#please ignore the sheer noodleness of the hands i was struggling and just gave up

[swasdoodles]

So, Clawdeen had a club for cool bugs, eh?

I'd join. Everyone should join the Creepy Crawly club.

[nockfellblues]

I don't know if you do these kinds of asks but how about reader pulling a hunger games type moment and confronting Larry before he kills himself saying if you go I do too I won't let someone I love die alone type thing.

All aboard the angst train ♥  written as a mini fic! TW for attempted suicide! Reader is gender neutral.

If you are in crisis, please call the National Suicide Prevention Hotline and get the help you deserve. Call 1-800-273-8255. If you are like me and are afraid to call, there are also live online chat options as well, located HERE! 

You’d known for awhile something was... off with Larry. Ever since Sal had officially moved in with Todd and Neil, Larry had been stadoff-ish on a good day, and on bad days would seclude himself in the tree house, Sanity’s Fall blasting from that tiny stereo so loud you could hear it from your shared basement apartment. To say you were worried about his behavior was an understatement. Especially after you’d begun to notice the pattern of near constant headaches, the fact that he was always saying it was too loud in the apartment, the occasional mutter of, “shut up,” to an empty room when he though you weren’t close enough to hear, and the quickly worsening whip of anger he’d been developing… You were walking on eggshells at any given moment.

Finally, it all hit a breaking point. 

You had been helping Larry pack up the remainder of his non-essentials, getting them ready to go over to his new room at Todd’s. It had been a process to pack a lot of his stuff up- it was a whole lifetime to sort through; countless weird knick knacks to decide to keep or not, finding old drawings and sketchbooks from his childhood, finding a random little thing that had been lost years ago tucked away in a dusty corner someplace… 

To be honest, it had been more reminiscing about his childhood and the memories about each of the items you both went through than it was actually packing. But it was fun, and the wistful smile he wore as he told you stories of his mother, his missing father and his years of shenanigans with Sal and Todd made every wasted second well worth it. 

When you unearthed a little silver puzzle box, you expected a fun story and for him to add it into the donation box for the local second hand shop for some needy kid to enjoy it later. But the simple question of, “Trash or stash?” quickly devolved into an argument about how much you didn’t care about his sentimentality or that it was an important object to him- and it just got worse from there- until you gave up, tossed up your hands, and stated you were gonna bring the box you’d finished earlier over to Todd’s while he cooled off, and walked out.

When you’d gotten there, the first thing you did was tell Sal what was up, hoping maybe he’d have some kind of wise words or what you could have done to set Larry off in the first place. Sally, ever the sweetheart, pulled you into a gentle hug, reassuring you that Larry was probably just having a rough patch and that he would talk to him and see if Larry might open up about it. 

Taking Todd up on an offer to stay the night, you threw on a movie and made yourself comfortable on the couch, falling into a dreamless sleep. 

Neil woke you the next morning with a killer cup of coffee and a poor mans breakfast of sugar coated pop tarts. Sally had come around not long after, letting you know Larry had texted him, and they’d be headed to the apartments for some, “Ghost hunting.” He seemed kind of tense but reassured you that he’d talk to Larry today, before he met up with Ash. Of course, you’d thanked him, and settled into Larry’s soon-to-be room to start sorting out some of the easier boxes.

—–

You woke up later, sprawled on the couch, to the sound of Todd rummaging in the kitchen. Yawning, you stretched and made your way out to greet him, smoothing out your bead-head. 

“Hey Todd, how as class?” You asked, grabbing a seat at the kitchen table. 

Todd shrugged, idly stirring an instant noodle cup, “No complaints. How’s Larry’s room coming along? Sal said you were unpacking this morning.”

“Well, I made it through the clothes and some oddball boxes… Did Sally mention anything about Larry by chance?”

Todd shook his head, “No, but he left with Ash almost as soon as he was back, so we didn’t have much time to chat. Knowing Sal, things should be smoothed over. He’s always been able to mellow Larry out like that.” 

With that, you decided to head back and see if Larry was feeling any better after some Sally time. It was getting dark, and the thick clouds looming overhead finally opened into a sweeping downpour just after you had left Todd’s. You stopped under a thicket of trees just off the road, hoping the rain would lessen, when your cell phone went off. 

Larry: [Name] im rly sry. i nvr meant that shit i said.

[Name]: Dude its all good i know youre stressed lately. Im heading back now.

Larry: stay at todds. and just dont blame urself ok? its my time to go.

[Name]: Larry wtf are you talking about? youre scaring me?

Without waiting for a reply you took off towards the apartments at a breakneck run. Bypassing the front door, you ran around the backside of the building to use the back entrance, when you noticed a light on in the old tree house- Then your gaze trailed down to the baggy with a neatly folded paper pinned to the lower steps on the tree.

You felt your blood run cold. He wouldn’t- no. 

“Larry!” You scrambled up the rickety planks, ignoring the note, and all but threw yourself onto the tree house floor. “Larry, don’t!” 

Tucked against the wall of the tree house, just under the little window, sat Larry, an old camping lantern lit in the corner beside him. His eyes were puffy and his hair disheveled, evidence that he’d been crying before. Tears welled in your own eyes as you took in his distraught expression and the bottle of whiskey in his hands. 

“[Name]..?” He whispered your name, and the way his voice cracked brought you to instant tears, and you all but launched yourself at him, pulling him into a desperate embrace. 

“Larry Johnson, you fucking asshole! Don’t you dare- don’t you dare take a sip from that bottle-”

“[Name]-” you cut him off, taking his face into your hands and forcing him to look at you. The circles under his eyes were so deep, and the absolute emptiness in them broke your heart.

“No! You listen here, you fucking string bean- you don’t get to do this. You can’t just… just push me away and expect me not to worry. You can’t just text… text me something like that and not expect me to come running to- to fucking keep you from being stupid! What the fuck am I supposed to do without you?!” You were openly sobbing now, practically screaming at the boy who all but held your entire world in his hands. “You’re all I have! You can’t just-just leave me behind and expect me to move on- who am I without my other half, Larry? Who am I?!” 

He scrunched his eyes closed, tears streaming down his cheeks again, as he shook his head.

“If you fucking kill yourself, I’m going with you. And you can’t stop me.” You knew it was a dirty trick to play, guilting him like this when his soul was this ravaged and he was so vulnerable- but you were being honest. What would you do without him in your life? What about Sal? God, what about poor Lisa? He was so dear to you all, so loved, and he was ready and willing just throw it all away-

“[Name], I-I can’t take it anymore- I just- the cult shit, that demon, the ghosts! The fucking whispers-  they’re dri-driving me insane! I‘m not like you or Sal- I can’t handle this shit anymore!” He finally breaks down into heaving sobs at that, burying his face into your shoulder, and dropping the bottle in favor of a bone-crushing embrace that you readily return.

You kick the bottle away from Larry, as far as you can get it, and quietly thank whoever will listen when the cap pops the rest of the way off, spilling the amber liquid and the mostly dissolved remnants of pills onto the tree house floor.

“…Why didn’t you just tell me? Or even Sal. Someone. You know we’d do anything for you, Larry, absolutely anything.” He didn’t reply, just shook his head and pulled you closer. What the fuck was was this place doing to him? You had to get him out- get him away- Larry’s phone vibrated from the other side of the tree house, but you elected to ignore it, praying whoever was calling was also smart enough to find you both before things got any worse.

He sniffled, hiccuping into you shoulder, “I’m so sorry, [name]. I didn’t mean anything that I said the other day- or anything I said in those other arguments. I just- This- this place is.. I think I’m going crazy-”

You shushed him, smoothing a hand down his hair and he devolved into body-wracking sobs that shook you both with the sheer force of them. Your soul ached for the boy you had known almost all your life- the boy you grew up with, shared secrets with, made countless memories with, and loved with all your heart. 

Why didn’t you see this coming sooner? “I know, Larry, I know. This place- there’s something still wrong with Addison apartments and we’re gonna get you out of here, forever. I promise.” 

“I-I’m so, so sorry, [name]. Please... Please don’t leave me.”

The rain continued to pour in violent sheets outside, but you distinctly heard the frantic voice of Sal, calling Larry’s name, as he ran towards the tree house. You had never felt such absolute relief in your life, even with Larry clinging to you like a lifeline, and the stain of his near-death slowly seeping into the floor of the tree house just behind you.

 “I’m not going anywhere, Larry. I’m with you, always, no matter what happens.”

—fin—

WHEW. I tried to make it so you could read their relationship as either romantic or platonic, and tried to stay as neutral as possible in gender as well! I hope this is alright, and I hope you like it! I’ve actually never seen the Hunger Games so I kinda went my own way ♥

I’d also like to use this space as a PSA:I’ve struggled with depression and suicidal thoughts and tendencies my whole life- don’t let your depression convince you that you are trapped or alone or unloveable. I know its hard, and there’s no easy fix for it, but there are things in life that make it worth sticking around. Even if its something as silly as looking forward to a new game or story or waiting for a flower you planted to bloom, there are reasons to keep living. Please be kind to yourself and remember, even if we’ve never spoken or interacted or existed in the same space, I know that you are worthy of being loved and cared for and you are not alone. 

If ever you feel like you are truly alone in this world, please reach out- there will always be people out here willing to lend a shoulder to cry on, a hand to hold, and a friend to those who feel lost ♥ I know i will always be open to anyone out there in need of a friend so, please, never be afraid to reach out!

[luki-fanfic]

Bleach Fanfic: Daydream

So I’ve been meaning to work on my KHR fics, but this idea (which has been lying in my documents for months) decided it absolutely had to be written right now, so I smashed out enough for a first chapter.  Hopefully will be continued, but I’ve mostly got ideas rather than a plot right now.

Warnings for attempted suicide (sort of - character doesn’t think they’ll die when they do it, but still deserves the warning)

“It’s working!”

“It does appear to be neutralising the effects.  

Ichigo winced, trying to ignore the voices surrounding him.

After he’d collapsed from defeating Aizen, Ichigo had found himself floating in a hazy blackness.  The voices of Zangetsu and his hollow were gone, and he’d never realised just how empty it was without them.

It could have been minutes, it could have been years, but eventually Ichigo found the sea of nothing ebbing away, blurry noises turning into voices that sounded slightly familiar.

“If these results are right, he should wake up in the next hour.”

“Oh Ichigo, my baby boy…just wait a little bit longer.”

“Lady Shiba, I need you to wait outside while we administer the last dose. Your husband has been contacted and is on his way.”

Ichigo groaned, the darkness fading away and his senses returning with painful clarity.

Damn, Unohana must have him on some good stuff.  That second voice had sounded almost like his mother.

It took a ridiculously long time to open his eyes – it felt like they’d been welded shut – and when he finally did, the light from the room had him slamming them shut again.  The next time he tried, he managed to endure it, and tried to sit up.

He regretted it almost instantly. His arms collapsed under his own weight, crashing back onto the pillow.  

What was going on?  He’d expected to wake up in agony, but instead he just felt…weak.  His arms were more like noodles, and his chest was heaving just from that small act.

Just how long had he been asleep for his muscles to atrophy that badly?

“Good afternoon Ichigo.”

He jerked his head in the direction of the voice.  Unohana was watching over the bed, a pleased smile on her face.

“I must say it’s a great pleasure to see you awake,” she said.  “And I’m not the only one.”

“Unohana?” Ichigo croaked.  “What happened?  How long was I out for?”

His eyes widened at the sound of his voice.  Even with a dry throat, that was terrifyingly high.

“A very long time Ichigo” Unohana told him.  “But there’s someone here who has been waiting just as long to see you again.”

She moved towards the door, opening it and speaking to whoever was waiting outside.

“He’s awake, are you ready to see him?”

Ignoring the frailness, Ichigo forced himself into a sitting position, trying to see who Unohana was talking to. He assumed it would be Rukia or Renji – but those musings immediately fled his head when he finally got into position and actually got a good look at himself.

This is not his body.  At least…it hasn’t been for almost a decade.  He’s short, and his arms are soft and chubby, lacking any kind of muscle. This isn’t the body of a warrior. It’s not even the body of a teenager.

It’s the body of a child.

“Ichigo…oh Ichigo…”

He looks up, and freezes.

It’s his mother.  Wearing a kimono he’s never seen, but her face is exactly the same as it was that rainy night.

Her hands are covering her mouth, eyes brimming with unshed tears.  Before Ichigo can process what he’s seeing, she moves – arms wrapping around him and hugging him tightly.

“My baby boy!” she sobs.  “I’m so sorry.  I never should have left you alone – I swear, I’ll never let you out of my sight again!”

“I think that might be a bit of an over-reaction Lady Shiba” Unohana added, as his mother reluctantly pulled away. She smiled, eyes still wet as she brushed a hand through his hair, and paused when she took in the shocked look on Ichigo’s face.

“Ichigo, what’s wrong?” she asked, pulling away as Ichigo shook his head.

“No…”

His mother frowned.  “No?  No, you’re not okay, Ichigo what-”

“I said no!” Ichigo snapped, head shaking furiously.  “I don’t believe this!  I don’t believe any of this!  You’re not real!  I’m not falling for this Aizen!”

The illusion’s face fell, and her hands reached for him again.  

“Ichigo, what are you-“

“Don’t touch me!”

He slaps them away, and Unohana pulls the illusion back.

“Maybe it’s best if you gave him some space.  Come with me Lady Shiba.”

She was clearly reluctant, but the illusion of his mother let herself be guided out the room while Ichigo tried to push back the panic attack that was threatening to bubble to the surface.

Dammit, when had Aizen hit him?  How had he hit him?  His shikai was a frustrating nightmare, but Ichigo was pretty certain it wasn’t capable of this level of hypnosis.  

Unless…was this Aizen’s bankai? The ability to trap someone in a false world?  But then when had it started?  Aizen was down for the count when he blacked out, so it must have been during the fight.

In that case…

‘Zangetsu?  Old man, are you there?’

His heart sank when he failed to hear an answer.  So, sometime after Ichigo thought he’d cut Aizen down, but before Kisuke showed up.

Is he unconscious in the real world? Or are his allies just watching him in horror?  Was that illusion of his mother really someone else?

He has to get out of here.  Find somewhere isolated and fix whatever this is.

With a quick glance at the door, he yanks off the blanket and heads straight for the window.  Or at least he tries to – he’d forgotten his apparent shrinkage and misjudges the landing.  But even if he had, it would have been the least of his issues - his legs buckle and he crashes to the ground, not even attempting to support his weight, and he cracks his chin on the ground.

He curses and curls into the foetal position, hands clutching it tight.  Dammit, pain is apparently the one thing he can rely on right now.  There’s a big surprise.

Focus Kurosaki.  If it hurts, bite down and use the adrenaline to get the job done.  You’ve done it before, you can do it again.

It takes a ludicrous amount of effort, but he struggles to his feet and stumbles to the wooden slats.  They’re locked, but he’s still tall enough to tilt the lock if he stands on his tiptoes.   Once they’re pushed open, he’s hoisting himself over the windowsill, and crashes to the ground.  He doesn’t have time to catch his bearings – once he’s out, he’s half running, half crawling towards the exit.  By this point he knows the medical district like the back of his hand.

Or…he thought he did.  Some of these buildings aren’t where he remembered, and he collapses when he turns the final corner and sees a wall where there should be an exit.  Before he can even process that, an alarm starts blaring from the hospital, and Shinigami start emerging from buildings.

Ichigo throws himself down a street and through the first open door he can find.  It ends up being some kind of kitchen area, thankfully empty, and he slides down the wall in exhaustion.  This body is pathetically weak, and it’s becoming clear the ‘Shinigami’ will find him sooner rather than later.  And since he still doesn’t understand if this is all a dream or a fantasy pasted onto reality, he needs to figure out a plan fast.

Okay, if this is an illusion of Aizen’s, there’s no way to break it.   He might still be awake, which would explain why his memory of the division doesn’t match where he’s walking, and the fight with Aizen had put his body through the ringer, which could explain why his body just will not work, but it could also just be lucid dreaming – if Aizen had the power to overlap an entire world with his bankai, the soul society would have lost the war before it ever started. Every Shinigami in the Soul Society would have been his puppet – it makes far more sense that he’s unconscious and dreaming this whole thing while Aizen tries to get away.

He glances over at the kitchen drawers.

And if this is just a bankai-induced dream, maybe he can break it like one.

Outside, voices are starting to call out, and he crawls over, not wasting the time trying to stand.  The second drawer reveals exactly what he’s looking for, knives sharp enough to pierce bone.  He grabs the lightest one – the only handle that doesn’t have his hand shaking from the weight, and pulls back the sleeve of the medical outfit.

He makes to cut…but his hand hesitates at the sight of the skinny, pale flesh.

‘It’s not real’ Ichigo hisses to himself.  ‘It’s just a dream.  It can’t be real.’

Still, he has to close his eyes and look away before he can slice through the flesh.  At first it doesn’t hurt, and he wonders if he missed the arm entirely – and then his limb bursts in vicious, unimaginable pain.

His eyes snap back to the limb, widening at the sheer amount of blood that’s managed to pool out in the handful of seconds.  There’s a disconnect at the sight – he still refuses to believe that arm is connected to him, and the sight of a child’s arm drenched in blood is ripping his head apart.

Already he feels faint, and doubt starts to creep in.  Rationally he knows it’s his bodies way of trying to stay alive, but that voice gets quieter with every second that passes.

Shouldn’t this be enough?  Shouldn’t he wake up by now?  Does he have to go unconscious from blood loss first?  

Adrenaline somehow makes it through, mixing with the desperate instincts screaming NO to that last question, and he gasps as he reiatsu pushes through, bursting out and smashing into the opposite wall, completely out of control.  It’s pushing out, wild and reckless and refusing to be pulled back no matter what Ichigo tries, not that he has much will left at this point.

On the plus side, at least that means this must be a dream.  This wouldn’t be possible in the real world after the final Getsuga Tenshou, and there would be no point in adding it to the illusion, right?

He’s not got much time to ponder that though.  This burst of reiatsu would be attracting every Shinigami in the nearby radius, even if it’s starting to die down as Ichigo’s vision fades.  When he wakes up again, it should be broken.

It should be-

His eyes are starting to close, so he hears more than sees the door burst open.  All he can make out is a figure in black.

“ICHIGO!”

The figure lunges for him, and Ichigo just manages to register the man’s arms around him before everything goes dark.

---

When he wakes up, it’s to the medical ward again, and his arm really hurts.

He already knows what he’ll see, but he still lifts it out into view, face falling as he takes in the child’s limb wrapped in bandages.

It didn’t work.

“You should consider yourself lucky. Another minute and even Unohana would have struggled to save you.”

Ichigo snaps his head in the direction of the voice.

“Kisuke?”

The man smiled, tilting his hat both in greeting, and clearly to hide the fact that the expression didn’t reach his eyes. Ichigo frowns as he takes in scientist’s appearance - he was still wearing his signature hat, but his usual outfit was missing, replaced with a Shinigami uniform, a captain’s coat slung over it.

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised you recognised me, given the circumstances” he says.  “I was asked to come explain things to you, being one of the few that fully understands the situation.”

“Kisuke,” Ichigo repeats.  “What happened?  How long have I been unconscious?”

This is taking a very strange turn. First his mother, now…pre-Vizard Kisuke? What is this?

The…Captain? walked towards his bed, taking a seat next to him, features schooling into something far more serious.

“Ichigo, I’m afraid I have something quite serious to tell you” he said.  “What is the last thing you remember?”

He frowned.  “I’d just beaten Aizen” he replies.  “Then you showed up, there was kido, I was kind of out of it to be honest.  Why?”

Kisuke gave him a sad smile that frankly did nothing for his nerves.  He didn’t think he’d ever seen the shopkeeper look like this.

“Ichigo, you’re not going to like what I’m about to say, but I assure you, it’s the truth” he said.  “Eight years ago, you were abducted from outside your home by Aizen Sousuke.  He wanted a spiritually powerful soul to try a new experimental process, and chose you – both due to convenience, and to strike a blow against your family.  You were induced into a type of medical coma – in which you lived in an illusionary world that would force your mind to evolve far beyond its natural abilities.  From the records I’ve read, you would have believed you were human, residing in the living world.”

“I am human” Ichigo snapped.  “I admit it’s a little bit…muddled, but I’m still human.”

Kisuke holds his hands up.  “No, you’re a soul, as is everyone in your family. Your mother, admittedly was human, and came here when she died, but you have never actually been there.  The world you lived in was fake.”

The Shinigami sighed.  “Evidently, it was very effective.  Your memories were completely wiped, and you’ve clearly accepted the illusion as reality, judging from how high your reiatsu levels grew while unconscious.  We only discovered you and Aizen’s treachery two years ago, and it took years to manufacture an antidote to bring you out.  Everything we did seemed to make things worse at first – your reiatsu kept spiking.  I was starting to think getting you out without mental damage was impossible, but-“

He spread his hands.  “Apparently I underestimated you.  We monitored your brainwaves to predict the weakest moment in the illusion, administered the antidote, and you did the rest.  When you’ve sufficiently recovered, I’d love to talk to you about your experience.”

Ichigo is pretty sure his mouth is wide open.  He literally cannot bring himself to care.

“…That is the biggest load of crap I’ve ever heard” he growls.  “And I’ve heard a lot of it!  Why the hell would I believe that?”

“You don’t have to believe it, but consider the facts” Kisuke argues.  “You are not currently human, or possessing the body you remember.  Yet, despite your impressive attempt to break the illusion you – understandably – believe yourself to be under, it failed completely. Unless you can explain that, you do have to admit the evidence does suggest that what I’m saying is true.”

Ichigo opened his mouth to argue, only to snap it shut when he couldn’t think of a reply.

No illusion could be so strong that it could alter memories, and he doesn’t remember Aizen going for his sword. And it’s hard to believe an illusion would still stay stable with the victim that close to death – if it was a dream, he should have woken up, if he was wandering around, Soul Society would be keeping him tied down and unconscious until they figured out how to break it.  

But if it wasn’t…

He choked back a gasp, heart beating frantically as he tried to wrap his head around the concept.  

A hand hesitantly touched his shoulder, and he jerked up to see Kisuke staring at him, clearly reluctant to be so close.

“Aizen has since been incarcerated” he explains.  “Neither he, nor his experiments can touch you again.  It has had an extreme effect on your reiatsu, but you’ll learn how to control that in time.  I am only sorry we were unable to catch Aizen Sousuke earlier.  I had my suspicions, but never acted upon them.  Many of my colleagues felt the same – if we’d spoken up sooner, perhaps this wouldn’t have happened.”

Ichigo looks away.

“I still don’t believe you” he says. Kisuke just shrugs.

“I probably wouldn’t believe me either” he says.  “But you’ll be under close observation after that last stunt, at least until you get a medical all clear.  It’ll take a while to flush all the toxins from your system, but once they do, your real memories should start to return.  I’m sure that will do more than any argument I can offer.”

---

Half an hour later, Ichigo finds himself picking at the stray threads on the blanket, doing everything possible not to look at the figure in the doorway.  Once Kisuke had left, he’d been at the mercy of Unohana, who had not taken to his attempted escape (literally and metaphorically) well.  But given his latest visitor, he sorely wished she’d come back for a round two.

“Ichigo?”

He swallows, shoulders tensing as his mother walks back into the room, far more hesitant than she had the previous time.  She pauses by the bed, shifting on her feet for a few moments before choosing to sit on a nearby chair.  A hand reaches over, only to stop when Ichigo freezes.  When he doesn’t speak up, she finishes the distance, taking his tiny hand in hers.

“There was a time I was afraid I’d never get to do this again” Masaki whispers, joy obvious in her face. Ichigo braces himself, and turns to face her.

It’s still like being hit by a truck. Her face, her smile – it hasn’t changed at all.

“I’m sorry, it just doesn’t feel real” Ichigo admits, hating that he has to say it, even to a possibly fictional version of his mother.  “You’re dead. I saw you die.  And I never saw the Soul Society until I was 16.”

“You turned 16 almost 20 years ago” His mother replied, a sad smile emerging from her face.  “Unohana and Kisuke say your memories should start coming back once the chemicals are fully flushed from your system.  Once we get you home, maybe things will start feeling familiar.  Your sisters will be coming tomorrow, they wanted to come today but we thought we should take it slow after you…reacted badly.”

Ichigo nods, grateful for the idea. He wouldn’t want his little sisters to see him like this, even if they weren’t real.

“However,” his mother began. “Your father has been waiting outside. Do you think you’re up for seeing him?”

Ichigo winced, images of Isshin blasting into the room and trying to punch him into the wall.  He really didn’t think he was up facing that.

His mother seemed to notice his discomfort, and squeezed his shoulder.

“I promise he won’t go overboard” she insists.  “He just wants to see you.  He’s the one that found you after…”

Ichigo winces.  Yeah, that wouldn’t have gone over well.  Looks like Isshin is still a Shinigami in this world too.

He sighs, and gives his mother a smile.

“Okay” he says.  “I guess I can handle Goat-Face for a few minutes.”

His mother blinked in confusion. “…Goat Face?”

“Wow, that’s a flattering nickname.”

They both looked up, and Ichigo frowned as he took in the man waiting in the doorframe, waving one hand slowly.  

He look frighteningly like him, only slightly taller and with pitch black hair.  He had a hopeful smile on his face, and from the grip he had on the frame, was holding himself back from leaping over to Ichigo.  The appearance shook a memory from his mind, of Rukia telling him about the former Vice-Captain of the Thirteenth.

“Are you…Shiba Kaien?”

The man paled, smile freezing on his face.  He swallowed heavily, before walking into the room, sitting next to Masaki.  Both of them looked miserable as Ichigo drew back, staring at him in confusion.

“You…aren’t you supposed to be dead?”

Kaien’s hands clenched.  

“Is that what happened to me in your dream?” he asked, and Ichigo nods.

“Yeah, by a hollow.  Happened decades before I was born.”

That seemed to confuse them even more.

“Decades before…Ichigo, don’t you know who this is?”

Ichigo frowned at his mother. “Shiba Kaien?” he repeated.

“To you” Masaki specified.  “What is he to you?”

“…My uncle?” Ichigo offered.

Kaien looked as if Ichigo had just stabbed him in the stomach, hands clenching in the sheets.  To Ichigo’s astonishment, Masaki grabbed one of them, tugging it loose and pulling it towards Ichigo.  Her other hand clasped Ichigo’s and brought it to the centre, creating a three-way hand hold.

“Sweetie…” she said.  “This is your father.”

Ichigo’s eyes widened.

“WHAT?”

[midoridragonuus]

sanguinem sacrificium: wine

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Dinner had been relatively quiet; an oddity in the two's relationship. The absence of laughter and faux anger continued to expand each time Gabriel opened his mouth to speak. He'd been dying to ask just what was wrong, and what he could do to fix it, but his brand of repair was poor timing and backhanded insults - something the woman across from him would hardly appreciate under the circumstances - so he stayed still as a statue to not disturb whatever weighed heavy on his date’s mind.

Each time he tried to break the weighty silence, he was met with the woman staring into her dinner. It pained him, sitting in front of a beautifully prepared fettuccine and not be able to touch it, but he'd rather associate food with joy than the vicious awkwardness that hovered over them. Rather than ruin one of his favorite pastimes by provoking the woman, he figured it'd be better to sit in painful silence.

If it were anyone else, he would have made up an excuse to dine and dash. It'd be so easy to rip the napkin from his lap, toss it near the candelabra, and lie through a smile that so and so had called and he really needed to go. But his heart played a different tune. He really did enjoy her company, even if she refused to be open with her feelings more than once in a blue moon. Really, she was the personification of a  hesitant clam showing its pearl to the rare onlooker. It was those rare glimpses that kept him going - and so he suffered silently at the impromptu table with his best 'I'm trying' face.

Each tick of the clock gave him another reason to leave. The monotonous sound sent an uncomfortable shiver through his being. He hated this. Every minute - he hated having to be reserved, quiet, and stuck in a silent vacuum. If it continued any longer, he might just leap from his chair and put on a show, no matter the consequences.

A deep exhale brought Gabriel out of his funk, allowing the man to shift attention from his uneaten dinner to the woman sitting his opposite.

Still refusing to meet his gaze, she instead frowned into the pasta.

"I don't like him."

The man lifted an eyebrow, smile slowly spreading across his face. It was unusual to get so much satisfaction from a single sentence, but he was thrilled that she'd finally said something to get the ball rolling.

"That's odd, Elliecakes. You don't not like anybody."

Her head shot up defensively, glare painting a much harsher reality on the younger face. "I can not like anyone I want to."

"C'mon," he prodded. "All I do around here is be a nuisance and slander the other employees any chance I get. Gotta get ahead, you know?"

Without waiting for an answer to the question, he quickly added, "And all you do is defend them. What makes this guy any different?"

Ellie's frown deepened. "You know I can't talk about that."

"Can't and won't are two very different things." His eyes drifted downwards, ready to play instigator.

Eyes narrowed in the candlelight, making them twice as bitter as they would have been under the fluorescent glow of the office.

Stirring his noodles, which had tempered under the muted cold war, Gabriel shoved a full fork into his mouth. The more obnoxious, the better. "Oh well. Guess he won't get that welcome basket."

Every soft syllable led to a spray of alfredo. And despite the onslaught of flavors, the most fruitful was the look of sheer anger on Ellie's face.

The woman's silverware clattered to the plate. "Listen, you ass."

He winked. "My ears are always open for you. So are my arms, and legs too if you wanna get freaky."

Groaning, she leaned back. Delicate hands ran down her face in exhaustion. She knew she'd been played. Provocation was precisely the manner of Gabriel's dickery. And she'd been so out of it, she fell hook, line, and sinker without any hint of struggle.

"Don't beat yourself up. Everyone has a bad day." His chair managed to round the table as he scooted closer. "Besides, it's not every day that I can pull one over on you. Not to mention, humility is a good look."

"Then you should paint yourself with it." She shoved him away gently.

"Mn," he nodded in agreement, now staking out the woman's dinner as his lay forgotten.

"Really, though. He's... different."

Snatching her fork, he began to slowly wind the noodles into a more manageable state. "We're all different, babe."

"No, like..." She sighed again, unable to articulate exactly why the newcomer bothered her so much. "I don't like him because there's nothing to like?"

Gabriel clutched at his shirt, aghast. "Ellie! How can you say that about someone you don't know? He might donate his income to orphans and nurse cats or something!"

Ignoring his melodrama, she continued. "It's not that I don't want to like him, it's just that... I'm privy to a lot of information."

"Oh?"

"Confidential information," she replied, preemptively shutting down his question before it went further. "And that's the problem. There's very few things at Schwartz Industries that I don't know when it comes to employee files. Most information is unobstructed when Schwartz hands me the files. Of course, there's some stuff that's redacted on almost all of them, but they're such small portions. I think the largest ones are Schwartz, Werites, and... Saya? I get the first two, and... I didn't really ask about Saya's. She was here before I was... So I never really thought about it."

Gabriel nodded as she brushed the bangs from her face.

"But... even on those, I could read some information. But his... Ugh. Don't... Don't tell anyone, alright?"

Gasping, the man pulled away from their closeness. "Ellie! Spilling company secrets by sleeping with the enemy?"

A kick of the chair accompanied another shove. "Knock that off. I'm not sleeping with you, and it's not really... It doesn't violate any protocol that I know of."

"Uh-huh. Well, I cross my heart and hope to die, stick a needle in my eye. Can't and won't tell a soul after that, right, Elliepop?"

Finally resting on both hands, propped up on the table, the woman gave him a troubled look. "The only part of his file I can read is his name. I can't see his age, place of birth, blood type, division, or anything. Everything is blacked out. No other employee has that level of censorship."

"That's... not right." Gabriel sat upwards, laughter falling from his face. His shoulders sat rigid, demeanor shifting in a matter of seconds.

Ellie shook her head. "No, it's not, and-"

The sound of someone clearing their throat pulled the attention of the couple to the door.

"Am I interrupting something?"

Another stood in the doorway, arms crossed as if waiting for an answer was no more than an inconvenience to him. Even under gold-rimmed frames, the sheer lack of empathy for his interruption was apparent.

The woman craned her head to the door, eyes wide. She sat frozen, staring into the face of the newcomer with doe like eyes.

Noting her lack of response, Gabriel quickly took her hands into his. "Yes. Absolutely. Now get lost."

The man stepped further in the room, surveying the atmosphere with a disinterested gaze. "Can't, sorry. It's an emergency. Schwartz demanded we go over a few more interesting items."

Upon hearing her boss's name, the woman snapped to attention. "What? Why didn't she call me?"

As she turned to dig through her purse, the stranger simply shrugged. "I don't know. But it's urgent."

"I doubt it's that urgent," Gabriel spat, holding his date's purse open so she could continue looking with both hands.

Tugging her phone free, she motioned for Gabriel to put down the purse. Despite not facing her, as his eyes never left the strange man, he obliged and set it on the floor.

The man at the door smiled, allowing the glasses to slip down his nose. "You know, I don't really care what you think. I was sent to collect the child, not her dog."

Roused by the other's comeback, Gabriel stood and quickly approached the man. Though he was a head shorter, the anger drawn into his features was more pronounced than it had been in ages. He poked a finger towards the other's chest. "I want you to listen, and listen good, friendo. I don't give a shit what you call me. I've been called every name in the book, and then some. But you need to start re-thinking how you address my Ellie. She's not some child. She's a stunning woman who runs as Head of Divisions for the entire company. You show her respect, or you're going to learn a host of new things in your time here, and I volunteer to be the teacher."

Looking down at the riled man, Carlos swatted the accusatory finger away. "I still don't care."

A burning rage coursed through Gabriel's body. Every nerve sparked to life and roasted in an unyielding fire. It was ridiculous, and he knew it was ridiculous. There's no reason for this man to hit every one of his annoyances, but here he was. Everything bothered him, from his monotonous voice to his smarmy attitude, to even his chinos. Like a switch in the brain, everything turned at once, and Gabriel was a soldier again.

A fist went flying towards the taller man, aiming to knock the ego from the man's liquid voice.

"Gabriel, no! Wait!"

His fist resounded with a dull thud, finding a cradle in Carlos' palm.

Leaving his punch where it lay dead, Gabriel turned over his shoulder to look at the woman at the table. A mixture of confusion and hesitation covered Ellie's face. "It's... it's fine. I did get something from Schwartz after all? I guess my phone was on silent or something. I just... I don't remember doing it, but the proper orders are here. I.... Please don't be angry I have to dip out, okay? I'll talk to you later...?"

Not wanting to add to her conflicting emotions, the man shook his head gently. Yeah, no, Elliecakes. It's fine. It's fine. Don't worry about it. I'm okay, okay?"

She could tell his answer wasn't genuine, but she appreciated the gesture regardless. Grabbing her phone, she shoved it back into the bag and quickly ripped the napkin from her lap. Shuffling to the doorway where the men still stood engaged in action, she placed a quick kiss to Gabriel's cheek.

His hands faltered, finally removing himself from Carlos' grasp before backing away in a slight stupor. As the two disappeared into the dimming hall, he returned to the failed dinner.

He wanted to tell himself that it was Ellie's voice that stopped him just enough that the fist didn't connect. He wanted to explain the lack of violence on his renewed conscious or poor judgment of distance, but none of it was true. The only truth was that Carlos had the reflexes and sheer strength to stop his punch, and that frightened him to his core.