#basically when you bleach your hair you open the outer layer to get the color out of the shaft

[floriwoo]

the way you can kinda still see his oreo hair 🥹

gone but never forgotten

[ramblingkat]

Fic: Stars

This was encouraged by the UraIchi discord server. Basic concept: Everyone is born with a tail. If you live long enough, you get more. If you find your “soul mate” you get a new color on your tail. 

Here, Yoruichi noticed the new color on Kisuke’s tail. He had happily been oblivious. And has no idea who’s reiatsu matches that new color of fur on his tail.

Fandom: Bleach

Characters: Urahara Kisuke, Shihoin Yoruichi, Ishida Ryuken, Kurosaki Masaki, Kurosaki Isshin, and Kurosaki Ichigo

***

“You have gold in your fur.”

Yoruichi’s voice, deep and raspy, was a familiar one, and he knew she’d been sitting behind him for a bit, so Kisuke didn’t jump. Though he did pause, a cup of tea against his lips. Then he lowered it again, turning some to look over his shoulder at his friend. 

She was crouched next to his tail, eyes focused on the tip. Kisuke didn't actually look at his tail all that much, with it being out of his direct line of sight. Oh, he made sure it was brushed and neat enough, but it was just another limb. As long as it worked as he wanted, he never thought about it too much. 

Now he flicked it up, bringing the tip up closer since that was where Yoruichi had been focused. 

This was the only tail on display, as humans rarely lived long enough to gain a second tail, let alone a third as Kisuke had. The other two were hidden, as they had been for almost a century of hiding in the special gigai he had created. The only one on display was the same ashy blond as his hair, a sleek fox tail that had gotten him quite a few appreciative looks. And more than a few people asking for blessings. 

Apparently, pale fox tails were a sign of favor. Not something he had expected when he had first come to the living world. 

Shinji had laughed at him, the man’s golden lion tail lashing lazily behind him. Kisuke had asked how it felt to only have to deal with one rope instead of the multitude that the older captain usually had. That had lead to a spar, and gotten Shinji distracted. 

Now, however, Kisuke saw that there were fine golden hairs growing at the end of his tail. They didn’t stand out a great deal, not yet. But they were definitely golden. A distinct change from the pale fur they grew in. 

Yoruichi’s reiatsu, as muted as it was, radiated delight. Kisuke was feeling a bit stunned himself. 

“But,” he protested, voice distant in his own ears, “I haven’t met anyone new. Not for long enough to have our energies to click enough to bond.” 

There was a flat-out chortle from Yoruichi, and she rose up onto her back legs, resting her paws against the back of his shoulder. That let her get a better look at his tail. “You found someone to soul bond to and didn’t say anything.” She sounded highly amused and no small amount of pleased. “What have you been up to?”

Kisuke snorted. “Plotting and planning. The usual.” He flicked his tail against her face, then let it relax again. “I wonder who this is. I don’t know of anyone I’ve seen recently that has that color of reiatsu.”

He reached over and poked Yoruichi’s nose as she opened her mouth. “And don’t start on SoiFon. Right shade, very much wrong person.” He smiled faintly. “She’d murder me if we ever created some sort of spiritual bond.” Kisuke paused. “Though the way she hates me would definitely qualify. But the timing is wrong.”

“She doesn’t hate you,” Yoruichi protested. Ignoring Kisuke’s amused, yet unimpressed, expression, the cat continued. “She’s just prickly about my honor.”

Kisuke snorted again, hand moving to rub his friend’s ears. “Very prickly,” he said drily. “If she could make me vanish, she would definitely do so.” He shook his head. “In any case, SoiFon’s disdain for me is not the topic here. I honestly have no idea why I would have golden fur coming in now. Everyone I interact with now are the same people I have interacted with for years. I doubt any of them have changed that much.”

“Something to figure out later,” Yoruichi agreed. “It’s not like your crimson isn’t a distinct shade.” She licked a foot, quiet for a moment. “Though now that I am here, how are things with Isshin and Masaki?”

Still absently petting her, Kisuke smiled faintly. “Going well. From everything that Ishida-san and I can tell, the baby is healthy and growing well. They are likely to have a mix of Isshin-san and Masaki-san talents.” Kisuke considered it a moment. “I believe, once the baby is born, they’ll take the hollow with them. That will be vital for their stability. They are so in balance at the moment that the loss of one aspect will likely prove lethal in the long run.” He considered that as fingers moving softly over dark fur. “Something I have impressed upon the parents to be. The hollow is sealed and will continue to be until we break it at some point, but the power it holds is present. So the baby will be…impressive.”

There was a snort from Yoruichi. “Maybe it’s the baby,” she teased, though there had not been any documented cases of soul bonding with an unborn child. “You do the impossible regularly enough. Why not do it again?”

Kisuke tweaked her ear, hand blurring as he dodged the slash of her claws. “I doubt even baby Kurosaki is developed enough to have a proper reiatsu signature yet,” he said easily. “While they have a strong presence already, it’s…malleable. Though I do hope that you’ll be in town when the time for the birth gets close.” He wrinkled his nose. “I am already noticing an uptick of smaller hollows. Masaki-san has been attracting quite a bit of attention from the wrong quarters. I think when it is time for baby Kurosaki to be born, they will lure in hollows for miles around. We’ll need to set up a protective line around them and deal with the swarm that is likely to descend on us at that level of power energy.”

A nod from Yoruichi. “Just contact me when it gets close to time. Though I don’t know if I’ll go too far.” Her tone went light and teasing. “After all, I have to find out who your mysterious suitor to be is. Only you could get a soul bond and not notice.”

That got her a sigh and a shrug. “It wasn’t like it was that big a deal,” he protested, giving his friend an over-exaggerated pout. “And I’ve been busy.”

Yoruichi perked up. “I have to talk to Tessai,” she warbled out, as close to singing as she got. Dodging Kisuke’s grab, the cat ran into the house, yowling out the name of their other friend, and Kisuke sighed.

Collecting his tea, he focused on that. No need to think about Tessai-san’s matchmaking urges now. He’d be dealing with them soon enough.

***

The stars looked amazing, and Kisuke found himself panting as he watched them decorate the night sky.

They weren’t as bright here as they were in soul society, but there was a great deal more progression in the living world, so bright it dimmed even the night sky.

Though all of his senses felt dimmed. The Kurosaki baby had come into the world, and he was grateful that Ishida had a charm that he and Masaki had put on the baby. It would allow more of the child’s reiatsu to release over the next year or so. Slow enough that they shouldn’t have a repeat of tonight. 

He was exhausted, and he was sure that Yoruichi was the same whenever she was at. 

The Visored had taken the outer layer of the patrol. Kisuke and Yoruichi had focused on the blocks around the roof of the hospital that the baby was being born in. And outside of all of it, Hachigen and Tessai had been working on keeping all of this under wraps. While he knew Aizen had an idea where they might be, they did not need the baby’s explosion of power to attract his eye. 

He was pretty sure they had dealt with every hollow from miles around, all attracted to the initial spike of power that the baby would have screamed out with their first breath.

That was something he needed to check on well. 

Pushing himself upright, Kisuke glanced around. It only took a moment to spot Yoruichi, leaning against an air conditioning unit a few roofs over. Waving to catch her attention, he waited until she nodded back, then he let himself drop over the side of the roof.

Ishida had given him a room number, and Kisuke had already scouted out where it was in the hospital. So it only took a moment to wrap a hint of reiatsu under his feet to slow and then stop his fall. He pulled a phone out and texted the man, making sure he was able to come in.

The curtains shoved apart, and Ishida was scowling at him. The man opened the window. “Get in here,” he muttered. “The sooner you make sure the boy is all right, the sooner you can leave.”

Kisuke smiled. “A boy? I am sure that Kurosaki-san is thrilled.”

“Isshin is being an idiot over it, and Masaki is pleased to have a healthy baby.” 

He shifted aside, letting Kisuke step through and land lightly on the floor, geta making only a small clicking as they hit the ground. Then Ishida continued. “They named him Ichigo. I assume you dealt with any outside trouble.”

Kisuke grimaced a bit. “After this, I think we’re all going to go find out beds now that the charm you have put into place has muted his strength. The area should be hollow free for a few months.”

A sigh. “That’s good,” the white haired Quincy said. “Hopefully they’ll be gone for even longer than that.”

Kisuke considered that. “If you like, I can set up patrol when your own child is born.” It was an honest offer, as he knew that the man’s wife had taken poorly to pregnancy. She was happy to be pregnant, but every time Kisuke saw her around, she looked exhausted and drained.

Ishida tensed, then made himself relax. “We’ll discuss that later,” he said, which made Kisuke smile to himself. That wasn’t a no, and it was nice to see how devoted the man was to his wife. He was as bad as Isshin was, if quieter about it. 

But he only nodded in response, quietly following as he was lead to the bed. 

There was Masaki, who was watching them, though Kisuke could see she was ready to go to sleep. Beside the bed was Isshin, whose tail was wagging back and forth like mad. And beside him, placed where both he and Masaki could reach, was a tiny little being. 

There was a tuft of dark hair, though he could already see strands of a paler color in it. Kisuke wondered if baby Kurosaki… Ichigo, his name was Ichigo, would have his mother’s hair? 

He was wrapped firmly in a warm blanket, swaddled quite tightly. Though he managed to get a foot and a puffy little tail out of the confines already. Kisuke smiled faintly, tucking the fluffy grey tail and the foot back into the blanket. “Already a trouble maker,” he murmured to the child, and then rested his hand on Ichigo’s chest. Closing his eyes, he focused, threading his reiatsu gently to make sure everything was still balanced. 

This was something he’d been doing since Isshin had come to tell him that Masaki was pregnant, in a near panic. There had been two pregnancies before this one, and neither had gotten far. The third time was the charm, and the balance of energies settled in ways to keep the boy from coming to harm. 

Everything still felt good, and he opened his eyes with a smile. 

“Congratulations,” he said, smiling at them. He knew they had been heartbroken the previous times, and having Ichigo here, all red-faced and scowling, had to be such a relief. 

“Masaki-san?” he asked, offering her his hand. She rested her fingers against his palm, and he did his own scan of her energies. 

Once he was done, he gave her hand a light squeeze and let go. “It’s as I thought. The hollow passed on to Ichigo, but the seal on it seems to be intact. Though he’s definitely strong enough to see spirits without much help.”

He smiled at the new parents. “You should have an easier time of things if you decide to give him any siblings without the hollow energies causing such distress on your own.” That was to Masaki, who looked relieved. He knew she had taken the failed pregnancies hard, but this should help her feel better about any future attempts. 

Moving away from the bed, Kisuke absently sealed Benihime back into a cane, nodding at each of them. “Now that everything seems to have settled both outside and in here, I’m off. Let me know if you have any other concerns that I might be able to help calm.” 

He went to perch on the sill of the window, then threw a grin back at them. “And, as always, come visit the shop and pick up a few items. I always have a wide range of stock for your purchasing pleasure.”

Ishida shoved him out the window with a snort. 

Kisuke laughed as he caught himself, and took off into the night. Time to find everyone and let them know that they could do whatever. The situation was done, and it was time for a well-deserved rest.

Besides, now that Ichigo was actually born, Kisuke had potential plans to adjust.

[astralshipper]

Okay so I worked rlly hard on this descriptive essay for my english class and my professor ended up saying she didn’t even want to take them up and I was lowkey proud of it so I’m gonna post it here!! It’s abt Crow and Azi so it fits here anyways, so here’s my basically fawning over my angel and my demon for almost 2000 words!!!!

-

Two figures stand proud in the rare glow of the afternoon sun in London. The man to the right looms tall over onlookers while the man by his side falls more to the stout side of the spectrum. For all intents and purposes, these two are complete opposites. 

The shorter of the pair has his hands clasped in front of him with his fingers intertwined. The clothing he wears bears resemblance to the attire worn during the Victorian years, and this causes him to stand out like a sore thumb in the middle of modern day London. He dons a soft, velvety brown waistcoat that fades into the same color of dress pants. The fabric lays flat, void of any and all wrinkles or imperfections, as though by miracle. The shoes on his feet are Oxford cap-toes. Their main top portion is composed of a dark brown while the toe tips are a softer, more bronze leather. Traveling back up his torso, a long, soft beige overcoat sits atop his waistcoat. Underneath both of these is a light blue, almost white dress shirt. He has it buttoned entirely. Around his neck he wears a light brown plaid tartan bow-tie. Hanging from his waistcoat is a small golden pocket watch. A pair of wings is engraved onto the front of the watch. The design is elegant and ornamented, and perfectly encapsulates the overall tone of his outfit. On his right hand he wears a golden signet ring that also bears a pair of wings, and his gold cuff links have the same design. 

Past his clothing, the rest of his person carries the same general vibe: a kind, old fashioned gentleman oozing a sort of shopworn elegance. His stomach rounds out slightly, flowing well with the outward pudge of his cheeks. A soft, pleasant smile curves his lips upward. Bright blue eyes glimmer with a joyous life that feels both new and old all at once. His eyes seem to hold the secrets of the universe as well as a hope and thirst to learn and take in more. His cheeks and face are as round as the rest of him. He seems to be composed entirely of soft lines and careful curves. His face is not without the reminders of his age. He bears crow’s feet around his eyes as well as clearly defined laughter lines on either side of his face. Had he widened his smile any further, the lines would surely deepen and give way to a pair of dimpled cheeks. Atop his head sits a well groomed collection of bleach blonde, practically white waves of hair. The soft curls point every which way in tufts that could surely be likened to the soft downy feathers of a freshly fledged young bird.

If one were to stand close enough, they would instantly pick up the mixture of scents clinging to the man’s clothing. The most prominent fragrance would surely be the one that can be likened to that of a local bakery freshly opening its doors in the morning. A mixture of sugary, chocolatey, decadent sweets weave their way into the fabric of his overcoat and follow him like a shadow. If one were to open their mouth, perhaps they would even insist they could taste the confections in the air as he passes by. Underneath this is a layer of what can only be pinned down to the scent that resides between the pages and inside the worn out bindings of old books, the kind of scent that only comes with decades or even centuries of wear and tear. Upon closer inspection into these details, one might pick up on the hint of cocoa sweetness in his breath, or the minty undertones that lie just beneath. 

His voice, once spoken, gives a light, airy feel. Every sentence is carried with the cadence and lilt of a song sung on the porches of grand suburban homes in the chill of winter. He enunciates his words with great care. Each syllable strikes as being fully rehearsed and prepared far ahead of time, even when this gentleman is caught off guard. No matter the words he speaks, he still seems to enact a sensation of calm in one’s very bones. The words that roll off his softly spoken tongue are bubbly and honey coated. His voice is the kind that oozes trustworthiness and a sense of peace. 

Everything about him seems to be chosen for comfort. The velvet-like feel of his waistcoat along with the soft, smooth material that made up his overcoat settles him in a bubble of warmth. In fact, everything about this man could be described as soft to the touch. Not only does his hair visibly resemble feathery down, but it also has approximately the same texture. Running a hand through the well-arranged curls would feel quite similar to the sensation of curling up with the softest blanket you own and sipping peacefully on a hot drink. His skin, though creased and bearing the lines of its time, remains as supple and silky smooth as ever before. 

All of this poses a direct antithesis to the man stood beside him. 

This second man stands tall as he glowers over passersby. He shrouds himself in darkness and flaunts this fact to all who dare look his way. His clothing reflected this quite well. What, with a soft, distressed old gray t-shirt underneath a black, low v-cut vest and a just as black woolen pea coat over top of it all, he truly layers himself in the most elegant and refined yet over-the-top sinister fabrics. Each piece of clothing clings to his body like a second skin. This includes his washed out dark gray pants that conform directly to the shape of his legs. Unlike his partner’s own pair, these pants bunch so tightly that creases and wrinkles are inevitable. The glint of a belt buckle catches in the afternoon sun. His belt seems to be made not of leather, but of snakeskin, and the buckle itself depicts the head of the snake that now seems to wind its way around the man’s waist. Traveling down long limbs to meet his feet, one is met with the sight of dark brown, almost black snakeskin dress shoes. Upon closer inspection, it becomes apparent that there is a subtle fade to red the closer you get to the soles. 

Perhaps there is one piece of this outfit that does not seem to be squeezing the life out of this fellow, and that would be the strange necklace dangling from his neck. It looks to be made of countless interwoven chains tied together a few inches below his collarbone. The remaining ends hang free and tuck snugly into his vest once the pair meet.

The final touch resides on his face. A pair of designer gunmetal sunglasses perches precariously on the bridge of his slender nose. The circular frames bear closed sides akin to an old pair of welding goggles. They themselves might be cause for a double take, but that double take will likely become a triple take if one happens to catch a glimpse of what lies underneath.

The way his glasses sit allows for one to, at a very specific angle, catch sight of a pair of yellow eyes. His irises seem to be large and of a golden color. Right smack in the middle of each one sits a slitted pupil like that of a snake. Everything about his eyes screams nothing but danger, and the nefarious depths that lie just below the surface bubble up slowly but surely. 

Once his eyes are hidden, however, the main point of focus is truly the man’s hair. So much of his outer visage lacks the pop and spice of a splash of color, and the fiery red shade of his hair checks that particular box. The way the sun glints through the strands illuminates his coiffure in a lively blaze. This is clearly a man that cares for his own appearance, and the well-coiffed nature of his hair is a testament to this fact. Trailing down his right side burn leads into a small, curving tattoo of a serpent just by his ear. The mark is subtle, but still threatening in and of itself.

This man, in contrast with the rounded man by his side, seems to be made entirely of sharp corners and fine edges. Everything about him is thin and a bit gangly. His cheekbones poke out with a sharp kick and promptly sink back in to hollow out his cheeks. His chin comes to a fine point just like the tip of his nose. The coat that adheres to his torso bears a pair of angular shoulders, likely due to the natural shape of his body to begin with. Even the scowl curling his lips seems sharp enough to slice you open if you dare come too close. His limbs are long and narrow, and his fingers much the same.

Reaching out to touch this man seems quite dangerous at first glance. One might fear being cut on the harsh angles of his jaw, and there is a slight chance that these fears are founded in truth. Heavily calloused fingers connect to heavily calloused hands, which hang loosely from his pants pockets by his thumbs hooked inside the compartment. His face, though clean shaven, still bears the prickly sensation of growing beard hair. Even his clothing does little in the form of comfort. The heavy chain necklace weighs down on his neck and the scratchy pants squeeze just a bit too tight to be considered for comfort. 

If one is able to look past the heavy cloud of top dollar cologne encasing his form, they would likely not be surprised by the spicy kick they are met with. He smells like cinnamon, but not cinnamon sugar. No, this man smells like the biting spice of pure cinnamon, a scent as fiery as the hair atop his head. Think back to the last time you ate an Altoid mint. Remember the refreshing burn it coated your mouth with, and now apply that sensation to this man. Fragrances of old leather and gasoline are also quite prominent, as well as the earthy tones of dirt and grass and a tinge of campfire smoke. 

His voice is a sort of hiss. His accent bleeds sin and deceit, and the low rumble of his tone slithers deep into one’s soul and grips it tight for the taking. Words fall from his tongue and wind their way around the listener’s throat. He sounds like duplicity and manipulation, but also all of your deepest desires wrapped up into one package. Your hair will stand on end as you cling to his every word. 

By all means, these two men should be polar opposites, and they are, in a sense. Taking them apart separately will surely yield such a response, but the difference comes when they stand together. Stood side by side, they fit together like puzzle pieces. The light balances out the dark. The soft balances out the sharp. Two extremes meet in the middle to create balance. 

Perhaps one could take a closer look at their shadows, as well. Perhaps they would be able to make out the clear addition of large, luxurious wings onto their forms. Perhaps it is just a trick of the light, or perhaps it is not.

[reparex]

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