best fanfiction I've had the pleasure of reading

Bird watcher fic the beloved 🫶 please go read it