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Spoke to a gen z person the other night and apparently the young folks don't know about the very legal sites from which you can access public domain media (including Dracula, The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, and other Victorian gothic horror stories)?

Like this young person didn't even know about goddamn Gutenberg which is a SHAME. I linked to it and they went "aw yiss time to do a theft" and I was like "I mean yo ho ho and all that, sure, but. you know gutenberg is entirely legal, right?"

Anyway I'm gonna put this in a few Choice Tags (sorry dracula fans I DID mention it though so it's fair game) and then put some Cool Links in a reblog so this post will still show UP in said tags lmao.

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Game idea: you've got a series of spells you can use, which you cast by typing them.

But enemy bosses can attack your keyboard. Your "E" key is disabled. FIREBALL is out. ICE9? Also out. Guess they're getting hit with SUMMON FROG.

The bosses can also drop traps on your keys. So if N is trapped, you can cast SUMMON FROG, but the N-trap will go off and you'll take damage.

An advanced late game spell is THESAURUS, which lets you reanalyze a spell. Can't do SUMMON NIGHT WOLF because your N key is broken? THESAURUS it and now it's CREATE DARK DOG.

Another enemy attack would be putting a counter on your keys. So if they put a 1 on your R, you can cast "FIREBALL" but "CIRCLE OF TERROR" is right out.

The two can be combined: a trapped counter only goes off if you type more than the counter. So a trapped 2 on your S means "HEAL SELF" is fine but "TRANSFORM SELF TO SERPENT" will activate the trap and you'll take damage.

One late game boss attacks you by cutting your keyboard in half, and which half works alternates between turns. You gotta figure out which spells you can use that turn.

You could do some fun gimmick-fights. Like a boss sweeps your keyboard off the table and makes you play scrabble instead: you have to spell spells to cast them.

Or wheel of fortune, where you have to get enough money to be able to buy vowels before you can cast spells with vowels in them. The puzzle on the board is a spell the boss is going to cast against you, so it's also a fight against time. If you correctly guess too many letters, they'll solve and you'll get hit with the spell.

I think the way it works is that you fight some mooks and then a boss, and each boss has a new spell they can cast against you.

But you can cast any spell you've seen used against you, so like you start with merely FIREBALL but the first boss hits you with HIGH JUMP, and now you can use that ability out of battle, cause it's a metroidvania of course, and now new areas are accessible.

But bosses can use "forbidden" spells against you, and they do it by typing words you can't.

Like the viking boss hits you with a OÄNDLIG FJÄRIL and you don't have that letter.

(later you can upgrade your keyboard to get access to some forbidden letters, but at great cost: you must sacrifice a letter to gain it, and you don't get to pick which letter the keyboard surgeon will take)

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Jayvik fics list (pt 1)

(+ some Jayvikmel)

They are soulmates, Your Honor, whether platonic or romantic is irrelevant.

Firstly, here is an essay by isdisorigionale. Yes, they apparently wanted to write about a brotherly relationship. But it doesn't really read like that, in my opinion.

An Aroace Analysis of Jayvik—Not Necessarily Romance, Absolutely Not “Bros”

Their summary>

An essay I wrote in 90 minutes 2 hours after finishing Season 2 Act 3. Notably, those two hours were spent screaming to my friends on how fucking generational that Jayvik was.

Or: They obviously didn't need to make them make out to show how much they love each other, but I’m also pissed at how apparently this is being called a bromance like ?????

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Now onto the fanfics >

Green is my thoughts on the fics.

Those are shorter fics that I read...After the finale, fanfiction is helping me cope. I'll make a separate list with older and longer fics.

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You're Dreaming by Skullsz_Writes

Viktor & Jayce are researching in the library, but Jayce falls asleep...

Short and sweet fic about Viktor crushing on Jayce in season 1

An Epilogue by GwenEani

In the countryside of Demacia two men arrive one day, no one knows anything about them, no one even knows their names for certain. But they know one thing: they are partners and are here to stay.

What if Jayce and Viktor didn't die in each other's arms but were teleported away and were living domestic lives? There are a lot of these here, and rightfully so. They deserve some happiness.

to rot and ruin by ember360

The first words Viktor says to Jayce are immortalised on Jayce's wrist. The first words Jayce says to Viktor... are not what he thinks.

Soulmate AU for these two was a need. I love Soul Mark fanfictions.

Fortune Kooky by setbet

“And you end up with… a beard!” she exclaimed pointing at Jayce’s face.

Viktor rolled his eyes while Jayce looked on, amazed at her prophecy.

“And then…” she turned her gaze to Viktor. “You turn into a robot!” cried out the fortune teller, falling back in fear. “A terrifying robot bent on taking over the world!”

“Eh, sounds fake,” said Viktor.

“Viktor, don't be rude!” said Jayce, but starting to feel a bit doubtful at this point.

A fic about two academy boys visiting a completely accurate fortune teller.

Universal Constants. by Azurita25

“Yes, well… there is also the idea of constants, no? Universal constants. Gravity is always present, the Earth always spins around the sun–”

“And we always end up doing laundry together?”

“I do not think the laundry is the part that’s important,” Viktor stressed.

“So what is?” Jayce replied, making Viktor laugh, shake his head.

“You are.”

--Or, a glimpse into all the universes where Jayce and Viktor find each other.

wrong bedroom by a1sher

“Wait a minute, this isn’t my bedroom.” Viktor and Jayce tries to break into Heimerdinger’s lab only to end up in Viktor’s bedroom;)

What if Mel accepted Vik's excuse?

…And They Were Roommates! by draconabraxas

Mel Medarda never thought she’d go on a date with a taken man; homewrecking was beneath a woman of her standing.

In her defense, nobody in their circle seemed to know if Jayce and Viktor were together, either. So, how was she supposed to know?

Miscomunication and more miscomunication! Mel isn't a sidepeace!

Why Love Songs Exist by Slither

"All these timelines at our fingertips." Viktor pauses. He smirks in such a way that Jayce knows he has a silly idea. "It would be funny if I were a worm in an alternate universe," he says.

"I think you would be a cute worm," says Jayce—his Jayce—without hesitation, and then he shrugs. "I would put you in the best garden I could find and feed you the freshest fruits," he adds casually.

Giopara is silently mouthing the phrase "what the fuck" behind them, as Viktor's mouth falls open. "Oh."

Oh, he says, as if that did not remind him of everything Jayce revealed before they sacrificed their souls to contain the Arcane. Oh, that he was beautiful. Oh, that he was...

Desired?

Or Jayce basically confessed his love, but the specifics remained unclear to Viktor.

Kiss me like one of your Zaun Boys by setbet

“They’re making out in the lab.”

“Yeah, they do that a lot.”

“But they’re not boyfriends?”

“We don’t talk about it.”

The first time Viktor kissed Jayce, it was a quick peck on the cheek, followed by a casual conversation. The next time it's on the lips, but then it's back to talk about formulas. Jayce concludes it must be a cultural thing, and also starts to kiss Viktor back. Everybody else is confused.

A story of two friends kissing each other, who are definitely not boyfriends.

only you by babybirb

Jayce and Viktor don't quite cease to exist. Instead, they are side by side in each breath, in each droplet of blood, in each wave of sound and light. What seems to be the end, is only the beginning for them. And together, they pave their way forth.

An ethereal alternate after-ending to Jayce and Viktor and the love they hold for each other. With it, they exist within all possibilities.

not to me, not if it's you by brewstersbru

They were supposed to die, then, a better ending than Viktor expected. Far sweeter than he deserved. Jayce’s hand warm and broad against his neck, foreheads tipped together, breaths fanning over skin. It was neat. It was nice.

And then he woke up, splayed in a field, draped in the tatters of Jayce’s blanket. A groan rose from his left, then some pitiful shuffling before a final, loud thump, accompanied by a slight warble.

perfect imperfections by bbgghost

In his dying moments, Jayce revisits some important moments he has shared with Viktor. And makes some new memories along the way.

i knew you in another life (you had that same look in your eyes) by coefemi

Jayce shakes his head. “You don’t need to thank me. I’d do it for you. I’d do anything.” He sounds so earnest too, and Viktor believes him. He is safe with this boy, he decides. Jayce’s smile makes him feel like he can eat the world raw, and Viktor wants to hold onto it forever.

 When Viktor and Jayce's foreheads touch, all the infinite what-could-have-beens spill through their minds.

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2x7 AU\No Hextech AU

I'd love to see more of this AU and will also write fanfiction about it.

Quiet Resonance by Qakk281

Jayce rarely wakes up before Viktor, but on the rare mornings he does, he savors every second.

After the events of Act 3, Jayce and Viktor found themselves in a different timeline, where Hextech doesn't exist.

what could've been, would've been (what should've been you) by ghostlyecho

They got married in this universe.

Jayce grabs Viktor’s left hand, examining it. He looks at his own.

Twin rings adorn their fingers, Viktor’s golden, Jayce’s silver, both holding a fragment of blue crystal in the middle.

They’re married. They vowed their life to the other, they promised themselves to one another, they actually acted upon the deep-rooted emotions that coursed through the garden that was their relationship, that stubborn weed called love, that always came back no matter how many times you plucked it.

What if it was Jayce who got to see his life in an alternate universe

What Could Have Been by TheUnknownGoose

When Jayce woke up he nearly leaped out of bed when he realized bed? Why am I in bed? His heart was pounding against his rib cage as he looked around. He was in a bedroom, not his though.

Or Jayce sees what could have been if one thing had gone differently.

In Every Universe, It's You by AniresNevil

In an Alternate Universe, a young scientist Jayce loses his hopes and dreams when an explosion in his studyroom takes a life of an young girl. Dean's assistant Viktor still seems to find him in every lifetime, and together they accomplish something once again with the power of their partnership. And maybe with something more.

What happened to Jayce and Viktor in the Universe where Ekko traveled to in season 2?

Both arms cradle you now by Alexthestarlover

They're meant to be. In every timeline of any universe, throughout all the endless possibilities of actions and worlds. Their souls are intertwined. But is it possible that they're together in death too? 

there was something about you, but now i cant remember by DipitinPuddinggg

He held out a hand for a shake, "I'm Jayce."

At the edges of his mind, a familiar voice echoed through the walls of his skull. A voice that was the same but also not. A face that was so familiar, but too smooth at this point in time, not yet marred by years of labour and hardship that not even the strongest person in Runeterra could survive on his own.

"I don't even know your name."

Viktor smiled and shook it, "Viktor."

After getting sucked into the rune, Jayce and Viktor get transported to a different timeline without the memories of their previous life. Except, some things start seeping in.

you'll never shine if you don't glow by hexcorehomos

Viktor woke up, his fact was hot, sweat dripping down it. Where was he?

He looked around, it looked like Piltover. He slowly tried to get up, still confused. He should be dead, he exploded with the Arcane. That's when he figured out that his leg was back to normal. He groaned, falling face down into the grass. He wondered if Jayce was here too, oh, Jayce. What would Viktor do without him?

He saw a few people pass, but he got the courage to speak up when he saw familiar blue hair, almost like Jinx's. "Uh, miss.." he got her attention, turning towards him.

"Hello, sir?" she responded. She had gorgeous blue eyes. "I need- I need help. My cane is gone, and I cant walk without it." he lied, desperate for help.

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The Poly relationship>

Radical Violence Theory by begaydocrimes10001

When Mel Medarda realizes that she's completely ignored Viktor's potential as a scientist, as an academic, she quickly seeks to remedy that. He may not be Jayce Talis, but he has his own brain, and he seems to be far more useful than most think. She's a practical woman, after all- it would be useful to have another genius on her side.

And when she realizes Viktor is also in love with Jayce Talis, and Jayce loves them both? She's still practical, after all-- she sees an opportunity.

(Or, Mel and Viktor are more similar than one might think. That applies to who they love, but it applies to how they love too.)

Mel and Vik are platonic in this one, and I love it. Sadly, the positive interaction between them in Cannon is non-existent.

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Explicit> (some are 2x8 specific)

Wild Like a March hare by crow_brain

Wild are the glimpses of their life, hot coals burning the soles of their feet. They dance like animals, trying to close the gap between.

(Or the body worship Viktor's always should've gotten)

Cosmic Coitus by Wink_Wonk_Wank_Wenk

Now that there’s nothing but space around them, they can do whatever they want.

Inevitable Change by magisterpavus

Viktor isn’t the same when he comes back.

Jayce is determined to make it work anyway.

convince you by spectacularorange

after being rejected once, viktor must find a way to convince jayce to join him.

2x8

Partners. by lw192

Taking place during the fight scene in the councilor's room, Jayce and Viktor reconcile and realize just how much they need each other.

(Jayce and Viktor fuck on the councilor's table.)

Can I hold you? (Even if its just pretend?) by Issavandra

“My partner died in this room,” he ground out.

“Do I seem dead to you Jayce?” Viktor asked. Jayce could feel him moving closer, he swore he felt something brush his nose. “I have never been more alive.”

A cool, metallic finger passed over his bottom lip in a featherlight touch. It felt almost reverent. “Do you want me to show you just how alive I am?”

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Pt 2is here>

https://www.tumblr.com/emilija04acer/768620668211331072/jayvik-fics-list-pt2?source=share

Pt 3 (new fics)>

https://www.tumblr.com/emilija04acer/769136252271362048/jayvik-list-pt3

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you're allowed to discuss and work together, reblog for a higher sample size or something

You have 1 week, good luck!

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thinking about anastasia trusova paintings again

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(source)

Unsplash -  photography, illustration, & art

Pixabay - same as unsplash

Pexels - stock photos and videos

Getty Images - photography & illustration

Veceezy - vectors and clipart

Gumroad - photoshop brushes (and more)

StockSnap.io - stock photos

Canva - needs login but has lots of templates

Library of Congress - historical posters and photos

NASA - you guessed it

Creative Commons - all kinds of stuff, homie

Even Adobe has some free images

There are so many ways to make moodboards, bookcovers, and icons without plagiarizing! As artists, authors, and other creatives, we need to be especially careful not to use someone else’s work and pass it off as our own. 

Please add on if you know any more resources for free images <3

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Have you played GREEN SKIES ?

By @smallredrobin13games

A solo solarpunk game about a sentient building caring for it's residents.

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hi here's a list of contemporary poetry that i have personally read & recommend. currently 173 titles, free PDF download to reference as you look for new books to read <3 enjoy!!

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Want to learn something new in 2022??

Absolute beginner adult ballet series (fabulous beginning teacher)

40 piano lessons for beginners (some of the best explanations for piano I’ve ever seen)

Excellent basic crochet video series

Basic knitting (probably the best how to knit video out there)

Pre-Free Figure Skate Levels A-D guides and practice activities (each video builds up with exercises to the actual moves!)

How to draw character faces video (very funny, surprisingly instructive?)

Another drawing character faces video

Literally my favorite art pose hack

Tutorial of how to make a whole ass Stardew Valley esque farming game in Gamemaker Studios 2??

Introduction to flying small aircrafts

French/Dutch/Fishtail braiding

Playing the guitar for beginners (well paced and excellent instructor)

Playing the violin for beginners (really good practical tips mixed in)

Color theory in digital art (not of the children’s hospital variety)

Retake classes you hated but now there’s zero stakes:

Calculus 1 (full semester class)

Learn basic statistics (free textbook)

Introduction to college physics (free textbook)

Introduction to accounting (free textbook)

Learn a language:

Ancient Greek

Latin

Spanish

German

Japanese (grammar guide) (for dummies)

French

Russian (pretty good cyrillic guide!)

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listen I ended up regretting saying anything about this on my old blog because people will interpret literally any and every statement maliciously on this hellsite but I want to start like. a helpline for people who are like “hey I pretty much only read YA but I’m like 22 now and don’t relate to teenagers as much, it’s such a shame that there are no fun books written for adults :(” because boy HOWDY are there some fun books for adults 

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Encore (1/5)

He doesn’t even feel the impact. There’s a shriek of metal-on-metal, a scream, a car suddenly jumping the curb in front of him.

Then there’s only darkness.

Blue.

The sky is still blue.

Ichigo blinks, and wonders why that surprises him. Surely, a blue sky exists everywhere, even—

Even here.

Which is not where he had been before.

It’s somewhere different.

Carefully, Ichigo sits up and takes in the sight of a familiar field, with trees in the distance. He’s been here once, right after the first trip to Soul Society, when Inoue had come to tell him that Rukia was missing, and he had known where to look. The house that’s just as odd as he remembers still stands in the distance—and, squatting a few feet from him in the grass, is a familiar face that he hasn’t seen since that day.

Shiba Kukaku stares at him for a long moment, an unreadable expression on her face. Ichigo stares back, wondering why the fireworks expert—who he remembers as being loud, violent, and having a strong enough left hook to put Yammy to shame—looks almost… unsettled. He doesn’t say anything, though, keeping his peace as she surveys him. For some reason, he’s tired, more than he’s ever been, and can’t help but suspect that being in Soul Society like this—when he had been in his human form, without using a Senkaimon, and knowing without a doubt that the car accident had killed him—is the cause.

And then Kukaku sighs and straightens, rising to her feet and offering him a hand up. “From the lack of company I take it this isn’t another one of Yoruichi’s harebrained schemes. Did something happen?”

Ichigo hesitates for a moment before accepting the proffered hand. “I…died.” It feels odd to say it out loud, but he knows it’s true. Unlike what the majority of the Gotei 13 seems to think, he isn’t stupid. He can certainly be reckless sometimes, when someone he cares about is in danger, but he isn’t dumb. Drawing connections is simple enough. The only surprise is that now, here, he feels the stirrings of power around him that he’s missed for so long, and the comforting weight of Zangetsu on his back. Dying, it seems, had been enough to return his powers. Even the Hollow is back, simmering in his mind just below the surface. And for the life—or death—of him, Ichigo can’t bring himself to find it anything but comforting.

Kukaku sighs again, pulling him to his feet, and nods. “I thought it was something like that.” Then she pauses again and scrutinizes his face for a moment, something in her expression turning wistful. “You…really do look like him.”

Ichigo blinks at that, not understanding, and shoots her a look. He had noticed a similar reaction in others, particularly Ukitake and Byakuya, when he faced them, but he’s never pressed them for an answer. But Kukaku notices, and gives him a small, weary smile. “My older brother, Kaien. The one the Kuchiki girl killed.”

There’s no malice in her voice, no bitterness, and Ichigo wonders at how strong she is to push all of that aside. He had never managed it, and even now, he blames himself for his mother’s death.

Maybe someday, he thinks a touch ironically, he can be as strong as her.

“Is there a relation?” he asks after a second, half dryly and half curiously. His father’s death at Aizen’s hand meant that the old man had never had gotten around to explaining his connection to Soul Society, so for all Ichigo knows, Kukaku could be his aunt. He just barely holds back a shudder. As if there aren’t enough violent women around him already.

Seeming to guess his thoughts, Kukaku grins at him, squeezing his hand just a little tighter than she needs to. “Heh. That scares you, little boy? Shouldn’t, though. We Shibas are a good bunch—mostly. And widespread! Or we used to be.” She turns, not letting go of his hand, and drags him back towards her crazy house. “You might be a cousin, for all I know. Never did keep a good enough track of the branch families, while they existed. Oh, well.” Throwing open the door, she yanks him down the stairs, calling, “Oi, Ganju! We’ve got a guest!”

Her brother leans around a door, and his eyes widened at the sight of Ichigo there, dressed not in shinigami robes, but a simple autumn-brown yukata, Zangetsu across his back. He takes one step forward, looking confused. “Kurosaki? What are you…?” Then he pauses, frowns, and opens his mouth again—

—Only to be cut off by his sister’s foot slamming into his face.

Despite himself, Ichigo winces. Yeah, he can see the family resemblance there, if she and his father are related.

“Move it, dumbass!” Kukaku bellows, hauling Ichigo past the sprawled form of her sibling and into the room he’d just left. “He’s a guest, and he just died! He needs comforting! Now get your ass to the kitchen and make some food! I’m hungry!” With that, she slides the shoji door shut, tosses Ichigo in front of the table, and drops on the other side to face him. Planting her left arm on the table, she glares at him and demands, “Well? What happened? If you’re gonna cry, do it now, while I’m feeling charitable!”

Pushing himself upright, Ichigo casts her a half-wary, half-bemused look, and then settles himself correctly. “Cry? What the h—why would I cry?”

She raises an eyebrow at him. “You just died.”

He raises one in return, wondering what it is she wants him to say. “I know. I’m not an idiot. But it’s not like everything ended, right? I’m here. My family’s already here, too. And…”

And what? He suddenly can’t think of anything. Isn’t he supposed to be fighting someone? Rescuing someone? Doing something? But instead of a driving urge to move, he feels relaxed. Peaceful. At ease, even, without the fate of Soul Society and the world of the living riding on his back, without the grief that’s been tearing at him for over two years now. And, as much as he loves combat, and fighting, he doesn’t want to go back to that pressure. Even with his powers back, he doesn’t want to immediately plunge back into conflict. And somehow, he can guess that conflict is what would occur, if he walked up to the gates of the Seireitei and informed them that he was no longer a resident of the living world.

He has to bite back a groan, because it’s just occurring to him that it had not been the insane, power-obsessed, would-be god who had taken him out. It had been a car. Renji is going to laugh his ass off.

Yet another reason not to immediately present himself in Seireitei.

Kukaku, with a perceptiveness that belies her usual loud personality, seems to guess what he’s thinking again. She leans over and flicks him on the forehead, then brings her fist down hard on the top of his head. While he tries to clear the ringing from his ears, she snorts and comments, “You know, there’s nothing holding you back now, boy. You’re dead. That means no more responsibilities. Sure, you have the power to be a shinigami, and you want to protect people—”

Ichigo doesn’t question how, again, she knows exactly what he’s thinking. It’s more than likely he’ll regret knowing, should he ask.

“—but you don’t have to march right up the Gotei 13 and let them take you in. You’re different than you were before the war; they probably wouldn’t even know what to do with you. So why don’t you stay here for a bit? Ground yourself, think about your options? I’ll even help you get that pig-sticker down to a normal sealed-size.” She nods towards Zangetsu, which is settled awkwardly across Ichigo’s shoulders and nearly digging into the bamboo floor. “You don’t have to be yourself, either, if you don’t want to. There are enough bastard sons floating around, and you look enough like a Shiba that I can claim you as a cousin and adopt you into the family. Might make for a nice change of pace, huh?”

Ichigo looks at her in surprise for a second, then shifts his gaze past her left shoulder as he considers. Go to Seireitei, and back to being a hero of a war he had never wanted to fight? Or stay here amidst the peaceful insanity that is the Shiba house, as a Shiba himself, and take his time learning something, not for the sake of saving the world, but for himself?

It isn’t much of a choice, really.

“Thank you,” he tells Kukaku with a quick bow. “I’d be honored.”

And Kukaku smiles, satisfied, and bellows at Ganju to hurry up with the food.

Ichigo quickly comes to the realization that training with Kukaku is akin to throwing oneself headfirst at a jet engine and hoping to come out on the other side with the ability to fly.

Not that it isn’t effective—within the first two weeks of lessons, he’s able to suppress and contain his reiatsu enough to seal Zangetsu into a normal shikai state (though it fails if he loses his temper), and to hide a few feet from a shinigami patrol without being detected (so long as he’s careful and almost completely focused on hiding his power, which is inconvenient, as it leaves him struggling in a real fight).

It is even, at times, enjoyable. Ichigo has always been the older brother in his family, and Kukaku is like the older sister he’s never had, gruffly affectionate, tauntingly supportive, and with a core—somewhere deep, deep, deep inside—of kindness and caring that’s unlike anything he’s experienced before. She pushes him hard, harder than even Urahara or old man Zangetsu, but for no other reason than because she can do it and he can survive it. There’s no world to save, no friend to rescue, and Ichigo can focus solely on becoming strong for himself, instead of someone else.

Ganju, too, quickly becomes like family—although Ichigo is certain he’s more the idiot cousin kept locked in the attic than anyone really close. They spar together when Kukaku is busy with whatever it is she really does (another thing Ichigo is certain he’ll regret knowing), and as he had when Ichigo was struggling with the spirit orb on his first trip to the Seireitei, the boar-rider often steps in to help Ichigo with some of the finer points of control and reiatsu manipulation. Ganju even helps him master the beginning steps towards kido, much more quickly than Kukaku had expected.

For the first time in a very long while, Ichigo is learning, and training, and advancing just because he can, and he can’t remember being so content at any time since his mother’s death. He pushes aside everything that he had been before—all the anger, all the surliness, all thoughts of weakness and strength and power and death—and Shiba Kei becomes the newly accepted youngest son of the Shiba Clan. And it’s a change that he welcomes, shedding his old being like a set of worn clothes, and donning a new personal to go with his new life. Kei—the name chosen by Kukaku, who had wistfully remarked that it was what Kaien had been planning to name his son, and left Ichigo with the distinct feeling that he had been played—is polite, and respectful, and likes to play jokes. He smiles and laughs, and does not worry about worlds or gods or anything but surviving his sister’s training.

And Ichigo is, for the first time in years, really, truly happy.

It’s seven months to the day since he first came to live with them when Kukaku storms through the doorway of the dojo, interrupting Ichigo and Ganju’s sparring session. They both turn to look at her—

—Only to be smacked in the head with the bottle and scrub brush, respectively, that she hurls at them.

This is hardly the first time that kind of thing has happened. Indeed, it’s almost a daily occurrence, so Ichigo grabs the bottled before it can hit the floor and Ganju peels the brush off his face, and they only grumble a little bit as they glare at her with all the wounded male pride they can muster.

Kukaku just smirks at them—and, specifically, at Ichigo. “There ya go, carrot-top! One dousing with that and your hair will look all-natural again! You’ll fit right in with the rest of us!”

Ichigo transfers his glare from her to the bottle of black hair dye he holds, and then scowls at her even more deeply.

“What the hell! Why the hell would I want to dye my hair?”

The woman looks supremely unimpressed. “‘Cause you’re going to enroll in the Spiritual Arts Academy. I’ve got nothing left to teach you, since you’ve got all the basics down, and the teachers at the school can help you go further than I ever could. I’m not a shinigami, halfwit! And with your hair dyed, you’ll look just like Kaien. No one will doubt you’re a Shiba. I’ll get the paperwork out of the way, and you’ll be free to go through the Academy just like every other shinigami admitted to the Gotei 13. No special favors, no war hero, just you.” She grins. “So get dyeing.”

It would take a much stronger—or less sane—man to argue with Shiba Kukaku. So, with the obligatory grumbling and cursing, Ichigo gets dyeing, and realizes about halfway through that the whole idea doesn’t really sound so bad.

“You’ve got your sword?”

“Yes, nee-san.”

“And your uniforms?”

“Yes, nee-san.”

“And your kido books?”

“Yes, nee-san.”

“And enough yukatas? I can always bring you more if—”

“Yes, nee-san.”

The one armed woman smacks the dark-haired boy who stands with her in the head. “Shut up, brat! If this is what I get for worrying, I’ll make sure not to in the future!”

Several of the families standing with them before the Academy gates stifle snorts. Ichigo narrows his eyes at the vicious female monster posing as his sister and rubs the back of his much-abused head. She’s been “worrying,” as she calls it—though, in truth, it’s far closer to nagging—ever since they left the house that morning. Ichigo still isn’t certain why he couldn’t just go alone—after all, he isn’t a kid, and he’s already passed the entrance exam with ease. But Kukaku had said that family seeing him off was expected, especially since he was coming from a noble house—even if it is fallen, which she never seems to give a damn about.

Seeing the near-scowl that crosses his face, Kukaku leans in with frightening good cheer, her grin one hair shy of terrifying. “Come on, Kei-chan, smile! You’ll do the Shiba Clan proud, won’t you? Hmm? Kei-chan?”

Under the circumstances, Ichigo feels that it is quite acceptable to stage a tactical retreat. Taking several steps away from the madwoman to whom he’s claiming blood ties—and oh, how he’s starting to wish that he had just enrolled as a nameless spirit from Rukongai—he moves safely out of reach. That had been Kukaku’s way of subtly reminding him not to scowl in order to keep from being recognized, which is something they’ve been working on for weeks now—mostly her leaping on him whenever he lets his expression slip into something Ichigo would have worn, instead of what Kei would wear, and stretching his cheeks or doing some equally demeaning and emasculating thing until he can force a neutral expression.

He’s become nearly as good at neutral as Byakuya, he suspects—though with Kukaku’s form of motivation, he expects that anyone would.

“Damn it, you crazy woman! Don’t call me that!” he snaps, though he does rearrange his face into something that doesn’t resemble a glower quite so much.

Kukaku just grins at him, as she often does. “Oh, the little one’s all grown up, eh? Well, Kei, I hope you’re ready to leave the nest and all that. Got any last words before I push you out and let you fly?”

“More like push me out and drop a stone around my neck,” Ichigo mutters, but straightens his shoulders and offers her a brief, challenging smile. “Why bother? You’ll be back in a year to see me graduate anyway, and I’ll come visit once in a while, to make sure you haven’t drowned Ganju in the bath.”

She waves her hand at that, wrinkling her nose. “Hell no! It’d be too smelly.” Then her expression softens, and she reaches out and drags Ichigo into a gruff, one-armed hug. “Take care, otouto,” she murmurs in his ear. “Even if you aren’t a Shiba, you’re still my little brother. Make us proud, got that?” Releasing him, she takes a step back, then waves and turns away. “And make sure you come back home once in a while! You’re already a twig, and cafeteria food won’t help! We’ll have to stuff you every chance we get, so you don’t blow away in the wind!”

Ichigo rolls his eyes at her retreating back, but it’s fond. Kukaku may just be posing as his sibling, but in reality, she’s his sister in every way that matters. And now he has three sisters to look out for, even if the newest one would kick his ass for thinking that she needs “looking after.”

It feels good, feels right to don the shinigami black once more, after a year and some-odd weeks in a student’s white and blue. Ichigo spends a long moment staring into the mirror in his dormitory room, wondering at the changes. He’s gotten used to seeing black hair in place of orange, a calm expression where a scowl used to be, but sometimes it still jars him to remember that he’s not Kurosaki Ichigo anymore, not in the ways that count. He’s Shiba Kei, branch member adopted into the main Shiba family by virtue of Kukaku’s kindness to an orphaned bastard child.

Ichigo never used to lie, even to himself. Now the lies have become his entire life, quite literally.

He slings Zangetsu across his back, a normal long sword rather than a huge cleaver—if nothing else, this whole charade has taught him the control he never managed while he was alive—because old habits die hard, and he’s more comfortable with the blade there than in the more normal position at his side. Enough shinigami wear their zanpakuto the same way that it shouldn’t raise too many eyebrows, even in a formal situation like this.

Which, of course, brings his thoughts right back to what he’s been trying to avoid thinking about. This is going to be a circus, regardless of the assurances he’s gotten from his instructors and—

“You like you’re about face your execution, Kei. Lighten up, or the audience might get the wrong impression.”

Kuchiki Eiji, part-time therapist and full-time Jiminy Cricket. Of course.

Ichigo bites back the sharp comment he wants to make and instead growls, “I don’t understand why they have to have the captains choose their recruits right then in front of a damned crowd. It’s—”

“An acknowledgement of the skills and capabilities of the new graduates to have captains present their bids for service before the graduation audience, even before the entrance test for the Gotei 13 proper. Also for the most part a complete formality, because such decisions are generally made between the captain and the recruit well ahead of time, and only the very lowest-ranking students—which you are not, Mr. Prodigy—leave it up to chance. Now calm down before I start getting nervous by proxy, okay?” The young noble rolls over on his futon to give Ichigo a long, assessing stare that reminds Ichigo just who his cousin is, Eiji’s usual demeanor aside.

Nevertheless, Ichigo—never one to be cowed, and certainly not after living with Shiba Kukaku for more than two years—grouches softly, “Why? It’s not like you’re going to be doing anything except sitting there.”

Eiji gives him a cheeky grin. “Yeah, because I’m smart and graduating normally, next winter, with a large class. You’re the supernaturally talented and powerful idiot who had to go and beat even your older brother’s record. Of course people are going to be interested, Kei. What did you think would happen?”

Not this, Ichigo wants to say, but he keeps it to himself and carefully pulls his black hair back into a tail. He’s kept it long, if only to keep his instructors from having a heart attack when he walks into their classes looking exactly like Shiba Kaien.

Clever fingers steal the ribbon before he can attempt to tie it up, and Eiji mutters, “Oh, give it here, you’re hopeless.”

After a year and change of dealing with Eiji’s hovering, Ichigo knows this fight is already a lost cause, so he surrenders gracefully and lets Eiji fiddle. As he does, the young noble asks carefully, “You accepted Byakuya-sama’s offer, didn’t you? Lieutenant of the Sixth?”

Ah, yes. That crowning moment of stupidity. Ichigo fights back a grimace and makes a sound that’s vaguely affirmative. Byakuya is probably the only person in the Gotei 13 who knows both who Ichigo is and who he was. Kukaku and Ganju know, by virtue of finding him when he first arrived after his death and then providing him with a cover story, but the Sixth’s captain guessed.

And if Byakuya, who never actually knew Ichigo all that well except as an opponent, was able to see through his façade as Shiba Kei with a glance, Ichigo doesn’t even want to contemplate what will happen with people like Rukia, Renji, and his damned father.

A hand closing over his shoulder brings his attention back to the boy behind him, and Ichigo glances up to meet his gaze in the mirror. Eiji’s eyes are a green-grey, rather than Byakuya’s steel-grey, but there’s a resolve and a certainty in them that makes their relation all the more obvious.

“Kei?” Eiji asks, and it’s soft, but there’s a world’s worth of meaning in that single word.

It’s a single, lonely syllable, a name that Ichigo was never born to wear, but a name he’s chosen nevertheless. To Ichigo, it’s a symbol of the choice he made in that green field with Kukaku standing over him. He’d turned his back on the past, left it behind in favor of an unknown future without the taint of grief and failure that had dragged Kurosaki Ichigo down for so long before his death. Shiba Kei was born in that moment, even though he remained nameless for several months afterwards. It’s with Kei’s soul, Kei’s eyes that Ichigo looks at himself in the pane of silvered glass.

It’s Shiba Kei who meets Eiji’s gaze and, with a resolve forged from grief and pain and loss, tempered with the happiness of this new life as a new man, it’s Shiba Kei who says “Yes. I accepted.”

And really, that’s all there is to say.

Renji was a lieutenant for a long time, and he knows that each of the eleven other sub-commanders has their own style of fighting. Kira holds back and lets the enemy hang themselves. Matsumoto pouts and flounces and then goes in for the kill while her opponent is distracted. Hisagi bides his time, using psychological attacks just as much as his ruthless physical ones. Yachiru, Omeada, Sasakibe, Nanao—they’ve all got their own way of fighting and winning.

But with all of them, every single one, he’s at least seen their shikai. Even Hisagi, who hates to use his, still brings it out sometimes in practice or in battle. Only the newest lieutenant, one Shiba Kei, who so easily took Renji’s former position in the Sixth, has never even drawn his damned sword.

It’s taken this long for Renji to even get the man to agree to a spar, and that was by sheer chance alone—Renji managed to corner Shiba while Captain Kuchiki was within hearing distance, and Byakuya had encouraged his new lieutenant to try his hand against his old one. Renji had felt fairly secure in his ability to wipe the training ground with Shiba’s face, given that Shiba was a green graduate and only a lieutenant, whereas Renji was the new captain of the Ninth.

Technically, it’s his own fault for forgetting that Shiba Kei managed to graduate the Academy in a year and five weeks, breaking his older brother’s record in the process. And granted, Shiba went from Academy student straight to lieutenant without a single step in between, handpicked by Kuchiki Byakuya himself for his abilities. Still, Renji had expected to face an inexperienced boy without many actual combat skills and an excess of book learning.

What he’s gotten is something quite different.

The arena is filled with choking red smoke, thick and obscuring, and although the day’s brisk breeze is already dispersing it, it’s enough to throw Renji off. He’s the type to dive right in to a fight, to strike the first blow and keep on hitting before his opponent can do more than block, but with this, he’s been effectively stymied. It’s incredibly difficult to hit what he can’t see, and he’s not good enough at kido to disperse the smoke without entirely diverting his attention from his opponent.

Then the soft scuff of a footstep, nearly inaudible, comes from behind him, and a low, calm voice intones, “Carriage of thunder. Bridge of a spinning wheel. With light, divide into six. Bakudo 61: Rikujōkōrō.”

Long experience in dueling Rukia, who’s absolutely infatuated with kido in all its forms, is the only thing that lets Renji avoid the bolts of golden light. He whirls to the other side of the ring, as fast as he’s capable of moving, and sends Zabimaru streaking towards the source of the spell. It’s instinct to expect the clash of metal on metal, because that’s how fights generally go with kido-focused opponents—opening kido, physical attack, hand to hand combat until someone gains an edge.

Instead, that same calm voice commands, “Bakudo 39: Enkosen.” There’s an arc of bright reiatsu from the midst of the fading smoke, and Zabimaru rebounds with a clang.

Renji’s beginning to understand just why Shiba went from graduate right to lieutenant. Calling up a kido is mental as much as it’s physical; that’s one of the reasons preforming it without an incantation takes more strength and skill. The chant gives time for the mind to build up the necessary reiatsu, to prepare. It makes consecutive kido attacks far harder, as the user has to mentally switch tracks and start all over again.

To be able to fire off two kido in the upper range, even if they are of the same type, one after another—and one without an incantation—means that Shiba Kei has a rather frightening grasp of the subject.

A sudden breeze sweeps away the last of the smoke even as Shiba’s barrier fades. He’s still entirely at ease, his expression in the same politely attentive lines that it has been since Renji met him, and he hasn’t so much as reached for the zanpakuto strapped across his back yet. Renji grits his teeth and sets his feet. He’s a captain now; no way in hell is he going to let a rookie lieutenant—his replacement rookie lieutenant—beat him.

A flicker of shunpo, too fast to track, and Shiba is gone. But Renji’s fought Kurosaki Ichigo in his bankai, knows what to expect when an opponent’s faster, and spins halfway to catch a sandaled foot against Zabimaru’s flat side. Shiba uses the zanpakuto like a springboard, even as Renji tries to knock him off balance, and tumbles neatly over in the air to land in a crouch. He’s up again in a second, foot lashing out, and Renji can see the barest hint of the basic academy hoho forms within each movement, but Shiba has streamlined them, tweaked them, turned them into something far closer to Shihoin Yoruichi’s deadly style. They’re not at quite that level yet, but there’s potential.

Shiba has potential, in just about everything Renji’s seen him do so far, and it really fucking grates. Shiba’s the perfect lieutenant, quiet and calm and forever composed, staying two steps behind his captain at all times, paperwork done and squads seen to and tea prepared, and it makes Renji feel like the brash, coarse Rukongai brat he’s tried so hard to leave behind.

Damn it, Renji snarls to himself, just barely blocking a kick to the knee because Shiba’s just too damned fast for him to hit. Like fighting freaking Ichigo all over again.

Except that Ichigo is gone, dead and lost somewhere in the vastness of Soul Society, very likely without any of his memories, and the last spar Renji had with him before the war ended was the last spar anyone ever had with him. And now some noble brat comes swaggering in, just as fast as Seireitei’s vanished hero, better at kido and entirely subservient where Ichigo never was, and Renji can’t figure out whether he’s more outraged for himself and his former position or for his lost friend.

He grits his teeth, turns as Shiba lands again, and lets Zabimaru strike. The force behind it is very close to deadly, hardly something to be used in a friendly spar, but Shiba dodges it nevertheless. He ducks the second strike, leaps over the third, and then darts is as Zabimaru withdraws, taking advantage of the opening it affords.

But Renji learned long ago not to leave himself open in such a stupid way, and if Kurosaki Ichigo couldn’t manage to hit him like this, there’s no possibility of a green recruit managing it. Renji whirls around, Zabimaru flying again, and catches Shiba right across the chest in what would be a killing blow, were this not a practice match. Shiba cries out as he goes down, tumbling through the dust and then smoothly back to his feet, skidding slightly as he comes to a full stop. He stays half-crouched for a moment, breathing hard, and then pushes himself upright once more.

“Match, I believe,” he says, entirely unruffled by the loss. Yet another glaring difference from Kurosaki Ichigo. “Thank you, Captain Abarai.” With a quick bow, he steps away, then turns and strides back to his waiting captain. Byakuya walks away without waiting for Shiba to catch up, and the lieutenant falls into step behind him. They disappear into the winding streets, silent as ghosts, and leave Renji in the middle of the training ground.

There’s a long moment of thoughtful silence from the peanut gallery, and then Kira offers, “He’s good, for a new recruit.”

Renji gives a non-committal grunt in answer.

“Of course,” Hisagi chips in, entirely too amused, “you knew that before you challenged him. All of Seireitei knew that before you challenged him. We saw his record. What was this really about?”

“Hmm.” Kira hums softly, propping his chin up on his fist where he’s seated on top of the wall. “Shiba Kei does look remarkably like—”

“Shiba Kaien, the first to steal Rukia’s heart?”

“I was going to say Kurosaki Ichigo, the one to save her life, but I think they both fit here.”

“Coincidence?”

“It must be.”

“Of course.”

Renji glares at the two men. “I hate you both,” he mutters petulantly, sliding Zabimaru away, and pretends he can’t hear it when Kira and Shuuhei both chuckle.

It took a very, very long time—and a great many practice sessions with Kukaku—before Kurosaki Ichigo was able to fight as Shiba Kei, and not like Ichigo pretending to be a different person. They’re exact opposites on the battlefield, or at least as opposite as Ichigo can make them. Rather than rushing in headlong, sword drawn and massive spiritual power brought to bear, Kei hangs back and uses kido, focuses on conserving strength wherever possible, and tries his best not to engage directly. Few people outside of his swordsmanship classes have ever even seen him draw his sword. And if they did, “Kurotsuki” would be far different from the Zangetsu they recall Ichigo wielding.

Ichigo leans his zanpakuto against the corner of his desk, tracing lightly over the white-wrapped hilt that’s all that remains to link this sealed state with the massive cleaver it can become. Zangetsu accepts the nickname well enough, even chose it himself, but it’s not his name. Nevertheless, for Ichigo’s sake, he’s willing to pretend. When Ichigo calls on him for shikai, he’s able to choke off enough of his massive reiatsu to leave Zangetsu a long, slim, black nodachi, similar to its bankai form. Even that Ichigo uses sparingly. It’s one of the reasons he’s forced himself to study kido tirelessly, memorizing spells and chants and theories.

Shiba Kei fights at a distance, or not at all.

There’s a stack of personnel reviews that Renji’s challenge dragged him away from, and they still need to be looked over, initialed, stamped, and sent on to Byakuya if they’re either outstanding or reporting a problem. Ichigo looks at them and strangles a sigh, rubbing his hands over his face. Sometimes, he really wonders why he didn’t stay some nameless Rukongai spirit for the rest of his afterlife. There sure as hell wouldn’t have been as much paperwork.

Then Byakuya steps through the door from the main building into Ichigo’s office, sliding the door shut behind him. Ichigo glances up, ready to offer a quick smile as his captain strides past into his own office, but instead, Byakuya pauses beside him.

“Your spar was…enlightening, Lieutenant Shiba,” he offers after a moment, coolly, but still more than he’s usually inclined to give up. “It is far different than what you were before.”

Ichigo gives in and really does sigh, raking a hand through the shoulder-length black hair, just a touch longer than Byakuya’s, that he hasn’t quite gotten around to putting back in a ponytail after his tumble through the dirt. “Yeah,” he says, a little wryly. “That’s the whole point of fighting that way.”

Byakuya accepts that with a faint incline of his head, grey eyes thoughtful. “You have become well-versed in kido. I had believed you had no talent for it.”

That’s the problem with being thought of as a rash, hotheaded idiot, Ichigo reflects, and that’s wry too. He knows himself, knows how he was even before Shiba Kei came into the picture, but he also knows that a lot of time people blew his character flaws way out of proportion, just because he acted oddly and had weird hair. “No one ever taught me before,” is all he says, though. “Rukia had to focus on the most basic stuff, like what a Hollow was, and then Urahara-san and Yoruichi-san both had specific things they were training me in. Learning under Kukaku and then going to the Academy was probably the best thing for me.”

There’s a long pause, careful and considering, and then Byakuya murmurs, “You have raw talent. It has always been so. Now…perhaps it can be refined.”

Without another word, he sweeps into his office and closes the door, signaling that he doesn’t wish to be disturbed. But Ichigo is frozen in shock, far too startled to do anything, because that…

That was a compliment, and not even a backhanded one, from Kuchiki Byakuya, the one captain Ichigo always thought would despise him unconditionally.

[personality-slate-blank]

Encore (2/5)

An accident.

After everything, it’s an accident.

It’s an accident that he dies.

A day like any other, special only in its peaceful sameness. Yuzu had always insisted that he keep the kitchen well stocked, and—as ever—he can’t go against her memory. If he had known, he might have done it that one time, instead of heading for the corner store when he got back from work.

Or maybe not.

He’s finally begun to recover from the ache of loss that started the moment the war ended. It has not faded, and he thinks it will never fade, but he can come to terms with it now. Can come to terms with the fact that his family is dead and his friends are far behind him, left in Karakura as soon as the funerals were done. Chad, Inoue, Tatsuki—they had wanted to help, but none of them understood. They had not lost everything, including the power to protect.

Ichigo knows his family had gone to Soul Society. There’s no question in it. He’ll see them again someday, and so that loss isn’t as striking as it may have otherwise been. But to no longer be able to protect the friends he still has—to be helpless and reliant on others for safety from the Hollows—that’s agony.

He ends up in Tokyo, far from anyone who knows him. Far from any shinigami that might try to “help,” even if he can’t not see them if they don’t use a gigai. He likes the anonymity of the city, the fact that everyone is a stranger. It comforts and gives him time to grieve in peace. That kind of thing is selfish, he knows, but he can’t resist it. He lost all of his friends when he lost his powers, right on the heels of losing his family. Even though he knows they’re still there, that they still exist—and Urahara even gives him reports, once in a while, when he drops by in his surprise, not-entirely-unwelcome random visits—missing them is like an empty, jagged hole in the center of his being, hot and sticky and heavy.

Ichigo truly had not thought to get through the war alive. Even now, it surprises him that he’s breathing, that he’s able to walk to the store to buy soy sauce and pretend that it’s for Yuzu, and that if he waits long enough he’ll have to go tell Karin to stop abusing her friends in the name of soccer and come home for dinner. Always, he had imagined some final battle between Aizen and himself, ending with both of them dead. No matter his training, no matter his power, he always expected the Lord of Hueco Mundo to have one last trick to pull. And he had probably had one, but the shinigami—and Ichigo and his friends, in particular—had had one of their own that Aizen had never expected.

A traitor.

Ichimaru Gin, the former captain of the Third—though now, Ichigo supposes, he’s a captain again, being reinstated by Old Man Yama for his help. He’s still under surveillance, and Ichigo suspects that Soi-Fong is probably viciously pleased, to have someone to watch so closely.

He doesn’t know firsthand, though. With his powers gone, he only knows what news Urahara feels fit to pass on, and has to be content with that.

The store is within sight, and Ichigo is half relieved and half disappointed that it isn’t the one in Karakura, that Oshima and his gang aren’t waiting for him, ready to strike. For all that he hated the war, he misses fighting, misses the burn and pulse in his blood, the heady rush that comes with strength and a good fight and a powerful opponent. Despite how he had always wanted a normal life, he would not have surrendered the power he’d had for anything but the safety of all his friends. Ichigo clenches his hand absently, and even now it feels odd without Zangetsu there, the heavy hilt a soothing weight against his skin.

Odd, too—and weighing uncomfortably on him, constantly rubbing and pinching and nagging like a pair of badly fitting shoes—is the fact that he had saved all of his friends, but now half of the world is lost to him. He can’t see the spirits anymore, can’t feel the pulse and shudder of the reiatsu as the shinigami and Hollows break through the boundaries between the worlds. As he walks down the cracked and crumbling sidewalk, he can’t sense the ghost of the old man who used to own the flower shop on the corner, who had died sitting peacefully outside his store. Ichigo guesses he’s there, or a spirit like him is there, because spirits are always there, but he doesn’t know.

He had never, never thought he would miss it, but now he can’t help but think that he misses it just as much as he does the shinigami.

And then brakes squeal, something releasing a metal-on-metal shriek, and Ichigo turns towards the noise automatically.

He dies before he can even see what it is that hits him.

Classes are simple enough, Ichigo is pleasantly surprised to find. Zanjutsu, hoho, hakuda, and kido are not hard to master, especially with the training he received from Urahara and Yoruichi, and the foundation of control that Kukaku and Ganju gave him. The instructors are impressed with his grasp of their subjects, and his dedication to learning what he doesn’t already know, and he’s quickly placed in the most advanced classes. Even his worst subject, kido, is simply a matter of practice, refinement, and control. Many of the higher-level spells are easier for him than the simple ones, because of the amount of reiatsu he has, and he adjusts his fighting style accordingly. Other skills come more easily, most of them just the polishing and refining of abilities he already has, such as hoho and its many variations of shunpo. It quickly becomes clear that his goal of graduating in one year is very close to becoming reality.

Because of his constant studying—for, in addition to the martial arts, students also learned history, politics, tactics, lore, and the administrative side of being in a division—Ichigo has little time for other students, and while he’s polite enough, most of the others are unsure how to deal with this new genius, who seems poised to surpass both his own older brother and the prodigy Ichimaru. They tend to give him a wide berth, and only Eiji is willing to spend time with him—or rather, Eiji is the cheerful, energetic shadow that will never leave him alone.

They’re friends as well as roommates, though, despite Ichigo’s reluctance. Eiji is a lot like Keigo, but more of a smartass, and some of his exuberance—enough that Ichigo isn’t constantly tempted to strangle him—is held in check by his Kuchiki blood. Around him, Ichigo can relax his guard and enjoy being at the Academy, joking and sparring and playing games for practice. They even adopt Byakuya and Yoruichi’s old pastime of playing tag, stealing each other’s hair ties and seeing who can outmaneuver the other while going at top speeds.

Such games are a novelty to Ichigo, to whom training has always been deadly serious, and it feels strangely freeing to simply relax and have fun, enjoying the uncomplicated pleasure of the wind in his hair as he tests his abilities against someone with equal skills and the same frame of mind.

It’s during one such game that Ichigo comes face-to-face with the first real reminder of his former life. He and Eiji have been playing tag for several hours already, though neither have managed to get close enough to snatch a hair ribbon from the other. Ichigo is just rounding the edge of the courtyard, in close pursuit of his friend, when a flutter of white and black catches his eye. In the middle of his shunpo, he turns and flashes behind the corner of the building, acting purely on instinct. After a breathless moment, where his heart pounds fiercely in his chest—Have they found out? Have they decided to come and drag me back to Soul Society?—he steels himself and looks out.

Kuchiki Byakuya stands in the center of the courtyard, flanked by two of his lower-level seated officers. Eiji, positioned in front of him and wearing a look as though he’d been cornered in mid-shunpo, is in the process of stuttering out something that might possibly be a welcome. Ichigo rolls his eyes, then decides that he had better go and rescue his friend before the other boy makes even more of a fool out of himself. Using his fastest flash-step, he flashes out of hiding, changes direction, and appears behind Eiji, snatching his hair ribbon with quick fingers before he allows his gaze to flicker to the captain. Putting on a look of surprise, he steps back.

Eiji feels the rush of air behind him and the hair tumbling down around his shoulders. He spins, and something close to relief flickers through his eyes. “Oh, Kei, you’ll have to excuse me for a moment,” he says quickly. “We can finish later, after class.”

Because he’s watching, Ichigo sees how Byakuya’s eyes widen when his appearance registers. It’s a look he’s gotten many times before, mainly from the instructors who still remember his “older brother.” Despite the longer hair, he looks uncannily like Kaien. But he pulls his gaze away from the noble and offers Eiji his ribbon with an apologetic smile. “Here. Sorry about that. I didn’t realize that you were with family.”

“Who is your companion, Eiji?” Byakuya’s sharp tone cuts off any response the younger noble might have offered.

With a wince, Eiji turns back to his cousin and bows. “Forgive me, Byakuya-sama. This is my friend—”

“Shiba Kei,” Ichigo interjects, bowing quickly. “The youngest. Kukaku-nee-san had me adopted into the main family a few months ago. I’m honored to meet you, Captain Kuchiki.”

He pointedly ignores the quiet gagging noises that Eiji is making.

Byakuya nods briefly, though his eyebrows lift ever so slightly. “I am astonished. A Shiba with manners—that is truly something to behold. Perhaps Eiji will learn something from you, Shiba-kun.” A faintly amused gaze shifts to the younger Kuchiki, who straightens a touch guiltily.

Ichigo is speechless. He remembers Renji once saying that Byakuya actually had a sense of humor, but he had never seen proof of it before. But…he could swear that Byakuya’s words just now were a joke, almost bordering on teasing.

The feel of amusement deepens, and Byakuya looks between the two students. His lips twitch ever so slightly at their expressions, and he inclines his head. “I find that I desire a cup of tea. Will you show me where I might find one?”

“And you, Shiba-kun? Are you in Eiji’s year?”

Ichigo nods and sets down his teacup, thankfully cutting off a babbling Eiji mid-sentence. The only place for Byakuya to find an acceptable cup of tea is, of course, in Eiji’s private stash, in their dorm room, and Ichigo doesn’t know whether to relish this connection to his old life or fear for his sanity. “Yes, Captain Kuchiki,” he says respectfully. “We both started this year, but I’m slated to graduate in the spring. The teachers are pleased with my progress.”

Narrow eyebrows lift slightly. “Then you will beat your brother’s record. That is well done for someone of your age.”

“He’s only missing Captain Ichimaru’s record by a few weeks,” Eiji puts in happily, obviously relieved that he’s no longer expected to talk about himself—the cause of the former babbling, no doubt. “He probably would have beaten that, too, but he’s not as good at kido.”

“Thanks, Eiji,” Ichigo mutters into his cup, shooting his friend a narrow look, then glancing back at the captain and assuming a properly chastised expression. “Sorry, Captain. I lack the finesse that Captain Ichimaru possesses, and my kido is rather hit and miss.”

That eyebrow is creeping up again, and Ichigo is horrified to find that he likes the amusement in Byakuya’s steel-grey eyes. “If you are graduating early, you no doubt have your pick of squads,” is all the noble says, though. “Have you given a thought to which you will choose?”

Ichigo hesitates for a moment, and then reminds himself that he’s Shiba Kei, not Kurosaki Ichigo, and he’s expected to ask his superiors when he has questions. He steels himself before asking, “Do you have any suggestions, sir? I don’t know enough about the actual squads to be certain where I would be of the most use.”

Instead of looking derisive and condescending, as Ichigo half expects, Byakuya actually looks thoughtful, turning his cup in his hands. “You are good at hoho?” he asks after a moment. At Ichigo’s nod—and Eiji’s enthusiastic confirmation—he offers, “The 9th is looking for strong officers at the moment, but I believe that Captain Abarai would overlook your abilities because you lack brashness.”

Ichigo almost chokes at that, but manages to restrain himself in time.

Heedless, Byakuya continues, “The 3rd would be a good choice, as would the 13th, though with Captain Ukitake you would most likely be living in your brother’s shadow. The 1st rarely takes new members, much like the 2nd, and you are not a scientist, which excludes the 12th.” He pauses for a moment, as if considering, and then says, “Should you show enough leadership potential, I have no doubt that you will be offered command of the 5th Division, at least until they find an officer who can perform bankai. Lieutenant Hinamori is still unwell. And if they do not, I would be willing to accept you into the 6th, seeing as I have yet to find a reliable lieutenant.”

It takes a conscious effort for Ichigo to keep from gaping, dropping his cup, or blurting out his secret right there. Kuchiki Byakuya wants him as a lieutenant? But—

The secret. Something hard and suspiciously rocklike forms in the pit of Ichigo’s stomach. What would Byakuya do if he ever found out who Ichigo actually was? Would he hate him? Despise him? Reveal him to the rest of the Seireitei? It’s a risk that Ichigo doesn’t think he’s entirely willing to take, not when this entire new life is at stake.

But, despite that, Ichigo finds himself bowing to Byakuya, and murmuring, “I would mark your division as my first choice, Captain Kuchiki, if you do not object.”

The faintest edge of a smile plays around the corners of Byakuya’s mouth, and he nods, rising gracefully to his feet.

“That is acceptable, Shiba-kun. Would you escort me to the gates? I would like to know more about your abilities.”

Something flutters uneasily in Ichigo’s stomach at the words, but he shoves it aside and stands as well. “As you wish, Captain Kuchiki.” He ignores the worried look that Eiji shoots him and bows, waiting for the captain to sweep out of the room before he follows.

They walk in silence, Ichigo keeping a respectful distance behind the older man, wondering what this can possibly be about. Then, as they reach a secluded stand of trees that academy students often used for secret meetings, Byakuya halts, turning to Ichigo with a look on his face that the former substitute has never seen before.

“You are to be acclaimed for your acting skills, Kurosaki Ichigo,” he says, and the bottom drops out of Ichigo’s world. He staggers back a step, eyes going wide, and his control on his reiatsu fluctuates wildly for a moment before he can recall how to breathe. Forcibly, he drags it back under control, clamps his limits down on it, and faces Byakuya with his head held high.

“Captain,” he returns, and it’s just barely civil. “I’d thank you not to use that name while in the Academy. I’m Shiba Kei right now.”

Something akin to satisfaction settles deep in Byakuya’s eyes, and his nearly nonexistent smile grows to become merely slight. He nods once, gracefully, and says, “As you wish, Shiba-kun. But I would have you know that you greatly alarmed your watchers, when you vanished from the world of the living and could not be found in Soul Society. I am… relieved that you are well.”

Ichigo studies him with slightly narrowed eyes that widen suddenly as he grasps what Byakuya isn’t saying. “You were…one of the watchers?”

The captain takes a smooth step forward, gaze flickering over Ichigo’s black hair before returning to his face, and he nods gravely. “I was. You were not alone, Kurosaki Ichigo, nor are you alone now. Your family has come to dwell in the Seireitei.” A faint grimace crosses his face. “It seems your father will soon be taking control of the 5th Division, seeing as he is a captain.”

Barely containing a shudder, Ichigo pushes away thoughts of what old goat face will do to his poor officers, and grimaces. “Yet another reason to list the 6th as my first choice,” he mutters, then realizes what he said and flicks a wary glance at the man before him. “I mean, if that’s still acceptable, Captain Kuchiki. If not, I understand.”

“It is more than acceptable.” Byakuya gives another quiet smile and lets his hand drop to rest on Ichigo’s shoulder. It’s an entirely unfamiliar weight, strange and new, but just as entirely welcome. “I believe I would be…disappointed if you sought to enter another division.”

Perhaps once, before the war ended in such personal tragedy for Ichigo, he would have never been able to walk past his old friends and pretend not to know them, to watch them grieve for him and pretend ignorance. But he spent years in the world of the living entirely cut off from everything, from everyone he’d known and the faint hope of seeing his family again. Without his powers, Ichigo became entirely helpless, entirely abandoned even if it never happened quite like that.

He got used to it, though. He adjusted. And, here and now, he’s not so entirely dependent on those bonds. There are still friends, of course, and a new family, but Ichigo isn’t pining for his old life any longer. Kukaku and Ganju and Eiji—and maybe, maybe, just maybe Byakuya can be counted among that small number as well—are enough to get by with, and he doesn’t have to go looking for new ties.

That, at least, is blindingly obvious during the lieutenants’ meeting. Shiba Kei stands apart from the others, all of them older and more experienced and entirely uncertain of what to do with this newcomer in their midst. Ichigo is used to being the odd one out, after years of school with Chad and Tatsuki—neither of them incredibly social—as his only friends. He ignores the table in the center, where those present have chosen to congregate, and instead heads to the window, hopping lightly onto the sill and turning out to survey the spread of the Seireitei around him.

“Rebellious,” a dry voice comments from roughly six inches away. “Breaking the rules already, Lieutenant Shiba?”

Ichigo doesn’t jump, even if he wants to, but turns his head to find Hisagi Shuuhei regarding him with cool grey eyes. The man is more or less a stranger—Ichigo’s never really spoken to him before, though they’ve crossed paths. It is, perhaps, a blessing, because Ichigo has no memories to trip him up here, no old associations to subconsciously fall back on. There’s only a vague sense of familiarity, a man he’s seen before but nothing else—entirely expected of a newly appointed lieutenant.

He casts a glance at this man who lost his captain but persevered, who now serves under Ichigo’s former friend and looks all the better for it, and offers a quiet smile—because Shiba Kei can, and no one thinks it odd, or the herald of some new doomsday—and a faint inclination of his head. “Sometimes breaking the rules is worth it,” he says softly, turning his head back towards the view of the Seireitei, spread beneath them like some shining, silver-white dream. Ichigo is entirely aware that it’s not a paradise; there are far too many problems and too much corruption and far, far too much humanity for it to ever be anything of the sort. But it is, nevertheless, a grand sight, and ever since his first view of it as an invader, the Seireitei has never failed to stir his heart.

It’s in times like these that he remembers Aizen’s words about being alone, about standing above everyone else, looking down from a height. He wonders, sometimes, what Aizen would have found if he’d simply stepped off his perch. Maybe it wouldn’t have been enough to change his mind outright, but…but perhaps it would have given him pause. Even just a moment’s worth.

Hisagi is watching him, Ichigo knows, and the gaze feels heavy and considering on his skin. There’s a long, silent pause, and then Hisagi snorts softly and bats Ichigo’s feet off the other end of the sill, hopping up to sit beside him with one knee pulled up. He, too, looks out over the Seireitei, and there’s something both fond and wistful in his eyes.

“Yeah,” he agrees, just as quietly. And then, more quietly still, “Quite a view.”

Two entirely different conversations, but they both mean the same thing at heart. Ichigo feels his smile widening, just a touch, and he turns back to the other shinigami, offering a half-bow. “Lieutenant Shiba Kei, Sixth Division. Nice to meet you.”

Hisagi smiles back, the reserved expression startlingly at odds with his punk-like appearance, and inclines his head. “Lieutenant Hisagi Shuuhei, Ninth. Glad to have you with us, Shiba.”

It’s then that the First Division lieutenant, Sasakibe Chojiro, calls the meeting to order, and Hisagi and Ichigo fall in with the others, but there’s a certain sense of shared understanding between them, a whisper of empathy that was absent before, and Ichigo wonders at it, just a little. He hasn’t ever really had that before, because he’s always been just a little strange for the human world, a bit left of center in a place where everything else was perfectly aligned. And to have understanding come over something so large is the most astounding thing of all.

Ichigo looks at the other faces around the table and does not have to wonder how many of them feel the same way. They are all members of the Gotei 13, all proven loyal through fire and forge and the crucible of battle, and that’s enough.

That’s more than enough.

[personality-slate-blank]

Encore (3/5)

“Joint patrol,” Ichigo grumbles, shifting an inch-high stack of paperwork away from him, and dragging the next heap closer. “Joint. Logically you’d assume that the paperwork was split, right? Half the usual amount? So why the hell do we have twice as much?”

Across from him, on the other side of the mess hall table they’ve commandeered and drowned in forms that need to be filled out in triplicate, Shuuhei snorts. “Because bureaucracy thrives on killing our souls,” he mutters, tipping his own forms into their completed pile. It’s already impressively high. “Doesn’t help that we encountered Hollows. Or that five squad members got injured.”

Because they’re morons, Ichigo wants to growl, but he’s Shiba Kei and that’s not something he’s going to say about those under his command. He settles for a subtle roll of his eyes and picks up his pen once more. “At least neither of us had to go to shikai,” he says, partly to console himself, and contains a wince at the thought of those forms, which would add another three inches to their respective piles.

Shuuhei winces, too. “Argh. Don’t even speak of that.” Then he looks up, eyes narrowing, and tacks on, “You say that like low-level Hollows could make you use your shikai when even a fight against a captain can’t.”

Ichigo battles the urge to laugh. “Are you offended on your captain’s behalf, because I didn’t draw my sword in our match, Hisagi?”

That gets him an eye-roll. “Please, Shiba. I’ve known him since he was a brat in the Academy. His swelled head needs regular puncturing. You doing it simply means that I don’t have to. I’m just��curious. Has anyone seen your shikai?”

“I don’t even draw my sword often,” Ichigo admits with a shrug, sidestepping the question neatly. For all that he’s living a constructed life, he’s still not all that great at lying. “I can use kido and that’s usually enough, so why bother waking the old man up if I don’t have to?” Zangetsu more than did his duty in the war, after all.

Shuuhei looks faintly sympathetic and nods, going back to his work. It’s one of the things Ichigo appreciates most about Shuuhei, that he knows instinctively when to let a matter drop.

He appreciates a lot of things about Shuuhei, actually. Chief among them is the fact that Kurosaki Ichigo never really knew him, so Shiba Kei has a blank slate as far as friendship goes. It’s been that way with several of the lieutenants, because for all that Ichigo fought with them he was never one of them, at least until now. Kira and Tetsuzaemon, Nanao and Matsumoto—they’re all people he’s not entirely familiar with, and meeting them like this is good, easier than it would be if Renji and Rukia or even Ikkaku were lieutenants.

A sharp clatter of pots dropping makes both Ichigo and Shuuhei look up, startled, and Ichigo manages to catch the tail-end of a glare from one of the cooks. Only then does he realize that it’s close to ten at night, and he shares a faintly sheepish look with Shuuhei as they hurry to gather up their work.

“Might want to eat elsewhere for a while,” Shuuhei murmurs as they all but lunge out the door. “The cooks all seem to carry grudges, and if we’ve held them up…”

Ichigo thinks of what they could do to his food, from simply burning it to all number of creative poisons lifted from the Twelfth, and grimaces. “Good idea.”

They slow to a walk once they’re a safe distance away from the mess, nodding their greetings to a few shinigami hurrying by. Otherwise, they’re the only ones out, because it’s the middle of the week and Yamamoto has been assigning extra patrols lately. There’s something killing people in the Rukongai, massacring groups of travelers and attacking shinigami squads, and it’s pissing off just about every shinigami in the Seireitei. Each division has at least six ten-man squads on active duty right now, and another four on call and in reserve.

Apparently thinking along the same lines, Shuuhei sighs and shifts his stack of papers to his right arm. “More patrols tomorrow,” he says a touch wearily.

Ichigo makes a noise of agreement, fighting another wince. Captains are generally too important to lead patrols, so the task falls to the lieutenants. With their current schedule, it’s only a matter of time before they start dropping like flies from exhaustion, and they’ve yet to even so much as catch sight of the bastards doing this. “At least they keep putting the Sixth and Ninth together,” he offers. If he had to suffer through an entire patrol with Nemu or Yachiru he’d probably end up blowing some inner gasket.

Shuuhei’s again on the same wavelength—and really, Ichigo isn’t used to such a thing, not even with Rukia or Renji or Chad. With them, the understanding always came in the form of a fight, against or beside them. With Shuuhei, it’s more of a shared ease, and only-sane-man mentality when dealing with the other lieutenants. It makes Shuuhei’s soft huff entirely translatable, lets Ichigo read the amusement and weariness and disbelief that they’re surrounded by people like Matsumoto and Yachiru and Omeada as lieutenants.

“At least,” Shuuhei agrees. At the intersection of two streets, he pauses and looks longingly at the brightly lit and clearly raucous bar just a little ways down. “Damn, after this last week, I really want to get drunk.”

Ichigo snorts. “Well, if thought of your captain’s reaction is holding you back,” he says dryly, “I wouldn’t worry. That’s his hair in there, right?”

Shuuhei chuckles, but after one more lingering glance keeps walking. “Yes, well, he doesn’t have a 54th District patrol an hour after dawn tomorrow.”

With a groan at the reminder, Ichigo rubs a hand over his face. They’re close to the Sixth, and when he looks up, there’s a light on in the captain’s office. “I’ll be there,” Ichigo tells his friend. “Entirely conscious or not. Night, Hisagi.”

“Good night, Shiba,” Shuuhei answers, lifting one hand in a halfhearted wave before continuing into the dark. Ichigo stares after him for a long moment, a part of him wondering how all of this happened, how everything changed so much. He’s a lieutenant now, a hardworking and dedicated one. He has dinner with Kukaku and Ganju every weekend that he’s free. He’s a full-fledged superior officer, leading shinigami on patrols and into battle.

It’s a long way from being the hotheaded substitute shinigami dragged into a war he wasn’t ready for, or the powerless drifter he became afterwards.

Byakuya is at his desk when Ichigo enters the office, sorting papers into what Ichigo has privately termed his answer-now, put-off-for-later, and can’t-be-fucked piles. Doubtless the captain has fancier terms for them, but Ichigo’s never asked, and he likes his names.

“Captain,” he says politely. “You should go to bed, sir. It’s getting late.”

Byakuya blinks twice, and then raises his head. He’s too dignified to look weary, but there’s a certain set to his mouth, a collection of new lines between his brows that tell Ichigo he’s been here for far too long already. “Lieutenant Shiba,” he says after a moment. “I believe you have patrol in the morning with the Ninth.”

The ‘who the hell do you think you are, telling me what to do’ is only implied, if strongly so.

Ichigo nods, settling his paperwork in completed and fucking-hell-that’s-a-lot-left-to-do stacks on his desk. The insane patrol schedule also means he’s dealing with roughly five times the normal amount of paperwork, and Ichigo thinks longingly of his bed. He hasn’t seen it in a very, very long time. “Yes, sir. Hisagi and I were just going over some paperwork.”

There’s no answer, which is unusual—Byakuya is generally too polite to leave a conversation, even an inane one, hanging. Ichigo looks up, slightly concerned, because surely the captain isn’t that tired. But instead Byakuya is watching him with sharp grey eyes, which have always seen far too much. He’s the only one to realize that Shiba Kei is actually a thin veneer hiding Kurosaki Ichigo, after all.

There’s a long, full pause, and then Byakuya stands. He takes three steps from his desk to reach the window, turning to present Ichigo with his back. Another pause—not quite a hesitation, though Ichigo would probably call it such with anyone else—and then he asks deliberately, “Are you adjusting well to this life, Shiba-kun?”

The question catches Ichigo off guard, and he blinks, hands stilling on the pen set at the corner of his desk. He looks down at it, tracing the lines and shadows, and considers his answer. Is he adjusting, one full year into being a legitimate shinigami? He’d like to think so, at least. There haven’t been any complaints about his tenure as lieutenant, at least, or his handling of the squads. Moreover, on a personal level, it’s a relief to have a job, to be doing something. Ichigo’s never been fond of idleness. He also remembers Rukia’s stories about the Rukongai, the hollows, the danger. At least this way he can make a difference, more than he ever could on his own. And he has Kukaku and Ganju. They’re not something he would have ever considered a bonus, before, but Kukaku is like some strange mix of Yuzu and his father with a dash of his mother and Tatsuki thrown in for good measure, and Ganju is a solid, dependable friend-slash-brother-figure. Ichigo cares for them.

But…

“Your father,” Byakuya says, with strange care, “is not among the most dignified of the captains—”

It’s very, very hard for Ichigo not to snort loudly at that.

“—but he is still a captain, and trustworthy.” The Kuchiki lord half-turns, looking at his lieutenant, and finishes softly, “I know what it is to hold oneself at a distance from family, Kurosaki Ichigo. I have also become aware of the fact that it is a mistake.”

The use of his real name almost shocks Ichigo more than the meaning of the words, because it’s so close to careless, saying such a thing in what amounts to a public area, and Kuchiki Byakuya is anything, everything but careless. Then he grasps the content and swallows, heart suddenly lodged in his throat, because—

Because Yuzu and Karin and Goat-Face are all alive, are all here, and Ichigo hasn’t been able to keep himself from ghosting by their house in the middle of the city more than once, has had to physically restrain himself from asking Momo how the old man is doing. He’d thought, arriving in Soul Society, that a little bit of distance was good. They hadn’t come to see him, and he wouldn’t have been able to see them even if they had, back when he was human. And then in Soul Society he’d had Kukaku, and then Eiji and the Academy, and then the division, and he’s entirely stopped himself from thinking about his family.

They’re safe here. They’re safe and they don’t need him to protect them anymore. Surely their lives will be better without a reminder of the reason they were killed in the first place.

Apparently Byakuya isn’t waiting for a response, because he turns, picks up a few sheets of paper, and crosses the room to lay them on Ichigo’s desk. “Please see that those are delivered directly to Captain Kurosaki in the Fifth before tomorrow evening,” he says formally, and then inclines his head in an elegant farewell and sweeps out of the office entirely.

A little dazed, Ichigo wonders if Byakuya would consider teaching him to walk like that. It’s definitely impressive, in a fuck-off-I’m-busy-and-you’re-insignificant kind of way.

Almost without conscious thought, his eyes drop to the papers on his desk. They’re nothing urgent—should he chose to embrace his inner coward, he could send them off with a seated officer in the morning and it wouldn’t change anything. Except that it would, because Byakuya just gave Ichigo the best excuse he’ll ever get for facing his mistakes and putting them to right.

Ichigo’s never, ever in his life been a coward, and being in his afterlife now isn’t about to change that.

Taking a careful breath, Ichigo picks up the forms and quickly neatens them, then turns off the office lights and heads out the door. There are no second thoughts, no hesitations—Ichigo’s the type who doesn’t waver once he’s made up his mind. He’s faced down monsters and would-be gods and Kukaku in a snit. This…this won’t be easy, but as Ichigo hurries along darkened streets, the night breeze tugging at his shihakusho, he’s almost…relieved.

Byakuya presented it as a choice, a left-or-right kind of option, and those are the kinds of choices Ichigo’s always been good at. He picks one, sets his feet on the path, and doesn’t waver. Urahara said once that his greatest ability was his growth rate, but Ichigo likes to think that his growth rate is only what it is because of his determination.

He checks the Fifth first, but the captain’s office is dark and the building is empty—to be expected, perhaps, because Goat-Face has Yuzu and Karin waiting for him at home, and he’s not one to ask his officers to work late if he isn’t as well. Without letting himself think about it, Ichigo continues on, heading for the neat little house by the eastern wall, set up as a family residence when Isshin took control of the Fifth.

It’s a pretty house, neat and orderly, and Ichigo can see Yuzu’s hand in the decoration and cheerful hominess of it. He strides up to the door, settling his courage around himself like armor, and glances his fingers over Zangetsu’s hilt for luck. The sword hums at him, approving and supportive, and Ichigo only pauses to check that the lights are all still on before he knocks politely at the door.

The resulting ruckus inside is entirely familiar, and Ichigo is fairly certain he hears Karin kick their father into at least two walls before she calls, “One second,” and there’s the sound of a lock being undone.

“What do you want? It’s late?” she asks as she pulls open the door, and then her breathing stutters ever so faintly and she goes still, staring at him. Ichigo is staring right back, though, because Karin’s always been mature, especially for her age, but now…

Now she’s a teenager, a young woman, and Ichigo has seen her at a distance, teaching the kids around the city to play soccer and generally raising hell, but this—seeing her up close is entirely different.

“Can I come in?” he asks quietly.

Mutely, Karin steps back, opening the door all the way so he can move past her. Ichigo does, even as thundering footsteps sound and a voice cries, “Who is it, my beautiful darling daughter? If it’s a robber, Daddy will save you!”

That seems to jerk Karin out of her shock, and she growls, “Who the hell needs saving?!” as she turns, performing an impressive kick that knocks their father, captain of the Fifth Division, right back into the wall.

“Oh, what a good kick! Daddy is so proud!” Isshin warbles, pulling himself out of the plaster, and Ichigo snorts before he can stop himself. Instantly, Goat-Face shifts his attention to him, and like Karin, he goes still.

Ichigo takes an unobtrusive breath, steeling himself, and then looks at his sister. “Goat-Face still giving you hell?” he asks, mouth tilting up at the corner in the half-smile that Kurosaki Ichigo always reserved for his sisters alone.

“Ichi-nii,” Karin breathes, eyes wide.

The honorific is one she stopped using years ago, and it warms something inside of Ichigo to hear it. He reaches out and ruffles her hair with a faint smile. “Hey, Karin.”

With a sound that could be a growl or a sob, Karin launches herself at him and wraps her arms firmly around his stomach. Ichigo stumbles back a step and then hugs her in return, feeling warm all the way down to his toes. He hadn’t allowed himself to think about their reaction before, hadn’t wanted to consider blame and rejection, but the lack of it is still staggering.

There’s a gasp, a cry, and another small body slamming into his side. Ichigo chuckles and shifts his grip to accommodate Yuzu as well, murmuring, “Hey, Yuzu. You look beautiful. Both of you. Geez, when did you manage to grow up?”

Karin punches him in the ribs. “While you were off playing lieutenant and ignoring your family,” she growls at him, but tellingly doesn’t move away. “I—we didn’t know it was you, Ichi-nii. You acted so different, and… Why didn’t you say something?”

Ichigo looks up to meet his father’s eyes. Isshin is standing in the middle of the hallway, face unnervingly blank and arms crossed over his chest. The last time Ichigo saw him was right before the final confrontation with Aizen, right before Aizen’s high-ranking Hollows converged on the Kurosaki house and Isshin went down fighting, along with Ichigo’s sisters.

“You died because of me,” he says honestly. “Because I chose to fight. How could I come back, after that?”

Isshin closes his eyes as though in pain, but steps forward. He wraps a hand around Ichigo’s shoulder and tugs him fully upright, then holds him at arm’s length and simply looks at him. His gaze lingers on the black hair, the lieutenant’s armband, the white-wrapped hilt of the katana peeking over Ichigo’s shoulder. Then he meets Ichigo’s eyes, and the blank look softens into something warm and proud and unspeakably relieved. He smiles and Ichigo can’t help but smile back.

“Lieutenant, huh?” his father asks lightly.

“I think Kukaku-nee-san would have butchered me and used my corpse for fertilizer if I made anything below fourth seat,” Ichigo admits, fighting back a shiver. With Kukaku, such things are less threats and more inevitable promises to be avoided at all costs.

Isshin laughs, shooing the girls away and dragging Ichigo into a tight, back-slapping hug. “That would be Kukaku,” he says fondly, and grins at his son. “Welcome home, Ichigo.”

“I’m back,” Ichigo answers quietly, and for the first time in a very long while, it’s really true.

He’s home.

“You look like hell,” Shuuhei says promptly when his newest friend rounds the corner. “Did you get any sleep at all, Shiba?”

“Good morning to you, too, Hisagi,” Kei mutters, and really, Shuuhei’s seen him look bad before—they’re all running themselves down to the bone, these days—but this is entirely different. The normally pristine lieutenant is still neat, but there’s a nearly rumpled air to him, and deep, dark circles under his eyes. Still, regardless of that, he looks almost…light, as though some weight has been lifted off of his shoulders.

Still awful, but also happy.

Shuuhei studies his friend critically. The Shiba is usually keyed up before a patrol, but now he’s relaxed. The black ponytail isn’t quite as tight as normal, giving him a more comfortable look, and there’s a red scarf tied like a sash around his waist. That’s definitely new, and by the look of it it’s a woman’s scarf, so the obvious conclusion is…

“You got laid?” Shuuhei demands.

He gets the satisfaction of seeing Shiba Kei, genius and prodigy, flush a dull red from the tips of his ears down to his collarbones and start spluttering. “Wh-what? No! Why the hell would you think that?”

Shuuhei snorts, reaching out to touch a stray piece of black hair that has the audacity to escape its tie and frame Kei’s face. “Because for once it doesn’t look like you used a winch to pull your hair back, you’re wearing the same uniform as yesterday—don’t try to deny it, you spilled tea on the edge of your sleeve and I can see the stain—you’re wearing a sash that would make Rangiku envious, and you look like you got maybe an hour of sleep at the most. Logically…” He trails off meaningfully.

Kei’s face goes about four shades darker. “No! The scarf was a gift from my sister. I spent time with my family last night!”

“What? That’s boring,” Shuuhei complains, disappointed, but he takes a step back. “And here I was hoping to live vicariously through you. But I suppose if you had to endure a night with Shiba Kukaku that’s punishment enough.”

Kei mutters something Shuuhei is probably lucky not to catch, and drops the subject like a ton of bricks—and with about that much subtlety, as well. “We’ve got the 54th District today, right?” he asks, turning away and heading for where their squads are assembled. “Western quadrant?”

Because he’s feeling magnanimous, Shuuhei doesn’t call the other lieutenant on it, simply following the swaying ponytail with a faint, amused smile. “Of course. Akon says they’ve been picking up strange reiatsu readings bouncing around the district, and he wants us to check it out.” Seeing the fairly blank look on Kei’s face, Shuuhei rolls his eyes a little. The man is really terrible at matching names with faces. “You know, that guy I was eating lunch with the other day? Brown hair, horns, shares his skin color with an anemic corpse? Second in command of the Shinigami Research and Development Institute?”

With a matching roll of his eyes, Kei flicks a hand in acknowledgement and calls to his shinigami, “Squad Seven, all accounted for?”

The squad leader, a small woman with dark green hair, salutes as she steps forward. “Yes, Lieutenant Shiba!”

With a faint wince at the volume, Shuuhei takes a look at his own men. “Squad Fifteen, any problems?”

“None, Lieutenant Hisagi,” the young man at the front offers with a grin. “All present and prepared.”

Shuuhei and Kei exchange glances, holding a silent debate, and then Kei inclines his head, ceding control of the mission to the older lieutenant. With a nod of thanks, Shuuhei steps forward. “All right, let’s move out.”

“Something’s weird about this,” Shuuhei murmurs, just loud enough for Ichigo to hear.

Crouched on the ground in front of him, studying the markings in the muddy earth, Ichigo nods in silent understanding. The weird reiatsu signatures keep flitting around the district, pausing for barely a handful of seconds before they move on again, and it’s making Ichigo and Shuuhei both a little twitchy. It doesn’t feel like a Hollow, either, but the bodies of a group of travelers at the last site are more than enough to show it’s just as deadly as one.

“I don’t like it,” Ichigo agrees, looking back at the tracks in the dirt. There are no settlements around here, and the others have already checked the area for wanderers, of whom there are none. They’re not actually that far behind whatever the thing jumping around the district is, but these…

These are, without a doubt, human tracks. From several humans, if Ichigo isn’t mistaken. He can’t feel any reiatsu, either, which is another sign that something’s wrong.

An idea flickers through his thoughts, and he rises to his feet. “Hold on, I’m going to try something.”

Shuuhei steps back, looking wary. “What?”

Closing his eyes, Ichigo focuses on the reiatsu shivering in the air around him, rising in sparks and coils, and concentrates on compressing and visualizing the ribbons of reiraku. “Spirit ribbons,” he says shortly. “Shinigami show up red, Hollows are black, and everyone else is white. Even if we can’t track them like this, it will give us an idea of what we’re facing.”

“Seeing reiraku is a high-level technique,” Shuuhei says, but he sounds interested.

Before Ichigo can answer, the awareness just…snaps into place around him, and he opens his eyes with a faintly satisfied smile. “Got it,” he murmurs, surveying the whirl of red around him. It’s easy enough to pick out the familiar feel of his squad, and Shuuhei’s squad only takes a moment longer. Carefully, he drops into a crouch again, studying the air above the footprints, and consciously blanks his face to keep from scowling and/or swearing.

“Shiba?” Shuuhei asks sharply.

“What’s the body count these guys have racked up?” Ichigo asks tightly, rather than answering. He keeps his eyes fixed on the damning ribbons of power twisting across his vision.

“Over fifty civilians,” Shuuhei says, and he’s beginning to sound grim. Like he can guess what Ichigo found, but doesn’t like it. Ichigo doesn’t blame him; he doesn’t like it at all, either. “And they put two squads in the hospital before we started joint patrols. Six dead, eleven with serious wounds, three with no chance of recovery.”

Ichigo pushes to his feet again, trying his best not to grind his teeth. “Shinigami,” he explains flatly. “Their reiraku is red. Damn it.”

[personality-slate-blank]

Encore (4/5)

Ichigo pushes to his feet again, trying his best not to grind his teeth. “Shinigami,” he explains flatly. “Their reiraku is red. Damn it.”

And as though the enemy has been waiting for that cue—or as though they’re desperate not to be discovered—screaming green light fills the air, turning those caught in it to stone.

“Defensive formation!” Shuuhei cries, sword in hand even as Ichigo calls out his first kido spell and knocks a man dressed all in brown away. “Move!”

But it’s too late, and the battle dissolves into bloody chaos.

The patrol is late returning.

Byakuya stands in his office, by the window, because the only other options are pacing the room or going to the gates and pacing there. Neither one of those is acceptable, not for someone of his standing and reputation, so he forces his feet to stillness, forces his eyes to fix on one point in the sky.

And if that point happens to be near the gate, if he has his senses open and his ears straining, well.

No one has to know, and the only person who would dare to call him on it is currently four hours overdue to return.

Byakuya shifts his weight, resisting the urge to cross his arms and instead clasping his hands behind him—an acceptable pose, for a captain, but it feels like a lie, like the tension in his shoulders and the faint twisting of his stomach turn it into something entirely undignified. He lets out a slow, careful breath and closes his eyes. (It lets him stretch his senses out even more, lets him search just that little bit further for the carefully bound and restrained reiatsu that he’s seeking, but that is simply a coincidence and not worth contemplating.) The sun is setting, staining the ground with a familiar orange he hasn’t seen in years now.

He doesn’t need to see it. He doesn’t need that daylily hair to know that Kurosaki Ichigo has come to dwell in Soul Society, right under the noses of those who knew him before.

Sometimes, in idle moments, Byakuya wonders at his lieutenant’s choice. Surely he would have been greeted with a hero’s welcome had he chosen to return immediately. Now, with this careful distance from his former friends, this false existence, there will doubtless be cries of betrayal and anger when the farce is done.

Except, he will realize at other times, watching the quiet, dark-haired, surprisingly competent man who has become his second. Except that it is not a lie, not a farce, and the hero’s welcome is the very reason Ichigo has chosen to hide himself so very cleverly. Concealed in plain sight, as it were, and there is nothing about Shiba Kei that is not Kurosaki Ichigo, it is simply that no one ever took the time to see that the hotheaded ryoka boy was far more than they gave him credit for.

Kei smiles, but Ichigo did as well, if more subtly.

Kei is brilliant at tactics and planning, but so was Ichigo, adjusting and attacking and winning every time that truly counted.

Kei is diligent and hardworking and capable, and had they ever given Ichigo the chance, Byakuya has no doubt he would have proved the same.

It is his belief that Shiba Kei is not so much a mask as a revelation, presenting the inner core of the man when before all they were shown was the gruff exterior.

Alone in the privacy of his office, Byakuya allows himself the faintest of smiles, because he took a chance that day at the Academy. The first moment Shiba Kei appeared before him, Byakuya knew. Kei had a weight to his gaze, a wariness that no student—much less one from a noble family—should have possessed. That black sword, those bright-sharp eyes, the familiarly immense reiatsu no matter how it was choked off and chained—not even a student’s blues or a quickly donned mask of emotion were enough to hide Kurosaki Ichigo from his gaze, and Byakuya wonders at what fools his fellow shinigami are not to see it.

A knock at the door pulls him from his contemplations and he opens his eyes, half-turning to look at the intruder. His former lieutenant hovers there, wary and worried and quiet clearly wound up in knots of agitation. Byakuya surveys him for a moment, remembering that the Ninth had joined the Sixth’s patrol today, remembering Ichigo’s mention of Lieutenant Hisagi, and nods to the other captain.

“Renji,” he says, and steps to one side to make room in front of the window.

There’s a moment of hesitation before Renji slinks into position next to him. “Thanks, Captain,” he says, and Byakuya wonders how long it will take him to break the habit of that title. They’re both of the same rank now, after all.

Byakuya inclines his head. “Third Seat Akon of the Twelfth says that there were numerous strange energy readings in the 54th District,” he says. “He had asked the squads to investigate.”

Renji’s features are tight with anxiety. “Yeah,” he answers roughly. “Said that those signatures started multiplying a few hours ago, blocked out all trace of the squads. Kyoraku said the Captain-Commander’ll give them a full six hours before sending out another party, just in case they were simply delayed.”

That, at least, is news, and Byakuya clenches his hands together until the knuckles strain. He has never been one to argue with the Captain-Commander of the Gotei 13, but this is a situation with known hostiles. While Byakuya is unfamiliar with Hisagi, he knows very well that Kei would not delay their return without sending some sort of message to explain the circumstances. But there has been no contact, no sign, and that puts Byakuya on edge more than anything.

Kurosaki Ichigo was never a friend—comrade, shield-brother, ally, but never friend. As Shiba Kei, Byakuya would like to think that they are. He has little time for frivolities, and less for useless emotion, but Kei knows his steps before he takes them, reads his actions and expression regardless of whether they are in battle or Byakuya simply desires a cup of tea. He is a good lieutenant, a good shinigami, and Byakuya does not fear when he knows that Kei is following him, as ever three steps behind and one to the side. Not a doormat, not afraid to argue, with a sense of humor and a maturity that is rooted in loss, and Byakuya can respect all of those things. Does, in fact, and it is…amusing, that it is the upstart ryoka who can inspire such a thing in him of all people.

Byakuya well remembers his grandfather’s words, back when he was a child. Quick to anger and hotheaded, the man had said, and that is also amusing, to think that he and Kurosaki Ichigo have such a thing in common.

“You’re worried,” Renji blurts suddenly. Byakuya casts him a sideways glance but says nothing, and Renji winces slightly. “I mean,” he hurries to add, “not that I didn’t think you would be, but, ah, Shiba’s only been your lieutenant for…”

“A year and three months,” Byakuya says, returning his gaze to the sky above the gate. “Do you think that I would not have been so concerned had you been the one returning late from patrol, Renji?”

That earns him another wince. “No, I just—that’s not it. But you always seemed as if you disliked Kaien, and you’ve never cared much for Kukaku or Ganju, and I thought—”

“Shiba Kei has proven himself a capable lieutenant,” Byakuya interjects, before that foot can get lodged any more firmly in Renji’s mouth. “He is also quite powerful, and keeps much of his strength in reserve. If something has delayed him this much, it is very likely to be the source of the attacks.”

Renji looks grim, and he knows that the same has occurred to the Ninth’s captain. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah.” A pause, and then he adds abruptly, “I volunteered to go out after them, soon as the Captain-Commander lets us.”

Byakuya nods, just once, and keeps his eyes on the horizon. “As have I,” he murmurs, feeling the weight of Senbonzakura at his side like a taunt, a promise of action just beyond his reach.

“Fuck!” Ichigo ducks under a bolt of green light, feels it scrape against the edges of his reiatsu, and tucks forward into a roll that brings him right back up on his feet again, still moving. Shuuhei is on his right, Kazeshini in shikai, and he turns as they round an outcropping of rocks, the scythe spinning from his fingers. There’s a spray of blood and one of their pursuers cries out, but the others don’t even pause to see to him.

“What the hell happened to teamwork?” Ichigo mutters with what little breath he can spare.

Shuuhei grunts an agreement, stumbling. Ichigo catches his elbow and drags him on before he can fall, and he bobs his head in thanks. “Mixed blessing,” he pants in return. “Not stopping to help each other, but not helping each other against us, either.”

Ichigo concedes that much with a huff, then shoves Shuuhei out of the way of another bolt of green. The older lieutenant tumbles to the ground as Ichigo regains his footing and spins, raising one hand. “Hado 58: Tenran!”

There’s a collective cry of dismay and the enemies scatter, but it’s already too late. A whirling, tornado-like blast of power shoots straight at them, hurling some away but mostly spreading chaos. Ichigo takes the opportunity to lever Shuuhei to his feet again and launch into his fastest shunpo, dragging his friend with him.

They land in a small hollow, surrounded on all sides by stark-jagged rocks and small trickles of clear water, and slump to the damp ground with shared relief.

“Damn,” Shuuhei mutters, quickly tearing off the already trailing hem of his shihakusho and gingerly pressing it against the freely bleeding gash over his ribs.

“Seconded,” Ichigo agrees grimly, flexing his tingling fingers. They’re threatening to go numb, which is just about the last thing they need. He suspects that the knife that winged him was poisoned. “But why the hell are they trying to take prisoners now? Those other patrols—”

“Weren’t being led by lieutenants,” Shuuhei reminds him, offering up another scrap of cloth. Ichigo takes with a faint grimace and ties it around his upper arm. They don’t have the reiatsu to spare for healing kido, even if one of them was good at it, which they aren’t. “They took our squads as bait.”

“They’re morons,” Ichigo growls, and for once he doesn’t give a flying fuck if this is a Kei reaction or not. His squad is back there, trapped and helpless and being used for fuck knows what, and Ichigo isn’t going to stand for it. Not one damn bit. Retreating to regroup was bad enough.

Shuuhei is watching him with serious grey eyes, equal parts determined and wary. “You specialize in kido,” he says finally. “That spell they used to freeze the others…”

“Didn’t recognize it,” Ichigo sighs, slumping back against the rocks, even as he keeps his senses alert for sounds of pursuit. “Of course, it’s possible that one of them invented it. Not unheard of, even if it is difficult.” He closes his eyes, flexing his fingers again. “Damn. Damn. And it’ll take me time to break this goddamned barrier, time we won’t have as soon as I start poking at it. Can’t break that kido spell, either, without getting right up close to our squads, and I’m certain they’ll have guards.”

Shuuhei hums in agreement, and then says, “Still.”

“Still,” Ichigo agrees, opening his eyes and offering the other man a crooked smile. He pushes to his feet, offers Shuuhei a hand up. “Squads first?”

“You even have to ask?” Shuuhei lets Ichigo pull him to his feet, expression set in stubborn lines. “If I give you time, can you get them free?”

“But—”

“Can you?”

Ichigo grits his teeth, but nods. “In theory, a stronger practitioner can always break through a weaker practitioner’s spells. If I have to, I can just use brute force. But against all of them, Shuuhei…”

Shuuhei smiles at him faintly, not commenting on the use of his first name. “I’ll be fine, Kei,” he returns. “Don’t underestimate Kazeshini, or me. Melee fighting is something we’re good at. Focus on the kido.”

Before, Ichigo would have been the melee fighter, leaving the spell-casting to someone else. But now, as Kei, he’s good at it, enough that a far more experience lieutenant is trusting him with it. He huffs out a breath and nods. In terms of brute strength, he’s got more than enough for something like this, and he’ll use it even if it gives something away. He always knew this charade wouldn’t last forever, and some things are far more important than keeping up the act.

“Hopefully they’ll send out reinforcements,” Shuuhei says, casting a glance in the direction of the Seireitei.

Ichigo shakes off the last of his nerves, calls up the determination that let him face down a god, and bares his teeth. “Let’s make sure there’s nothing for them to do when they get here,” he offers, and Shuuhei matches his will with a steady stare and a grim nod.

“Let’s,” he agrees, and they flicker away.

Shuuhei has always known, of course, that there are shinigami who finish the Academy but never pass the entrance exam for the Gotei 13 proper. They’re entirely trained and often skilled, and some of those who fail are quickly taken on as bodyguards for noble families.

Others, it seem, become rogues.

They’re a ragtag group, certainly, but far too powerful and numerous to write off as failed shinigami. Shuuhei sidesteps a blast from one, mentally gauging her power, and it’s a bit disheartening to conclude that she’s roughly on par with a seventh seat—not a challenge to a lieutenant, of course, one on one, but that’s not the case here. It’s twenty on one, and the sheer numbers will wear Shuuhei down before long, even with Kazeshini released.

He twists to evade a sword-strike, dodges another jet of green, and ducks under a halberd that skims an inch closer to his skull than is entirely comfortable. Melee has never been his best area—he’s better at single combat, where psychological attacks are just as devastating and unbalancing as physical ones, but that isn’t the type of tactic that will be useful here. With a flick of his wrists, he sends Kazeshini out, both ends whirling in an impromptu barrier, and risks a glance behind him at his companion.

Kei is crouched beside the frozen figure of Shuuhei’s ninth seat, fingers of one hand weaving, lips moving in what is either a kido chant or a mental deconstruction of the other spell. Then a blast of green just missing his ear pulls his attention back, and he tries to pinpoint the caster. If he can take out the main kido user—

A wordless cry of satisfaction is accompanied by the sound of shattering stone, and Shuuhei doesn’t bother to fight a grin. Figuring out how to break an unknown kido spell, in the midst of a hectic and entirely outmatched battle, with all the odds against them, while wounded and losing blood—Kei’s a genius, and if they get out of this in one piece Shuuhei’ll kiss him square on the mouth. Fuck, the kid just became his new favorite person.

Half a heartbeat later, Shuuhei decides he likes him even more as green kido rebounds off an inverted pyramid of light that bursts into existence around him. It fades a moment later, but then Kei steps up to his side, already casting another barrier.

“It’s a power-drain,” he says, eyes focused on the regrouping enemy. One of their own has been hit by that strange spell, and Shuuhei can’t be anything but vindictively pleased. “It freezes whoever gets hit in some sort of leech-stone shell and transfers all of their power to those marked by the caster. Those civilians must have been drained before they were killed, and now the bastards are moving up to actual shinigami.”

Shuuhei curses softly, and asks, “Our people will survive?”

Kei nods. “They’re fine. I’ll break the rest out and send the stronger officers to help you. Just keep from getting hit.”

The barrier shatters with a sound like a struck gong and Kei flash-steps back to the field of statues behind them. More stone breaks, and then more, and Shuuhei steels himself as he’s rushed.

Foot soldiers, he thinks, even as Kazeshini reaps more lives, as he binds and cuts and slashes and tears through their ranks, trying desperately to give Kei the time he needs to free both squads. It’s a thought that’s guided by blind instinct, and urged on by experience. 

These are foot soldiers. Where are the generals?

The 54th District is little more than a collection of roads, a grassy, hilled expanse colored green in the winter and dead-brown in the summer, with craggy pits of stone and sudden drops to catch the unwary. Renji surveys the terrain, though it’s covered by a shimmering barrier of silvery red light, and tries his best not to grind his teeth. Bakudo, and one he’s not familiar with.

No wonder they haven’t been getting any readings from the missing squads.

“Shit,” he mutters, rocking back on his heels. He can’t see much past the shifting shine of the ward, but from what he can make out the squads clearly aren’t camped out and waiting for them, not that he really expected it to be that easy. Still, the universe giving him a break once in a while would be nice.

From his left, a deathly soft voice intones, “Scatter, Senbonzakura,” and before Renji can so much as twitch out of the way a thousand petal-bright blades hurl themselves against the barrier and rebound. He yelps and leaps back, but Byakuya’s control over his zanpakuto is too good for collateral damage. The blades whirl away and rush forward again, and then again, and again before Byakuya finally raises his hand and calls them back. His sword reforms and he slides it away without a word, face still completely calm.

It looks for all the world as though that were entirely deliberate, when in truth it’s the closest Renji’s ever seen Kuchiki Byakuya come to losing control.

He barely restrains himself from gaping at his former captain. It’s little relief that Hitsugaya’s eyes are also faintly wide, and Matsumoto looks entirely serious.

“Someone very skilled at kido will be necessary,” Byakuya says flatly.

There’s a snort from behind him, and Shiba Kei’s sister elbows him out of the way as she steps forward. “Good thing you brought me, then,” she snaps. “Move it, kid.”

Steely grey eyes narrow, even as the captain shifts to the side. “I do not recall inviting you along, much less requesting your presence, Shiba-san,” Byakuya says, in a tone that for anyone else would be a growl.

The Shiba matriarch levels him with an entirely unimpressed stare. “You’re still just as much of a brat as you used to be, Kuchiki,” she sniffs. “As if I’d leave a bunch of shinigami to rescue my cute little otouto. Step back. This might get messy.” With a fierce grin, she raises her left hand and cries, “Shut tight the seven gates. Bind the three storms and seed the five winds with chaos. Beyond the eighth sea, fall to pieces. Bakudo 71: Shatterpoint!”

A crack like thunder fills the air, followed by the sound of a vast pane of glass breaking, as white light envelops the barrier. There’s a long, breathless moment where Renji doesn’t know whether to curse or cheer and then it fades away like mist, taking the barrier with it. He breathes out in relief, almost shaky with it, and Kukaku lowers her hand, savage satisfaction on her face. Her green eyes are bright with fury, and she unsheathes her katana as she strides forward.

It’s telling that Byakuya is the first to fall into step with her, and that his hand is resting on the hilt of his own sword. Shiba Kei seems to inspire loyalty the way Kurosaki Ichigo used to, and it’s a little unnerving to watch. Renji follows them, because he’s worried about Shuuhei, and he can’t do anything else.

And then a wave of released reiatsu sweeps over all of them, nearly sending Matsumoto to her knees and knocking Renji off balance. He tries to breathe, tries to move, and then—

The power cuts off as suddenly as it appeared, and half a moment later a surge of figures in shinigami black crest the hill and sweep down towards them, moving at a flat-out run. Behind them—so many, all alive—come two more at a slightly slower pace, leaning heavily on each other and splattered with blood that belongs to more than just themselves. Renji barely pauses to register the two dark heads bent together, the fact that his lieutenant has Kazeshini out and in shikai and that even Shiba has his zanpakuto drawn, before he’s sprinting towards them. His Ninth members acknowledge him as he passes, smiles or weary nods or a rare salute, and Renji hears the Sixth’s members greeting their captain as well. He manages a few pats on the shoulder, a quick smile here and there, but most of his attention is on the two lieutenants.

“Captain,” Shuuhei says as he nears, looking up with an exhausted half-smile. “You won’t believe what happened to us.”

Renji shakes his head and ducks forward, grabbing Shuuhei’s free arm and slinging it over his shoulder. “Probably not,” he agrees, “seeing as you look like you just went through a damn war.”

“Only a small one,” Shiba mutters, sounding utterly drained, half a heartbeat before a red-and-white blur all but tackles him to the ground. He takes the hit with a yelp, releasing Shuuhei to grab his sister as she wraps herself around him for three seconds, then pulls back, hauls off, and smacks him in the head.

“Idiot!” she bellows. “What the hell were you thinking?” She smacks him again for good measure, grabs ahold of his ear, and drags him back into another hug.

Renji and Shuuhei trade glances, and the captain raises one brow. “I’m happy to see you, too,” he drawls. “But sorry, I don’t think I’m that happy.”

Shuuhei snorts. “No worries. I think I’ll survive you just helping me to the Fourth. The rest of the squad should get checked out, too. A lot of them got their energy drained.”

“Drained?” Byakuya says sharply, shifting his attention from where he’d been watching with amusement as his lieutenant got chewed out by a woman five inches shorter and a good twenty pounds lighter. “What do you mean?”

At that Shiba manages to drag himself out of his sister’s clutches and face his captain. “A new kind of restraining kido,” he explains. “It transfers energy, from what I could tell.”

“Kido?” Hitsugaya echoes, eyes narrowing. “These enemies, they're—”

“They’re shinigami,” Shuuhei confirms wearily. “We found tracks and Kei identified their reiraku, but before we could head back we were attacked. It’s my belief that they’re Academy graduates who didn’t pass the test to enter the Gotei 13.”

Byakuya’s expression is grim, and he turns on his heel to survey the land the squads just retreated from. “Come,” he says. “Have the well carry the wounded if they cannot travel swiftly enough. It is imperative that the Captain-Commander be told of this at once.”

Shuuhei and Shiba exchange glances and then pull themselves upright, weary but determined. They’ve obviously taken the brunt of the assault, and Renji feels ridiculously weak right now, can’t help but think that he should have been there even though there have been similar patrols for weeks that have never encountered any problems.

Captain’s prerogative, he supposes, but nevertheless it fucking grates.

[personality-slate-blank]

Encore (5/5)

As they approach the Seireitei, Captain Unohana sails out of the gates like the world’s politest battleship, hands clasped in front of her and sweetly mild smile firmly in place. Byakuya would like to think that he is firm and steadfast in the face of that look, but it’s not true. He sees the Terror of the 4th Division coming and falters.

It bolsters his cringing pride a bit to see that everyone else—except, notably, the Shiba siblings, who are too busy bickering to notice and would likely remain undaunted even if they did—quails just as much in the face of her, if not more.

“Captains,” Unohana says kindly.

Byakuya is a very smart man, renowned for his grasp of battle tactics and ability to win against the odds. He inclines his head and steps prudently out of the line of fire, giving her a clear path to his squad and his obviously battered lieutenant.

Kei’s yelp as he’s dragged away by his ear is somehow immensely satisfying.

A moment later, Renji comes skulking up behind him, clearly having chosen to use the same tactics as Byakuya. His lieutenant, as well, is just disappearing through the gate, Unohana herding him along without releasing Kei, and the rest of their squads are behind them, escorted by several other 4th Division members. Byakuya does a quick headcount, but comes up one short, and turns to arch an imperious brow at the slim, green-haired woman he recognizes as Squad Seven’s leader.

She bows, but holds her ground, and offers, “I was trapped last and released first, Captain. Lieutenant Shiba asked me to deliver his report to you as soon as possible.”

That alone speaks to how important Kei considers this business, so Byakuya nods and slows his steps slightly to allow her to keep up. “Very well,” he says, and watches both Hitsugaya and Renji gravitate closer, ears turned towards them. “Report, Terumi-san.”

She does, and it is…

Not heartening, to say the least.

[personality-slate-blank]

my third eye has opened and its a googly eye

[personality-slate-blank]

Hear me out…

I want the Voltron team to have a body swap episode cause, imagine Coran getting shiros body… and abusing it: dressing it up, prancing around the castle shirtless, basically just hoeing around because he can.

Other benefits of this AU:

Pidge and Lotor: they can start to understand each other alittle better, and Pidge can experience being tall.

Keith and Lance: Lance just yelling at Keith to be careful with his Beautiful body giving him face masks and doing his hair (and lance also doing it to Keith’s body).

Hunk and Allura: not much I can say on this one cause I honestly don’t think they’d be to bothered about it cause they’re the cutest!

Thank you for listening to my Ted talk