#who would steal my art??? hahahaha.... cries

[did-sm1-say-catfish]

felt cute might delete later

close ups (with alt) under the cut!!

[bl597]

requested by my dear @whack-ed ♡: "não resisti e vou escrever isso em pt, pq sim kkkkkk. okay, então primeiro parabéns pelos 300 seguidores cara, isso é bom demais! pra comemorar junto eu queria um 🍒. Sonserina, bissexual, ela/dela, teatro/escrever/desenhar/costurar, cabelos e olhos castanhos, o cabelo liso e curtinho. cara, pra simplificar, eu me descreveria com essa musica "Good Girls - Elle King". é isso meu amor, e de novo, parabéns! vc merece <3"

I accidentally posted the request and I had to delete it jssjksskjdjd anywayssss obrigada meu amor!!! 🥺❤ eu ia responder em português, mas me sinto meio estranha já que tô meio acostumada em escrever em inglês sksjdjdkdjk espero que tu goste!! 💕

warnings: just fluff, really. it took me a very long time to finish it because i procrastinate quite a lot hahaha i need to stop doing it, i really suck at writing headcanons maybe i'll start writing blurbs instead of them hmmmm. a few curse words i guess :p, english is not my first language, so i'm sorry for any mistakes! requests are closed for now!!

my masterlist ♡

I ship you with... Fred Weasley!

okay so first of all

you + Freddie = chaos

you two started dating on your fifth year

and you and the twins always pulled prank together

Filch hates you three so much skshdkdjd

you always used the Marauders map - before the twins gave it to Harry - to sneak around in the middle of the night

and if you ever happened to be caught, you always found a way to get out of this

because come on

you probably study theater and you're an amazing actress

so you could always come up with an excuse for why you were outside bed at past cutfew

not that the teachers actually believed it tho

and Fred just thought you were bloody brilliant because?????

how could he not!!

and he always smiles like a fool when you try to convince the teachers that you did nothing wrong

even though the strong smell of dungbomb literally reports you guys

oK

he didn't really like you at first

because you're a Slytherin and he thought you were an asshole just like most of your housemates

but turns out that you're different from them

you're so unique and so you

with all your sarcasm and cheeky replies

he couldn't help but fall hard for you

so one day he just randomly asked you out

and you said yes bc you thought he was cool too

and also bc hes fred fucking weasley i mean?????

so after a little while you started dating

and oh boy is this man the best boyfriend ever

he always flirts with you, no matter how long you've been dating

because he loves the tiny little blush that spreads over your cheeks

Fred loves to cuddle you and to run his hands through your soft short hair

and omg your eyes

he swears he could spend the rest of his life just admiring them

because they're so beautiful!!!

he will always support you

either it's with your passion for theater

or you art

or anything you do

he loves it all and always lets you know how much he appreciates them and you

he loves it when you read the things you wrote

because you write things so beautifully and so wonderfully

and the proud small smile you give him when he asks you to read to him is enough to improve his whole week

he also loves your drawings and how you put your heart in every single line of it

you once drew him and he almost cried a bit

you always cheer for him during quidditch matches

even though your housemates give you disappointed looks

you couldn't care less

you just wanted to support ya boy

ok so

about his family

they were extremely happy for Fred when he told them he was dating

but they were a bit apprehensive when they found out you were a little snake

because of the house bad fame and everything

but he was fast to calm them down and say you weren't like the other Slytherins

and didn't give a shit about blood statuses or some shit like that

so they invited you to spend a week at the Burrow

to get to know you better and to make sure you were a good person for Freddie

and in the very first minutes you spent there

you managed to steal everyone's heart

you got along pretty well with everyone

and they simply loved you almost as much as Freddie boy does

you and Molly would sit down and talk for hours while she teaches you how to knit

she gets even more excited when she learns you know how to sew

anyways

in less than one week, you unofficially became a Weasley :D

Fred loves you and he was extremely happy to see his family loved you too

his family is everything to him and their approval of your relationship was very important to him

~

I ship you with... Sirius Black!

ben barnes is such a cutie

well lets begin shall we

Sirius is head over heels for you

no one can deny it

you'd be just breathing and he'd be like

ohmygod shes so cute hskshsdjdjksajjdjdks

and you two are like the cutest badass couple ever

but at first it was very completely different

simply because you're a snake and he's a lion

and he hated the Slytherin house because of his family

he hated every single person in Slytherin, and he wasn't really ashamed of that

poor baby he deserved a better family than those assholes :(

one day he happened to accidentally bump into you

and he was going to help you

bc his family was shitty but they taught him some manners

but he abruptly stopped when he saw the green in your robes

and he said something rude and left

but you definitely did not stay quiet

so you just argued with him

and told him to go to hell ooops

and he was like :O

and then you left with your classmates bc you were going to be late to Divination

and Sirius was fucking intrigued

i mean???????

and then when they arrived at the Gryffindor common room

Remus scolded him for being rude to people, specifically Slytherins

and told him to apologize for his childishness

and Sirius was like "hahahaha nice joke Moony"

but he realised Remus was being serious

and he was kinda confused bc??? why is he defending the enemies???

anyways

he somehow convinced Sirius to talk to you

which he did, but whining like a child when their parents don't give them a new toy

you thought he was going to say some shit like that day

so you were with your wand in hand, ready to jinx the shit out of him if he did something

that gladly didn't happen

you were extremely confused and you thought it was a prank

but you saw it wasn't

so you accepted his forced apologies

and after some kinda weird moments of you talking

you decided to be not enemies

you weren't friends yet but weren't enemies either

well I'll start the part where you two are dating or else it'll get longer than it already is lol

when you started dating

your housemates were like

what the fuck??

and you just kinda ignored them bc you were actually happy with Sirius

and let me teLl you

Sirius is a smoll bean even though he has this badboy fame

he loves to see the things you wrote or drew

he absolutely loves them and always tells you how talented you are and how proud of you he is

I don't even have to say that you two pull pranks together

you just like to mess around together

bc you like each other's company

and being chaotic is a bonus

i mean, who wouldn't want to pull pranks with Sirius and mess around with him??

when you came out as bi to him he was very supportive and was ready to beat the shit out of anyone who dared to say shit about you or your sexuality

Sirius says lgbtq+ rights and fuck jk rowling

anyways

he was so excited when he transformed into Padfoot in front of you for the first time

and he was so proud of himself when you smiled widely and showered him with questions about it

yay

you always stayed with him after the full moon and helped madam Pomfrey

bc you wanted to see your baby alright :(

Sirius is really into pda and 100% would randomly kiss you in public

just because he can lol

you love each other too much

you're the best couple ever change my mind

[advocatewrites-blog]

Into the Unknown Part 3 Chapter 3

Into the Unknown

Fandom: Undertale, Coraline (book), Over the Garden Wall, Paranorman, Gravity Falls (season 2)

Characters: Frisk, Norman B., Dipper P., Mabel P., Coraline J., Wirt, Greg, the Cat, the Frog; Sans, Toriel, Papyrus, Undyne, Alphys, Asgore,; the Other Mother, the Beast, Agatha P., Bill Cipher, Asriel D., Chara D.,

Pairings: Not the focus. Alphys/Undyne, with mentions of Papyrus/Mettaton, sans/Toriel/Asgore, and Wirt/Sara. Due to the nature of Undertale and the dating segments, there is also interpretable Papyrus/Wirt, Undyne/Mabel, Alphys/Dipper, Napstablook/Norman, Mettaton/Norman, Mettaton/Mabel, Sans/Dipper, Sans/Norman, and Sans/Greg.

Rated a high +K for violence, mild language, horrific elements that may be disturbing to younger readers,  mentions of child abuse and bullying, character death that is sometimes permanent, and mentions of suicide that may be triggering. These elements remain relatively unchanged from their source material, which most all are for children, but discretion is advised nonetheless.

Disclaimer: Undertale was created and owned by Toby Fox. Coraline was created by Neil Gaiman and owned by Bloomsbury and Laika. Over the Garden Wall was created by Patrick McHale and owned by Cartoon Network. Paranorman was created by Sam Fell and Chris Butler and owned by Laika. Gravity Falls was created by Alex Hirsch and owned by Disney. Any other work mentioned or homage are property of their respective owners. This is a fan-made, nonprofit work that only seeks to entertain. Please support the original franchises.

Start from beginning / Previous chapter / Next chapter

Chapter 3

Undyne was right behind him.

Norman ran along the piers in the Waterfall. Energy spears shot up from the ground, never quite hitting him but always getting closer than he wanted them to be.  The floor was splitting below him.

He reached a dead end. Undyne’s footsteps, loud metal clacking on wood, slowed. She knew it was a dead end too.

He turned and saw her take one more step, right where her spears had splintered the wood already. There was a sickening cracking noise as the bridge collapsed. He fell.

“It sounded like it came from over here…Oh! You’ve fallen down, haven’t you? Are you okay? Here, get up…Chara, huh? That’s a nice name. My name is—”

 He was awake before he could hear the last part of that.

It took Norman a minute to regain his bearings. He had landed on a patch of golden flowers, the same kind that were in the Ruins. Above head, he could make out just the faintest rays of the sun. He was still in the Underground.

What was that? It was too vivid to be a dream, he realized, and he did not think he had fallen asleep anyway. It was more like a vision. He did not recall having visions, but for some reason, the idea felt right in his head. If he could see ghosts, anything was possible, he supposed.

There was no point of worrying about it now. If it was a vision, it had not told him enough to make sense of it. Norman picked himself up and continued forward.

There was no better way to describe the things that emerged from the ground: they were zombies. They looked as ever bit grotesque as the art in Norman’s room depicted them; pale green skin that should have rotted, skeletal limbs and organs that should be spilling out.

The FIGHT began.

The Cat ran in-between Frisk and the zombies, hair sticking on ends and a hiss in his throat. He stood ready to pounce at the first sign of conflict. Without thinking about it, Frisk ran a CHECK on the closest one.

????? 80 ATK 80 DEF

He’s been asleep for a long time. It’s not his fault.

The zombie lurched forward, but did not otherwise attack. He would not attack them straight out, Frisk realized.  So they decided to ACT.

*CHECK                          *TALK

*CONSOLE                      *CRITISIZE

*STEAL WIG

Hi! I’m F-R-I-S-K! They signed quickly, ending with a little wave.

The zombies gave her a confused look. Maybe they didn’t understand signing. Frisk reached for their notebook and wrote it down during the zombie’s turn.

The zombie with the wig leaned into it, old eyes struggling to read it. He reached for the notebook and pen.

JUDGE HOPKINS 80 ATK 80 DEF

He’s been asleep for a long time. He did what he had to do.

The place Norman had landed in was a Dump. Most of the garbage had been kept in bins and bags, but quite a bit was flowing through the pond freely. Norman could make out some things that were clearly monster-made, like gloves for six-fingered folk and a jar of construction paper labelled “Temmy Flaeks.” Most of it, however, looked like it came from above; coolers, desktop computers with empty contents, DVD cases with desperate claw marks covering the surface.

Norman was so absorbed in looking for the human-made things that he hardly noticed when the Training Dummy jumped in front of him.

“HAHAHAHA…Too intimidated to fight me, huh!?” said the Dummy. “I am a ghost that lives inside a DUMMY. My cousin used to live inside a dummy, too. Until…YOU CAME ALONG!”

He barely remembered the Dummy, all the way back in the Ruins. Toriel had just told him to talk to it.  It did not even answer back.

“What did I do?” Norman asked.

“When you talked to them, they thought they were in for a nice chat,” Said the Dummy. “But the things you SAID…! Horrible. Shocking! UNBELIEVABLE!”

Norman may not have remembered the Dummy very well, but he knew that all he did was ask him how the weather was before Toriel said that was good enough.

“It spooked them right out of their dummy!  HUMAN! I’ll scare your Soul out of your body!”

Mad Dummy blocks the way.

“Listen, I didn’t mean—“ Norman started.

He stopped as a series of dummy-shaped bullets were fired his way. He jumped out of the way. He jumped back as they spun around like boomerangs and rushed back to him.

“OWWWW, you DUMMIES!! Watch where you’re aiming you MAGIC attacks!” the dummy cried.  “Wait…forget I said that!”

Another set of bullets fired towards him, but Norman easily dodged them and watched them fire back at the Mad Dummy.

“HEY GUYS!” The Mad Dummy shouted as he summoned his next round of bullets. “Dummies. Dummies! DUMMIES! YOU’RE FIRED! YOU’RE ALL BEING REPLACED!!!”

The dummy bullets faded out of existence with sheepish expressions,

“Now you’ll see my real power,” said the Mad Dummy. “Relying on people that aren’t garbage!”

Mechanical whirs filled the room. Norman tried to talk him down again. He didn’t seem much for conversation. Nobody was happy with this.

The next set of bullets appeared, bulkier and boxier than the others. Norman jumped out of the way like the others, only to turn around and find they were still chasing him down. He ran forward, coming face to nuzzle with the Mad Dummy as they lost course and plowed into it.

“DUMMY BOTS! You’re awful???” the Mad Dummy cried.

More missiles were launched towards Norman, and he found himself running in circles. A few more hit the Mad Dummy.

“Who cares. Who cares! WHO CARES!!! I DON’T NEED FRIENDS!”

The dummy bots vanished, and were replaced with a single large bullet.

“I GOT KNIVES!!!”

The knife landed by Norman’s feet.

“I’m…out of knives.”

More bullets filled the field, but not the ones the Mad Dummy used. Most of them faded out before they got close to Norman, instead landing on the Mad Dummy and sizzling.

“Wh-what the heck is this? Acid rain?” said the Mad Dummy. “Oh FORGET IT! I’m outta here!”

The Mad Dummy slipped past Norman and back out into the fields of worthless garbage.

“…sorry, I interrupted you, didn’t I? as soon as I came over, your friend immediately left…oh no, it looked like you guys were having fun…oh no………………………………………………………………………………..”

There was a storm brewing in Blithe’s Hollow. As soon as the sun set and the dead rose, there was a chill in the air. Storm clouds hung in the air, crackling with thunder. Frisk could just make out the shapes that formed as they swirled. But it was not just a storm; that much was obvious. There was a type of pressure on their Soul, the same they usually felt as a Fight started. Something else was going on.

After a long back and forth conversation between two people that could not talk and two games of tic-tac-toe, Frisk understood better. The witch was not buried with the judges. They would have to find her grave, and start from there. Judge Hopkins was the only one, possibly ever, who knew where she was buried, so he led the way.

The town was deathly still. What was once packed with ghosts and people now only held a few cars and bystanders. The only sign that there was still life were the neon signs and traffic lights.

For some reason, that scared the zombies the most.

I know, gas prices have gone too high, Frisk wrote down in the notebook, because it seemed like a smart thing to say.

Jude Hopkins snatched the notebook from them and began writing furiously. He had filled nearly a page when they first heard the screams.

“well…I’m gonna go head home now…” said Napstablook. “oh…feel free to ‘come with’ if you want…but no pressure…”

“I don’t want to impose,” said Norman.

“neither do I…” said Napstablook.

They didn’t seem much for conversation. Nobody was happy with this.

“I live up just this way, in case you want to join me…” said Napstablook. “or, in case, you don’t…”

The neighborhood that sat just above the dump was small. There were only a handful of houses but they were all uniquely shaped. No one house looked the same, and no one house looked like a real house. Even Napstablook’s house was built into its neighbors, forming a perfectly symmetrical image.

The interior was much more what Norman would have expected. There were no chairs, but he remembered how his grandmother liked to phase in and out of furniture and figured most ghosts didn’t invest in things they could not touch. Yet there was a desk with a working computer, a small TV, even a refrigerator. And on the other side of the house were piles and piles of CDs.

“uh…do you wanna…listen to some tunes, or something…?” Napstablook asked.

[hashtagartistlife]

That’s the definition of a soulmate, isn’t it? One soul, two halves, split between two separate forms. Alike in every respect.

In a world where people are born with a coloured marking somewhere on their body, your soulmate is supposed to be the one who carries the exact same mark. Kurosaki Ichigo has never put much stock in these things — and the fact that his black sun mark and Rukia’s white crescent moon is as different as night and day has nothing to do with it. Ichiruki soulmates AU- maybe. 

(Hey guys! This was my entry for IRBB! I have two chapters written - the next chapter will go up next week - and then the rest of the fic will join my roster of wip fics to be updated... when I have time.... hahahaha //cries// 

My partner @jellyribbons did the CUTEST art for my fic, which YOU CAN FIND HERE. Thank you for being such a gem, juliet, even when I didn’t give you much to work with 8ㅁ8

And now, without further ado, please enjoy my irbb fic--

Collision Course

by hashtagartistlife

  One

Gravitational Collapse

.

.

.

There’s a black mark on Ichigo’s palm.

He’s never spent too much time contemplating it. People attribute so many things to these tiny coloured markings that appear on their skin. They say it tells you the kind of person you are, the kind of person you’re going to be. They say the person you’re destined to be with — your soulmate — has the exact same mark somewhere on their body. Because that’s what the definition of a soulmate is, isn’t it— one soul, two halves, split between two separate forms.  Alike in every respects. There are entire religions based around this concept, dating sites that cater exclusively to making sure you meet up with your other half. Psychics that claim they can read your entire future from that one mark alone.

Ichigo thinks, it’s just a goddamn birthmark.

He hates all this destiny crap surrounding these marks. When Tatsuki had asked him at the age of thirteen what his mark looked like, he’d scowled and told her to shove off. His hand had clenched, reflexive, around the shape getting ever-clearer against his tanned skin. She’d harrumphed, unperturbed, and informed him hers was the shape of a crimson eagle and that it clearly meant she was destined for greater things than him, if his mark was still the misshapen blob she remembers it being when he was nine. He’d responded that her mark looks more like a puddle of spew than the eagle she claimed it to be, and she’d thrown a well-aimed kick at his shoulder and the conversation had been dropped.

By the time he’s fifteen, the mark is well and truly etched onto his skin, no longer misshapen by any stretch of the imagination. Still, he refuses to pay too much attention to it, refuses to try to analyse the shape it’s settled into. It’s all bullshit, anyway. If he squints, he thinks you could almost mistake it for an ink-black sun — see? Bullshit. There was only one sun in his life, and she’d set six years ago and taken all the light in his family with her. His mother was the sun, the one holding them all together with her gravity; not him. And if his soulmate is anything like him, if they, too, are represented by a dark black sun mark somewhere on their body, then he wants nothing to do with them. He wants nothing to do with himself, most days.

So when Keigo asks, exuberant, innocent, what his mark is, Ichigo looks him straight in the eye and tells him he doesn’t believe in destiny.

 And he doesn’t. Not even now, after she comes barreling into his life and gifts him a power he thought he’d never have; after she fits into the cracks and crevices in his life so seamlessly he forgets there were cracks there in the first place. She sleeps in his closet and steals his food and charms all his friends (and he has those, he notices all of a sudden; he has a lot more of those than he had last reckoned, when had they all got there—?), and Ichigo would like to say he’s irritated, only he isn’t. She’s so different to him, and he can’t seem to get a handle on her the way he has with other people in his life. But still, somehow— they’re the same when it comes to the things that matter. He won’t put that down to something as illusory as destiny, though, won’t do their bond that disservice; what he has with Rukia is real, built on tangible things like shared grief and mutual irritation.

He catches a glimpse of her mark once, just once— soon after his fight with Grand Fisher. It’s a windy day, and her uniform skirt rides high on her legs for a single instant. It’s not like he was looking, he swears, but he doesn’t have time to turn away before the flash of bare skin has him rooted to the spot, turning bright red. She notices, of course she does, and smooths her skirt down, aiming a sharp elbow into his ribs. He doubles over and pretends to have not seen the shape on her upper thigh, almost imperceptible against her paleness. A white crescent moon, a mark that couldn’t have been more different to his own than night and day.

It’s nothing he doesn’t already know, and he tells himself the small twinge of emotion that goes through him at this revelation isn’t disappointment at all.

  “Of course shinigami are aware of the concept,” she says brusquely when the subject comes up, after a long day of Keigo trying to wheedle the location and shape of her mark out of Rukia. It’s considered— if not rude, then a little gauche to ask it of people, but that’s never stopped Keigo before. She perches on his desk and swings her legs to and fro; her dress is getting rucked up around her thighs and Ichigo bites back a caustic remark. It’s better than her sitting on his bed, at least. “We were all human once, too. We just don’t put that much stock in it, is all.”

This surprises him more than he cares to admit. “Why?” he asks, careful to keep his eyes trained on his homework lest he seem too interested.

She snorts. “We are soldiers, Ichigo. Love and partnership have no place in our lives. And besides, most of us have lived for hundreds of years, well beyond a single human lifespan, and have never managed to come across our so-called ‘other halves’. If they truly do exist and I was destined to spend the rest of my life together with them, you’d think the universe might have made it a little easier to meet them, no?”

He sits up slowly. “That doesn’t answer my question,” he says, and he doesn’t miss the way her shoulders tense up the tiniest bit. “I said, do you believe in all that soulmates crap associated with these marks?”

“Of course not, you fool,” she snaps, but something in her eyes are telling him yes, yes. Her fist bunches in the fabric of her dress, which has ridden up high enough that he thinks he’s almost going to see her mark again; but then she jumps off his desk in a fluid motion and her dress settles around her legs once more. She turns away from him and climbs into his closet. “Do you?”

She doesn’t know he’s seen her mark yet, but he knows she’s seen his; it was one of the drawbacks of having it in a more obvious place. As much as Ichigo doesn’t believe in the mythology surrounding these marks, a part of him is uncomfortable with the idea. It feels too much like wearing his heart on his sleeve to have it so visible, that people will see it and draw whatever conclusion they like about him through this insignificant blotch of pigment — not that his hair doesn’t already have the same effect. He thinks of this, of the fact that she knows their marks don’t match, and wonders whether she’ll think of it too when she hears his response. Wonders why it should matter at all.

“No,” he says, and his voice is firm. Behind the shut closet door, Rukia’s silent.

“... Good,” she replies after a while, and if Ichigo didn’t know any better, he’d say her voice was wavery, almost like she was crying. “Silly, human superstition, that’s all it is. Did you know you can fall in love with someone who doesn’t bear your mark?”

He didn’t, but staring at the closet door, fighting an odd urge to slam it open and demand if she was ok, Ichigo thinks he can understand how that might come to happen.

  In hindsight, it’s obvious that not all the couples he sees around him are mark-matched. Human beings are frustratingly contrary creatures, and even if the marks had been a surefire way of finding your romantic soulmate, he’s sure some people (like him) would have said bollocks to that. Tatsuki’s parents, for one, have slightly mismatched marks; Mrs. Arisawa’s is a lime-green leaf, while Mr. Arisawa’s is a viridian blade of grass. Still, Mrs. Arisawa laughs, casting her husband a fond smile, at least their marks were both plants; her sister with a flower mark had married a man with a pouncing tiger over his shoulder. They fought a fair bit, but despite everything, they were still together.

“And so are we,” she declares, plying them all with tea and biscuits as they get on with the study session they’d opened for Rukia’s benefit. “Don’t mind the people who tell you mark-matched coupling is your ultimate goal in life. Romance isn’t the be-all and end-all, and besides, it’s perfectly possible to be wildly in love with someone who doesn’t wear your mark at all.”

“Mom, will you stop being gross? Nobody asked for your sweeping tale of romance with dad,” Tatsuki grumbles, but a good half of their group is listening raptly, hanging onto Mrs. Arisawa’s every word. Even Ishida, detached as he’s trying to appear, is clearly not concentrating as hard on his maths as he would have them believe. Inoue, Keigo and Chad have outright dropped their pens. Only Mizuiro and Rukia seem unperturbed, although maybe that’s the wrong word for Rukia, who is gripping her pencil so tight the tendons are standing out against her skin. Ichigo thinks it’s time to steer the conversation into safer waters.

“Man, how the hell are you supposed to solve this question? Did we learn this?” he complains loudly, throwing his pen down. Several heads turn in his direction, and Ishida mocks him a little for not grasping such a simple concept; it’s Inoue who bows her head over his worksheet and kindly points out the trick to the solution. He nods in gratitude and quickly fills the rest of the question out.

“I— it’s nothing, Kurosaki-kun!” Inoue trills, flashing him a hesitant smile, and he pauses, a little taken aback; he smiles back cautiously, and watches, completely nonplussed, as her cheeks become suffused with red so that the six-petaled flower mark on her cheek becomes very noticeable. The thought pops into his head, unbidden, that he’s sorry for her, to have her mark so prominently on display. But then again, it fits with the kind of person Inoue is; bright, loud, open in her affections for everybody. Flustered, she turns away from him, and once her head moves out of his line of sight he sees Rukia behind her, staring at him with a confused expression.

But you did that question just last night, he knows she’s thinking, and it’s true; he helped her with the very question he pretended not to know just then. He scowls, and hopes it’ll be enough to throw her off the scent.

It is, but not in the way he hoped it would; Rukia inclines her head the tiniest fraction, as though she’s thanking him for what he did, before turning back to her work. Ichigo’s scowl deepens. He did nothing that was deserving of her thanks. It’s not like he moved the conversation along for her; he doesn’t like seeing her so obviously distressed, is all. She needs to be the annoying bitch that she is 95% of the time so he can cuss her out in his mind in peace.

He turns back to his own work, trying to drown out Mrs. Arisawa’s words ringing in his ears.

It’s perfectly possible to be wildly in love with someone who doesn’t wear your mark at all.

He knew this already; a stupid fucking confirmation shouldn’t change anything—

and yet.

  When they come for her, it’s when the moon in the sky resembles the moon on her thigh; a delicate sliver of a thing, barely visible against the inky darkness. Some cocky bastard with dark red hair that reminds Ichigo of old, bad blood and a cold one whose eyes give new meaning to the phrase if looks could kill show up to take Rukia to her execution, because, oh yeah, apparently lending her powers to a human being for any reason is a capital offence. Rukia, fucking Rukia, throw-herself-in-front-of-a-hollow-for-a-stranger Rukia, as-if-I-would-do-anything-to-make-you-worry-about-me Rukia, that Rukia, shuts down in their presence; goes cold and still and withdrawn like the glaciers he learned about in geography class. Something about that picture, her silent and sheet-white and scared against the backdrop of the pavement, strikes him as deeply, profoundly wrong; Rukia shouldn’t be wearing an expression like that. Ever.

He takes up the sword that she has given him and thinks, finally, finally, he’s going to be able to repay his debt to her, but before he can finish the red one off and get to the one with the cold, cold eyes, he falls.

At first he doesn’t quite understand what’s happened; his body spurts blood redder than the cocky bastard’s hair and then there’s the pain of it, belated, bringing him to his knees and further still. He collapses face-first onto the street, into a puddle of his own blood; Rukia screams aniki and the red one slams her into a telephone pole, by the neck. Ichigo struggles to rise, but his limbs won’t heed him, and he’s on the verge of losing consciousness when the cold one (aniki, he was her brother, he was Rukia’s brother) steps in front of him and addresses Rukia for the first time.

“I see, Rukia. This boy… resembles him a great deal.”

Ichigo’s hand shoots out to grab the hem of the cold one’s robes. “Who do I resemble? Don't talk about me like I’m already dead.”

The cold one stills, warns him to remove his hand if he wants to keep it, but Ichigo won't let go, can't let go; every second he manages to keep him rooted there is another second Rukia stays by his side. And he will not cede her, not to someone who looks at her so coldly; he can take his aniki and shove it. Brother or not, Rukia deserves better than someone who makes her look so uneasy in her own skin—

She kicks him.

She kicks him, and his hand falls to the ground; the impact of her foot, tiny as it is, stings like a bitch. She’s saying something, but Ichigo can’t make his brain parse the meaning from her words. His mind is filled with static, rising and rising like the tides; her eyes have gone cold just like her brother’s, and for the first time Ichigo thinks he can see the resemblance. But this is Rukia, Rukia; Rukia who shared his space and lived under his skin for the past three months. It can’t end like this.

She turns her back to him, and Ichigo feels panic close his throat; he yells at her to stop, to look at him properly, but she won’t, she won’t. And if the last memory he ever has of her are those warm eyes gone cold, he won’t be able to stand it. Look at me, please.

She does, and he almost wishes she hadn’t. The tears on her face, like a premonition of rain, and Ichigo remembers being nine and helpless; wet with someone else’s blood and alive because of someone else’s sacrifice. He wants to reach out for her, because surely this time, he’ll be able to protect; but six years hasn’t made an iota of difference and he can only watch as she saves him again with her words and her actions, stepping beyond the gate to somewhere he can’t follow.

The last thing he sees before the paper doors slide shut punches all the air out of his lungs; a directive from the heavens as if to say this is not your concern. For a fleeting moment, the wind lifts the scarf from the cold one’s collarbones; there, etched onto milk-white skin, is a familiar mark.

A crescent moon.

The first drops of rain hit the pavement, and Ichigo drops his head to the ground and screams.