#hi to the fellow bleaches

[hakkyoken]

"This place. I guess it's been a while, I guess."

[dr-skazka]

Too lazy to swap between accounts so ya all get my art here-

Some of my latest Kisuke art because I have horrible brainrot-

Also first artwork is fanart for @mistermercuryy, I just love Benihime and think she’s neat actually I love insane characters so she falls into that very well

I don’t draw him enough-

Jealous of all those who can draw him enough u-u

Also the brainrots so bad- that I have a bunch of Merch of him- I MADE A WHOLE FUCKING SHRINE FOR HIM-

[moonsgemini]

cherry wine - firefighter!rafe

* ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ₊˚ ⋅

summary: who knew career day would involve a hot sexy mustached firefighter wanting to take you on a date.

warnings: teacher!reader x firefighter!rafe, mutual pining, fluff, a little self doubt, lots of flirting, sexual innuendos, talk of sex but no smut

an: that pic is how I picture firefighter!rafe, I don’t think I need to elaborate any more. title will make more sense in the second part, hope you all enjoy!! & yes this will be a part 2 of the date hehehe. I did not proof read this so my bad

masterlist - part two

* ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ₊˚ ⋅

This day could not end sooner. I had been the most chaotic day trying to consistently wrangle a bunch of nine year olds. It was the third grade’s career day at the school you taught at.

The day has been filled with moving from station to station and learning about new careers. Some were a little more interesting than others. It was hard to get the kids to leave the lizard wrangler but they didn’t care much for the optometrist.

Some of the lovely volunteers were kind enough to provide treats for the kids which only made their energy sky rocket. It was your first year teaching and even though you felt confident in your abilities to handle the kids you still tripped up a bit. A kid scraped his knee running from the hair stylist to the park ranger. You were a bit busy untangling a brush out another students hair to tell him not to run. It had been a lot.

Now it was nearing closer to the bell ringing and your weekend starting. You were definitely going to need a drink after today. Career day led up to the fire department coming and showing the kids every tool, button, and switch on their trucks. It would give you and your fellow teachers some time to relax as they all sat around the parking lot waiting for them to arrive.

“You survive today?” Martha asked as she stood next to you. The two of you started at this school together, both being first time teachers. That alone strengthened the immediate bond you had with the curly haired woman.

You let out a tired laugh, “Barely, you?”

She nodded, “Barely.”

You looked around briefly to make sure students weren’t listening to you two, “Winnie’s tonight?”

She grinned happily, “Thought you’d never ask. I could use a drink or ten.”

“Agreed.” You nodded.

That’s when you all spotted the two trucks approaching. The kids started to cheer and scream as they honked.

Martha leaned in to murmur, “At least we get to end the day with hot men with mustaches.”

That’s when it hit you. You hadn’t even thought about that all day. Now your hair was a mess and your light makeup all practically gone.

“I didn’t even think about that. I look like a mess,” You muttered.

“Oh please you look good. Even after wrangling twenty five children all day.”

You nudged her with a grin. The trucks parked in front of the students and the firefighters began filing out. The principal stood in front introducing them and what they were going to do.

Martha was right. Hot fireman indeed. There were six guys and they all began introducing themselves. You tried your hardest to pay attention to each one and watch your kids, but it was hard when one particular firefighter stood out.

He looked younger than the rest with his bleached hair and untrimmed mustache. His biceps bulged in his navy tee shirt as he crossed his arms over his chest. He looked so big and broad you wanted to melt. His eyes scanned the crowd as the guy next to him began introducing himself. That’s when his eyes passed you and did a double take. At least that’s what you hoped that was. He made eye contact with you and a small smirk began forming on his lips. Not looking away as your face began to heat up from his stare.

You looked away briefly as your nerves bubbled. When you looked back he was still looking at you and that smirk had gotten wider. Even when it was his turn to introduce himself he didn’t look away.

“Hi everyone I’m Rafe, I’ve been a firefighter for three years now. I also help train the new fire dogs to be able to help us out when we need them,” He finished giving the crowd a big smile. He finally looked away from you as he rubbed his mustache.

-

The presentation was supposed to be and hour but it somehow felt like five minutes. Probably because you couldn’t look away from someone in particular. He was just so handsome. The way his back muscles tightened and arms bulged as he picked things up had you feeling butterflies in places you didn’t know were possible.

This was not like you to get so dumbstruck by a man. You should know better that attractive fireman should not be trusted. But damn was he good to look at.

Rafe was grateful that he had decided to sign up to volunteer for career day at the schools. He liked seeing how excited kids got at their job so he was doing it solely for that. He didn’t expect to lay eyes on the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. At first he thought the teachers were all going to be his mom’s age older, but nope. He had been very wrong.

As him and the guys went through their presentation he couldn’t help but glance over at her any chance he got.

Even the mom’s who arrived early to get a glimpse of them weren’t enough to distract him. Even after first setting his eyes on her he knew he was going to do everything in his power to talk to her.

-

The firefighters stayed until all the kids had been picked up so they didn’t get stuck in the after school traffic. Rafe was thankful they didn’t get a call either or else he would have missed his chance. He looked over to where you were waving goodbye to your last student of the day and saw his open window.

He pat Javier on the back leaving him to wind up the hose himself, “Be right back.”

He stood up with a furrowed brow, “Of course Cameron.” He muttered as he said the blonde stride over to the pretty teacher.

You were texting Martha as you began walking to your class to see if she was already at Winnies. She had gotten out earlier as all her students were picked up already. You didn’t notice the broad man that approached you.

“Hi, can I walk you back to your class?” You looked up slightly startled.

Were you hallucinating because of the heat? Why was this big tall handsome stranger talking to you? You looked around to see if he was talking to someone else.

“Me?” You pointed at yourself with a questioning look.

His smirk widened, “Yeah, it’s really dangerous out here to be walking alone.” He teased.

You laughed, “Right um yeah sure.”

“Lead the way,” He said as he put his hands in his pockets.

“Your guys presentation was really good, the kids loved it. I already know they’re not going to shut up about it next week,” You laughed brushing hair behind your ear. You felt like a teenager again with a crush.

He smiled, “Thanks. Hopefully inspired some future firefighters. I’ve been doing it for a couple years now, is this your first year teaching?”

You were surprised he even thought about that, “Yeah actually it is.”

“I knew I’d remember that face if I’d seen you before,” Rafe wasn’t one to hold back with his flirting. When he knew what he wanted he would do anything in his power to get it. His career choice definitely helps him out a bit.

You coughed a surprised laugh, “Oh I- uh this is me,” you stuttered out as you got to your classroom. You weren’t used to men being so forward. They usually danced around compliments like they wanted you to work for it before earning one.

He opened the door for you, “I’m Rafe by the way,” He held his big hand out for you to shake. He took your much smaller hand in his as you told him your name. The heat of having his attention never leaving your cheeks.

“Are you doing anything tonight? I’d love to see you outside of work,” He leaned against the door casually. As he folded his arms over his chest they looked even bigger. You’re surprised there’s no drool dripping down your chin.

“No uh well yes I am, I’m meeting my friend Martha. She was standing next to me during the assembly. We’re going to Winnie’s if you’d like to join. Or not it’s fine if you don’t and you changed your mind or something,” You cleared your throat as you finished rambling.

That smirk turning into a wide grin, “I’ll see you there. Maybe I’ll bring one of the guys with me.”

She nodded with a smile, “That’d be great, I’m sure Martha would appreciate that.”

“I’ll see you then,” He winked subtly and walked back out. That smug grin still on his face.

-

“You are the bestest friend I’ve ever had!” Martha exclaimed as you finished telling her about your conversation with the hot firefighter.

You laughed, “I didn’t even do anything, god he’s so hot I hope I don’t embarrass myself.” You looked back at the entrance to the bar to see if he was here yet.

“You won’t. He probably loves the whole cute young elementary teacher thing,” Marth said as she took a sip of her cocktail.

“I don’t wanna be that though. I want to be a hot sexy woman,” You sighed dramatically.

When you got to winnies you spent about 10 minutes in your car fixing your smudged makeup and messy hair. You really wished career day didn’t put you through the ringer. You even changed into a random top that was in the backseat because the tee shirt you were wearing wasn’t doing you justice.

It had been almost an hour and they still hadn’t shown up. You had begun to feel disappointed that maybe he was just all talk. Maybe he did that to every new teacher at the schools he went to. But to save yourself the self pity you thought maybe he got a call and had to work. That was the most reasonable explanation. At least that’s what you told yourself.

“They probably got busy. Saving lives or something,” Martha waved off as she finished her second drink. You were also currently on your second and your feet were feeling fuzzy so you were cutting yourself off. You’d probably end up going home after the buzz wore off.

You tried not to show how disappointment flowed through you, “Yeah probably. Guess it was too go-“ you cut yourself off as you saw the door open and a head of bleach blonde hair came through. Your eyes widened and look away quickly.

“Ohmygod he’s here,” you mumbled to Martha. He hasn’t seen you yet.

She smiled, “Is the friend hot?”

You looked over and that’s when you met his eye. Rafe was already looking at you. He smirked and began walking over with a guy to a similar build as him walked behind him.

“Yes and they’re coming,” You said quickly as you cleared your throat.

“Hello ladies,” Rafe smirked as he approached.

You smiled softly, “Hey,”

Rafe thought you were pretty before but now in this setting you looked unreal. He was so glad he signed up for career day.

“This is Josh,” He nodded towards the brunette next to him.

You smiled politely at him, “Hi Josh. I’m y/n and this is Martha,” You looked over at her, “Martha, Rafe.”

They greeted each other as the guys sat down. Having Rafe so close to you was making you a bit dizzy. The alcohol wasn’t helping that either.

“What are you drinking?” Rafe asked you nodding towards your drink.

“Oh I was having gin and pineapple juice but I think I’m done for the night,” You admitted sheepishly.

He smiled teasingly, “Well wish I could have made it earlier to actually have that drink with you.”

You thought about it for a minute, “I guess I could have one more with you. I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

“You sure about that? You’re okay with just straight tequila shots?”

Your eyes widened muttering, “Geez maybe you will be drinking alone.”

He laughed, “In that case I guess we’ll just have a beer?” He said more as a question wanting to make sure that was okay with you.

You pretended to think for a minute humming, “Hmmm fine with me. Except no IPA’s,” you said making a face

“Yes ma’am,” He nodded getting up from the high table.

Across from you Josh was getting Martha’s drink order and you could already tell he liked her. The way he leaned in as if he couldn’t hear her despite the bar not being loud yet. You looked over at the bar where Rafe stood waiting for a bartender. He looked so good leaning over the bar. The muscles of his back flexing under the navy shirt. You couldn’t be more grateful for career day.

-

Rafe was oh so screwed. He was liking this third grade teacher a little too much. He had never felt so attracted to someone. Not just physically. He loved how animated you were when you talked, always using your hands. The passion in your eyes when you spoke about your class was admirable.

It was a done deal that you weren’t going to just be a hook up. No way would Rafe think about letting you out of his grasp. You were so soft and sweet, he can already imagine just how sweet you taste.

He knew it wasn’t one sided either. He saw the way you watched him as he told childhood stories and how he became a firefighter. You didn’t look at him like some hero the way most women did but you looked at him like you were proud of him. It made this weird feeling in his chest bloom. But he loved that look in your eye.

Whatever dance you two had been playing the last hour was starting to wear him thin. He wanted to touch you. Not even in a sexual way but he wanted to tuck that piece of hair behind your ear or give your thigh a reassuring squeeze every time you thought you were rambling. Rafe wanted to hear you go on and on about everything.

Throughout the night your chairs had slowly started to scoot closer to each other. Then your arms started brushing each other. Even the small contact set his skin on fire. The need in his bones growing.

You would dare to move a muscle once your skin touched he was so warm and as you looked over his bicep was just beghing to be bitten. The alcohol was helping your brain wander to that place you only visited at night alone in your bed.

As was telling a story about his vacation in Italy your eyes couldn’t help but wander back over to those biceps that had you drooling when you first saw him. He had his arms crossed over the table. Muscles flexing as he picked up his beer bottle and took a sip. The way his neck moved as he swallowed had you clenching your thighs. You wondered what his skin would taste like. You also wanted to know what it’d feel like to be wrapped in those biceps as he held you up while pou-

“You good?” Rafe asked lowering his head to your gaze. A teasing smirk on his lips.

Your doe eyes looked up at him, “Uh huh.” Way to play it cool.

He chuckled, “What were you thinking about?” You hadn’t noticed that Martha and Josh had gotten up and walked over to the dart board across the bar. Now leaving the two of you alone. The bar had gotten more crowded now and

You shook your head fighting the heat creeping up your spine, “Nothing really.”

“Yeah?” He leaned in closer, “I bet we were thinking about the same thing.”

You swallowed hard trying to use as much of that liquid courage as possible, “Then tell me what you’re thinking and I’ll let you know if you’re right.”

He liked that playful look in your eye, “Well I was thinking about soft your thighs would feel on my cheeks.”

Your eyes widened. Maybe you really weren’t expecting him to be honest. But that truth had you fidget in your seat as that warm feeling in your stomach blossomed.

“I guess we were then,” You hum.

“Mhmm,” He leaned in to whisper in your ear, “And what should we do about that sweetheart?”

“I-I” And just like that you had lost your cool. This insanely attractive, funny, smart guy wanted to get into your pants. Hot guys with all those personality traits come once in a blue moon and you were fumbling.

He laughed raising a hand to your shoulder brushing your hair back. His fingertips grazing your exposed collarbone. The light touch making goosebumps rise on your skin. You wanted to lean into his touch but before you could he pulled away, “Let me take you out. Just you and me.”

“Really?” You were a bit dumbfounded. It’s not like you thought he was going to be a bad guy but a part of you had prepared for a one time hook up kind of guy. Which you didn’t mind at first because well it had been almost a year since anyone has met your needs. You weren’t going to turn down sex with a hot firefighter so you’re definitely not turning down a date with one. But you couldn’t help but be curious as to why.

He nodded, “Of course. You’re beautiful, sweet, funny, smart, passionate. I really could go on but I’ll save that for our date.”

You huffed out an amused laugh, “Okay yeah I’d love to go on a date. Assuming this doesn’t count?”

He shook his head with a frown, “I’d never do this for a first date, especially not for someone like you. I’ll treat you right y/n don’t you worry.”

That heat was back again, “You say this to all the women you meet at on career day?”

He smirked, “Just the ones I can’t stop thinking about. Which has only happened with you.”

His reassurances ignited something in you. The feeling of being wanted was something you hadn’t felt in a while and you really liked it. You really liked who was making you feel wanted.

“So how would you treat me Rafe?”

God. He loved the sound of his name coming out of your mouth. He wanted to hear you say it in so many scenarios. Specifically ones where you’re naked.

His knee bumped hers under the table, “I���ll pick you up tomorrow at six and show you exactly what I’d do.”

[oleworm]

“But this is not that king, nor is this his song.”

Aegon, inspired by this portrait of Stephen of Blois. Drawing by my friend. They also wrote some meta about it, under the cut. The quote is from The Green Knight (2021).

“His name should be “the Unfortunate.” Or, perhaps, “the Unready.”

In his behaviours, crimes and heroics, he feels like a quintessential local king. I have too little care for the ethics of feudalism to pretend that one bleached flea is more moral than another, I am not going to justify this fictional fool or any of his fellow ticks on the bodies of kingdoms.

I like his story though. The way he viciously rejects his heritage and embraces it at the same time, more Andal than Valyrian who still holds the strongest bond with the physical manifestation of Valyrian ideas, something that both upholds and discredits their predatory traditions. A king doomed by others to become a king, the one who doesn’t want to rule but grows into it to the point of giving his all. He’s ready to fight and burn among his people when they show him loyalty but turns cruel and unstable when they defy him. His future is bleak, his past is disgusting. Remember those lines in The Green Knight film? “Is this all there is?” - “What else ought there to be?” He’s not Gawain, of course. Please give me Plato’s number, I’m going to telephone him to hear his hot take on this shit.

But I find a pleasant fatalism in that he’s not only chosen by his family to play a role of a contender, those who then wash their hands of it, but also in how his story comes from a faux chronicle of events long gone, done and decided, a story that might be tweaked here and there, but will not be rewritten. It’s almost like he is aware in a fun way that he is long doomed—and tries to flee unsuccessfully, cowardly, violently even, only to be brought back into the cycle that must continue like the chains on his neck. They imply Rhaenyra is one of the prophecies, but him fleeing his destiny and fitting it so well resembles one of the many doomed kings from the old tales, the crowned blaze in the shape of a man doomed to face his grim fate no matter how far he has gone to escape it. But he is not that king. His song seems of a different breed. The unwilling and unworthy man cursed with the scourge of greatness. I think he should die in a public mass cannibalism incident.”

[acapelladitty]

Whole Day Off: The Mistake

Pairing: Scarecrow/Reader (6.1k words)

Summary: Sharing a basement with Jonathan Crane proves to be every inch the nightmare it could be as an error on his part results in him being left victim to his own fear toxin while you are left to pick up the pieces of his mistake.

Fic Masterlist /// Link to AO3

Whole Day Off Masterlist

“And what about Harley Quinn? She seems nice. I mean- outside of all the obvious crime stuff.”

“Harleen has the potential to do great things but allows herself to be misled as she rapidly falls into co-dependency with her romantic interests. She would do well to develop her own skills and attempt to forge her own path but it seems unlikely.”

“Well, yeah, but is she nice?”

Visibly rolling his eyes to the ceiling, Crane nods. His knees are tucked smoothly under his desk, spine curled into its usual shrimp-like positioning as he hunches over the chemicals which are slowly being mixed by his expert hand.

“Yes, I suppose she has a certain charm to her when she’s not running her mouth.”

Delighted by the confirmation, you roll onto your side as you sink further into the semi-comfortable fabric of his couch. As naked as a babe, the chill of the room feels wonderful against your skin and you shift your thighs as you disturb the pleasant ache there.

You couldn’t quite recall who had been responsible for initiating but it didn’t really matter as you had quickly found yourself wrapped around his cock as you perched your ass off the edge of his workstation. He hadn’t even bothered to undress, simply releasing his cock from his slacks as he gripped at your hips with thin, insistent fingers. It had been messy and sloppy and ridiculously fucking hot as your hand brushed various papers aside in their fight to gain some purchase against the wood.

Crane had been just as enthusiastic, finishing surprisingly quickly and taking a moment to use his fingers to bring about your own release while he enjoyed his own comedown. Minus your usual toys and games, your body feel relatively peaceful after you had both finished – with the only exception being a deliciously aching, red mark which Crane had sucked into the heft of your left breast, just above the nipple.

A quick shower had washed away the mess left between your legs, your combined release swirling down the drain as you grimaced at some of the mould which you could see developing in the corners of the barely maintained bathroom. A mental note to maybe pick up some bleach before your next visit was neatly filed away for future consideration and leaving the bathroom had resulted in your naked frame dropping to the couch as you allowed your body to finish drying naturally.

To his credit, Crane has taken your willing nakedness with little more than a raised eyebrow as he glanced back at you from his workstation – the papers neatly rearranged as he fell back into his work routine with a casualness that suggested he hadn’t just fucked someone in that same space not ten minutes earlier. He had already taken a moment to explain that he was developing a new and experimental strain of toxin and that his attention would be mostly pulled towards that for the remainder of the evening.

But that couldn’t stop you from asking questions.

When his attention was split in such a manner, you had long since found it easier to get certain types of information from Crane as his mind chose to focus on his actions rather than his speech. Mostly you liked to ask about trivial matters, such as his opinion on various topics and his thoughts on his fellow costumed villains.

“Is Harley the nicest one? Like, if you had to choose.”

“Probably.” Crane confirmed, adding a few clear droplets of liquid to the beaker in his left hand. “Her danger lies in how loose her lips are when it comes to sharing information with others, mostly her clownish paramour.”

Sensing a slight tension in his tone, you follow up with a curiosity that makes your head tilt further towards him. A shark smelling the blood of fresh gossip.

“Are you and the Joker friendly?”

At that, Crane fully pauses his work and spins in his chair to face you fully.

“Joker is friends with no one as the concept is beyond him. He acts as more of a useful tool or a roadblock depending on his ever-changing mood. I do not enjoy spending time in his presence as his unpredictability is contemptuous.”

Falling into a comfortable silence, you know what you want to ask but uncertainty over how to do so respectfully makes you hesitate for a moment.

“Not to mention that he once almost beat me to death with a wooden chair.”

You ignore that, having learned that follow-up questions rarely led to any further information.

“The Joker, does he, like, can you- the toxin?”

You wince at how disjointed the question sounds but Crane doesn’t seem to mind as much as he shakes his head and spins back to his desk.

“If my toxin afflicts him then he shows no outward sign as such.”

Interesting.

“Then who’s the worst? Of all the costumed villains, which one is the most dangerous because the news stations and papers can never seem to agree. Lots of them say Joker but, y’know, you know them better than they do.”

Swirling two identical beakers between his fingers, Crane appears to consider the question for a moment as he pushes his wire-rimmed glasses back up his nose.

“Lazlo Valentin is a particularly disturbed individual. Most of my colleagues – Nygma, Dent, Ivy, etc – do not have a tendency to play with their food for long, mostly preferring to kill and move on with their plans. However, what Valentin does with his victims is cruel. Full body modifications with a complete removal of all mental individuality, a living puppet with no will and no purpose. A walking corpse with no joy, anger, or fear.”

Crane sniffed distastefully before continuing.

“A fate worse than death. Even those enthralled by Ivy quickly succumb to her toxins or are saved from them, but those dolls of Valentin’s are unsalvageable.”

You shudder at the thought, flexing your fingers against your hips. Professor Pyg always looked quite frightening in the arrest photos which littered the tabloids as his crazed eyes - always dilated and wild - shone from that horrible pig mask he donned as his blood-soaked heft was bundled into a police van.

“A couple of the girls I used to work with always thought the Riddler was handsome.” Forcing a slight tease into your tone, you slip your arm under your neck to prop your head up. “They liked his suits, I think. And they said he was cute.”

The derisive snort was all the response you needed as Crane refuted the very idea.

“I believe your friends would benefit from severe psychological interventions.” He offered dryly.

Laughing at that, you shift enough to stretch; raising your hands overhead until a satisfying pop sounds somewhere in your shoulders.

Glancing over, you just manage to catch Crane watching you from the corner of his eye.

“Easily distracted, Dr. Crane?” You ask, rolling back into your original position.

He chooses to disregard the tease – his attention focusing back on his toxin as his shoulders drop into a more relaxed position. The quiet is comfortable and you take the opportunity to plan out the remainer of your week, from work goals to nightly dinners. Your apartment had been left in some state. The constant fluctuation between your time there, at work, and your ongoing meetings with Crane had left little time for some much-needed deep cleaning and if you were going to be picking up bleach for this nasty basement then it seemed outrageous to not get your own shit in order.

A crash of something which sounds like smashing glass brings your attention back to Crane and your whole body flinches in place as it is immediately followed by a sharp bellowing noise as Crane throws himself back from his chair to stand with an almost inhumane speed.

“Hey! What’s wron-”

In lieu of an answer, Crane dashes towards you and the sudden movement causes a full-bodied recoil as you push yourself further into the couch. Your obvious fear makes no difference to him and you gasp as his hands wrap around your shoulders and pull you harshly to your feet. Something wet touches at your shoulder and you glance down to see a streak of red painting your skin.

Fresh blood.

His blood.

The wound on his wrist, sharp and clean and an obvious result of the glass which had smashed, doesn’t look too deep and your attention snaps back to his face as you go to ask if he needs help fixing it up.

However, your words die in your throat once more as you take in his expression and the genuine anger and urgency which lies within it.

“I’ve made a mistake. The toxin in that smashed beaker has laced the fresh cut. You have only a few minutes to leave before I succumb to its influence.” Grunting as he rolls his shoulders, Crane’s hands slip to your jaw and tense to hold your head in place roughly. “The dose is nowhere near fatal but the experimental elements will increase aggression until the fear takes full root. I would rather you weren’t the subject of my violence. Leave. Now.”

Listening to his explanation with a thudding heart, the coppery scent of his blood makes you feel almost nauseous as you panic in kind.

“I can’t leave- not like,” you gesture to your naked frame with wide eyes, “I can’t make it out like this. My stuff. My keys.”

“This strain blurs the line of fight and flight. If you do not leave my sight then there is a very real chance that you will be severely hurt, little mouse. A fact neither one of us will be particularly enthused about. You are not built to endure the violence this toxin will force upon you.”

Growling the words, Crane’s head darts around the basement as he rapidly seeks a solution – his hands growing tighter on your face until you have to whimper and pull away due to the discomfort.

“My chair.” He hisses out from between clenched teeth as he visibly forces himself to walk towards the dental chair. “Restrain me in my own chair and we will both be kept safe from harm. I have no idea if this strain with cause violence towards the self so this will work well.” The last sentence is spoken with more of an inward inflection as his brilliant mind works in quick overdrive.

You follow him with shaking limbs, adrenaline thrashing through your veins as you watch him drop into the dental chair – his shirt, slacks, and lab coat making his positioning uncomfortable. He takes a moment to strap his own legs in, his teeth biting at his lower lip as he powers through whatever the hell the toxin was beginning to wreak on his trembling frame. Unable to do much more than agree to his demands, you wait until he’s lying back to pull the thick strap over his chest and secure it before doing the same with the wrist restraints.

“If,” Crane grunts, struggling to speak coherently, “if it looks like my vitals are dropping too low then there is a syringe with adrenaline within the drawers. It may help.”

“Jonathan” your body moving on auto-pilot due to the panic and stress which is thumping within your head, “what do I do? You need to tell me what to do. What if-”

“I value you for more than just your body, witty girl. React to the situation as appropriate and do what seems right. But I would like you to leave me, I’d rather not be subject to your observations.”

The strain of his voice and body is palpable, every word taking an obvious effort as he tested his strength against the restraints which held him in place. His hair, the various strands already mussed from your earlier fuck, is pushed back from his face and you take a moment to press your fingers to his jaw in unspoken support as you take his advice to heart and beat a hasty retreat.

Still nude, you do as instructed and let instinct guide you.

Having left him to his heavy breathing, you immediately dart to the stairs and take them two at a time as you twist and lock the latches to the basement door – ensuring that no fresh company can make itself known. In doing so, you are also wilfully locking yourself down here too and that fact doesn’t slip by your thoughts while you dip your hand into your handbag and pull free the bottle of water that you had stashed in there before leaving your apartment.

Taking a gulp of the water, the warmth of the liquid is vaguely repulsive and you swallow it down with a grimace as you quickly throw on your abandoned panties and shirt - not bothering to button the fabric up properly as you attempted to give yourself at least some decency given the turn of events.

Peeking around the corner of the room as a sudden howl of anger makes you jerk in place; you take in Crane’s appearance with a soft inhale.

It's hard to see him like this.

His composure, so typically set in stone and utterly unshakeable, has been stripped away by his own mistake and the sheer scale of the emotion on display makes you feel as though you were bearing witness to something profane.

Something wrong.

Snarling like a wounded animal, Crane pulls at the thick restraints which hold him in place without care. The dental chair creaking dangerously, it does seem capable of holding him back but the knowledge does nothing to bring you any peace as you circle behind him silently.

"I'll kill you!" Crane snarls, his voice high and strained as he screams at nothing. "I'll kill- I'll rip you apart - you fucking bitch!"

Taken aback by the sheer hatred in his voice, your chest shudders as you clutch at your shirt.

"I did it once and I'll do it again…dig you even deeper…show you how little Johnny died well before you did."

It was impossible to not listen, to not steal the little titbits of information which his heightened state was allowing to slip free, and you stow his words away for later consideration.

I did it once and I’ll do it again.

Someone he had killed in the past? Maybe his first kill? Given the amount of hatred in his voice, it must have been a woman who seriously wronged him. Hell, maybe even his mother. Or a sister.

It’s new information but information which leaves you with more questions than it answers and you continue to stare at him as his rage-filled expression refuses to leave the ceiling – whatever demons existed in that space tormenting him more than your quiet presence ever could.

Eventually, after the seconds had long grown into minutes, the fight seems to leave him and his body goes limp against the chair. Panic swelling in your chest, you slowly approach him to check his vitals.

His chest is moving rapidly, heavy breaths making you relax slightly as you hope that exhaustion will make his experience a little easier. He had said something about aggression being the altered factor in the compound but it was still his fear toxin so a sinking feeling told you that the worst was still to come.

Crimson drips from the restraint which circles his right wrist and the sight of it makes you wince as you recall his earlier injury and how it has still not been treated. Given his relaxed stance, you touch around the skin gently, unable to see the extent of the damage hidden below.

Glancing uncertainly at his lined face, your fingers work quickly to loosen the restraint, unlatching it enough to free his hand as you turn his palm up to see the damage.

As though hit by an unseen electric force, life springs back into him in an instant and you scream in fright - not expecting his sudden movements to spark up again. In a flash, his hand flips the script to wrap around your own and his fingers wrench your pinky back with so much force that you feel the bone creak like an old floorboard before it slips out of place with a jerk. Roaring in pain as a white-hot agony spreads from your damaged finger, you lean down in a frantic effort to use your good hand to pull him off.

Again, it proves to be a mistake as his animalistic growling grows somehow more feral as he drops your hand and instead lashes out with his clawed fingers. He's lightning quick and you feel his sharpened nails digging into the sensitive skin of your throat before you can even register just how much you had messed up. The toxin having stripped him of his sensibilities, his face twisted into something awful and he bares his teeth like a beast as he claws into your neck.

"Jonathan, stop!" You choke out, scratching at his hand with your own fingers as you attempt to pull yourself free. It makes no difference to him, the words not registering in his mind, and the tears in your eyes are quick to blur your vision as you choke and panic. "Dr. Crane!"

Digging your thumb as harshly into his wrist wound as possible, he hisses as he releases you and you can't even take a moment to gather your breath as you throw your entire weight into forcing his hand back into the restraint you had foolishly allowed him free of. It takes a moment, despite his best efforts, and his anger only seems to increase as he finds himself trapped again - his unseeing eyes focusing back on the ceiling and whatever demons are tormenting him.

You run from him, leaving the dentist’s chair to instead get closer to his workstation. Hands shaking so terribly that you can barely open the drawers of his desk, you bring your thumb to your eyes as you wipe away the pained tears that refuse to stop flowing. Your pinky is sitting at an odd angle, the digit throbbing with pain with every slight movement, and your neck feels savaged and wet as small droplets of blood sit on the skin where his nails have dug deeply enough.

Pulling free some alcohol wipes, you tear them open with your teeth and rub them across your neck to clean the small wounds. It stings like hell and a sobbing inhale is all you can manage as you fix yourself up as best you can. The finger will require a doctor but you suspect that it is only dislocated and not truly broken.

Again, he had hurt you.

And again, you were staying to see the events through.

A small voice, one born of fairness given the circumstances, whispers that he wasn’t in his right mind and that he didn’t mean to hurt you in that moment. But with it came a voice of equal measure, one which echoes past events that were better left unspoken.

He didn’t mean it.

He never did and yet…

Shaking your head to knock the thoughts free, you refocus on the task at hand as you gently touch at your pinky with a soft wince.

“Do you want to hit me, Dr. Crane?”

“Right now? Yes.”

“Then why don’t you?”

“I don’t know. If it were anyone else-”

You had seen it then, the desire to hurt, to lash out and make himself feel better but he had stayed his hand despite your own attempts to push him into violence.

“I’m sorry.”

Startling at the sudden cry, you almost drop the alcohol wipe which is still clenched between your fingers. Where anger had laced his tones, the voice which now carried across the basement couldn’t have been more different as it contains an anxious desperation. Something entirely foreign to what you know of him. It does make you curious though and your feet move softly against the floor as you creep back around the other side of the basement and glance around the thin curtain which separates that area from the rest of the space.

His eyes are closed, the wire-rimmed glasses haven fallen from his face to lay across his chest, but you can see his eyes moving rapidly beneath the shut lids as they dart around, unseeing. The lines of his face are more pronounced than ever as his features twist with every whimpered word – forehead creasing and lips wrapping around the soft words which spill free.

"I'm sorry, great granny. Don't-don't send me to the church. Not the birds! Please."

A memory rose, unbidden in your mind, as you recall your hands rolling across the expansive skin of his back and the scarring which lay there. Some of the marks were white with age, small and scattered across his shoulders and upper back, and his words gave them a history that made your chest ache.

Despite the many documentaries and conspiracies which cropped up about many of Gotham's finest criminals, their choices and crimes making them a prime piece of media fodder, the details of many rogues were shaky at best when it came to their histories prior to their criminality.

Exceptions like Dent, whose rise and fall had been documented in the public eye for all to see, were rare and a lot of the mystery surrounding the various costumed villains who terrorised Gotham made them almost like folklore curiosities.

I did it once and I’ll do it again.

Had Jonathan killed his great granny?

He howls and your neck jerks, igniting discomfort in the fresh claw marks, as you approach him slowly. His eyes are still snapped shut, mouth twisted in distress as his head thrashes from side to side – each movement making his shock of hair grow steadily more unkempt and messy. A thick sheen of sweat coats his skin and you pull the cuff of your shift over your fingers as you attempt to wipe away the worst of it.

At the soft touch, Crane startles as though burned and his eyes are wild as they meet your own – the absence of clarity sending a thrill of anxiety through your chest. His lips move but no words can escape, only a stilted whimper which slips free as his head flinches away from your touch.

“Shh, Jonathan.” Shushing him with the softest possible voice you can muster, you allow your shirt to pull back to your wrist as you card your fingers through his damp hair. The restraints are holding as strong as ever and since his aggression has passed, you feel safe in trying to offer him even a little comfort. “There’s no one here but me and you.”

The worst of the toxin seeming to have passed, you grow bolder in your movements as you slip your free hand across his cheek – feeling the bones there pressing into your skin as you soothe him.

Something heavy curls in your stomach, not quite pity, but a sympathy which lies alongside the anxiety and discomfort that pounds within your head.

“Go to sleep and I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Surprisingly, the gentle words appear to work as whatever strength is keeping him alert seeps from him in a long exhale and his eyes stutter closed. His breathing still erratic as hell, you continue to stroke along his hair until you are convinced that he has passed out.

Once certain, you pull away and retire back to the couch; body slamming against the fabric with an exhausted sigh as you settle in to wait for him to wake up.

x-x-x-x-x

Two hours pass in a blink and the first sign of life from Crane is a hoarse coughing fit which makes your fingers flinch as they thumb through one of the many psychiatric journals which litter the basement. Now empty, the plastic bottle of water which you had been slowly sipping from lies by your side and you accidentally knock it to the floor as you jump from the couch as though electrocuted.

Padding your feet across the basement floor, you can see he is awake as you come closer but you pause at his side to allow him to make the first move. Tension sits heavy in the air, awkwardness and stress hanging between you like a weight.

Crane is a mess.

He looks awful and you can’t help the grimace which stretches your lips as you approach him with all the caution of a handler approaching a wounded lion.

“Are you okay?”

A basic ask and one that is met with emptiness as Crane flexes his hands.

“Let me out.”

Nodding quickly and ignoring the sharpness of his tone as it pierces your chest, your fingers move swiftly as they work through the various restraints which hold him in place. Starting with the ankle restraints, they all remove easily enough until you reach the strap which holds his injured wrist in place. The leather is stained with his blood, the wound having stopped bleeding at some point, and you shudder as you gently pull his wrist free – not wishing to do any more damage than what is already there.

No longer held in place, Crane’s body moves shakily as he pushes himself free of the chair. His expression is queasy and it doesn’t surprise you too much when his first port of call is to make a stilted dash for the nearby bathroom, his long legs visibly trembling with the effort of carrying his struggling body. After a moment, you hear the sound of retching and grimace at how viscerally it echoes across the virtually silent basement.

Uncertainty roils in your heart, a desire to follow and make sure he was okay battling it out with a vague understanding that any attempt to help him at this fragile moment would result in backlash. As such, you remain in place, carefully keeping your dislocated pinky free of the arm of the chair to limit the damage.

Eventually Crane reappears and you can see that he has take the time to make himself presentable. His clothing is neatly fixed into their familiar positions, shirt and pants smoothed out as the lab coat circles his thin frame like a blanket. The wire-rimmed glasses are perched back on his nose, pushed as close to his eyes as possible, and you can tell from the slight sheen of his skin that he has splashed water on his face.

But it does little to hide how obviously worn out he is.

“It would be better if you left. Now.” Crane states, the words coming out as plainly as though he were commenting on the outside weather.

“What?” Not quite sure you had heard him correctly; you give him the chance to repeat.

Despite the casualness of his words, you can see the irritation spark as his instructions go unheeded and he’s forced to make his point once more.

“Your services are not required. So, leave me.”

Stepping away from the dental chair with a swift motion, you don’t bother to hide the genuine confusion you feel as you watch him approach you with a tactical hesitation. “After all- after all that? That’s it? Just leave?”

You can see his struggle, the forced nonchalance barely holding in place as his fingers shake and his lips set into a harsh line as he stops before you – deliberately straightening to his full height to ensure that he towers over your shorter frame. He was angry for sure, but below the anger you could see the shame which really guided his words; the loss of control which always makes him dangerously volatile.

“Whatever you saw, whatever you heard, is meaningless. So, leave me to my work and I will decide when I want to see you next.”

Fire igniting in your soul at the thought of being dismissed like a child, you stand your ground as your partially opened shirt flutters around your thighs.

“No. Absolutely not! Not after all the shit I just had to go through for you.” Tilting your chin up at him with open defiance, you are too annoyed to really take in the anger which sits on his features. “I didn’t wait all this time to be kicked out lik-”

“I said, LEAVE!” Crane hollers, his voice raising heavily on the final word as he lashes out with a careless hand to push you away from him. Unfortunately, since you weren’t expecting the physical touch, his hand catches you off-guard and you trip over your own feet, falling backwards on your ass as your hands splay out to prevent your body from falling any further.

A bolt of pain, sharp and intense, lances across your injured hand as your pinky connects with the floor and you can’t hold back the howl of pain which rips free of your lips as you quickly pull your wrists forward to cradle your hands to your chest. Facing both the stress of the last few hours and the agony of your hand, there’s no fighting the tears which immediately begin to fall from your eyes and your sobs quickly grow stuttered and messy as you sit there like a pathetic beast, content to wallow in adrenaline-fuelled misery.

Not expecting you to fall, nor the intense reaction which followed, Crane pauses long enough to look down at you – truly look down at you – and even through the hail of tears you can see the genuine regret which passes across his pinched face.

“What happened to your hand?” Crane asks, his hands dropping to loop around your shoulders as he pulls you to your feet once more with a surprising gentleness. His voice is tight, resigned to the answer which he knows is coming.

“You.” Rubbing at your eyes with your good wrist, you can’t hold the truth from him. “When you were on the chair. It lo-looked like you were passing out and I wanted to check the bleeding in your- in your wrist.”

“Let me see.”

His voice softer than it has been in quite some time, you can’t help the flinch of your arm as he takes your other wrist in his hand – examining the damaged pinky with an unreadable expression.

“Hmm, no break. Possible fracture but most likely dislocated.” He mutters to himself, diagnosing the injury with a clinical precision before speaking more clearly as he held your watery eyes with his own. “I will need to reset the bone.”

Nodding even as your lips stutter out a thinly held sob, you know it’s going to hurt like hell and you try to brace for the discomfort as much as possible.

“This won’t be pleasant and I apologise for it. I would never intend to-” Crane cut himself off, perhaps sensing that his words were meaningless in the moment. “But I will fix it and give you some painkillers to manage the discomfort. Follow me.”

He guides you to his work bench and you move on autopilot, allowing him to open a bottle of unknown pills and drop two into your good hand; an offering which you take without hesitation as you swallow the pills dry, ignoring the horribly acrid taste they leave where they press against your tongue. As you do, Crane takes the opportunity to spread your injured hand out on the edge of the wooden table – ignoring the spilled mess which still litters the floor.

“I will need to relocate the bone. Might I suggest that you bite down on your shirt because it won’t be a particularly enjoyable experience.”

Following his advice, you bite down on the cuff of your shirt from your free hand. The fabric tastes of nothing and you choose to focus on the texture as you refuse to look at your injured hand while Crane gently locks his hand around the dislocated pinky, ready to fix his errant mistake.

Without warning or additional comforts, he wrenches the pinky forward before setting it back into place in one swift motion.

The hot pain which explodes from the area has you stamping your feet against the floor as you bite down harshly on the shirt in your mouth. But Crane is as efficient as ever and the intensity of the pain dies as quickly as it started and the dull, aching throb which follows is much more manageable as your bleary eyes attempt to flex the digit – a choice which sparks fresh pain but also a smidge of relief as the pinky twitches at your command.

Giving you a moment to compose yourself as the painkillers still need time to truly kick in, Crane’s attention is snatched up by your throat as you roll your head with a loud exhale to centre your thoughts.

“The marks on your neck?”

A nod.

His jaw flexes and you can feel the disappointment rolling from him in waves as his thin fingers extend in an unspoken question as they hover in the space before your neck. You accept his touch with a slight incline, allowing him to ghost his fingers over the fresh scratches which are no longer bleeding as your throat constricts beneath his digits.

He doesn’t need to ask, already knowing the answer, so he instead takes a step back from you – allowing you some space from him in a vague show of apology. Taking in his appearance, from the tightly pinched expression which has lost all of the earlier irritation which his shame had sparked, to the miniscule tremble which sits in his limbs as he forces himself to still as much as possible, you can feel how tired he is.

How tired you both are.

“You’re exhausted.”

“I-” He begins his retort but it dies in his throat, unable to deny the accusation. His gaze is dull, lacking its usual intensity, and something within it melts the anger which is swirling within your own thoughts.

Reaching out with your good hand, you grasp his hand within your own as you silently lead him over to the couch. Surprisingly, he allows it and you use that to your advantage as you gently push him down to sit on the old fabric.

“I’ll leave when I see you lying down.” You mutter, willing to meet him halfway. “You can’t work like this and it’s only going to result in another accident.”

“You’re right.”

Twisting on the couch, his long frame fills the space in an instant as his legs shift to hang over the arm. His agreement was unexpected and it brings a soft smile to the edge of your lips as you turn and your hands drop to close around your handbag, quickly rifling through it to check that you had everything you needed. Happy to uphold your end of the bargain and leave, you only pause when his voice catches you unawares – the weariness in his tone undeniable.

“You can stay.”

Not willing to pass on the opportunity, you nod at the offer.

You turn back to stand before the couch, looking down at him with a calm expectancy and he grunts as he pulls his upper body up, giving you enough space to slide into the space he had just vacated. Taking the offered seat, you recline comfortably and allow him to lie back once more – his head dropping into your lap with a muffled thud.

“I know you don’t want to talk,” you begin quietly, “and I’m not going to pretend that I didn’t see or hear anything.” At the words he stiffens against your thighs, but you press on regardless. “But I’m not going to ask and I’m okay with staying here until you’ve slept.”

Tracing nonsensical shapes along his hairline with your right hand as you attempt to soothe out the deep lines of his forehead, you inhale softly as his hand loops around your left wrist. Two firm fingers press against your pulse point, feeling the steady beat which thurms there, and the sensation seems to bring some peace to him as he relaxes further into your touch – exhaustion having robbed him of much of his typical stoicism and defensiveness.

“Would you like me to sing something?” You offer, thinking of the small beat-up old radio which sits at the furthest end of his work desk, a testament to his subtle enjoyment of music.

“Please,” he mutters in response, the words barely slipping free of his tight lips as his eyes drift closed, “my day has already been ruined and I think that tone deafness you indulge in may push me over the edge, witty girl.”

Not expecting the teasing insult, it nets him a soft chuckle as you pull at the hair which sits atop the crown of his head with a gentle tug and respond in kind with a similar mutter.

“Bastard.”

[rosaline-black]

i saw u we’re looking aaron blurb requests!!!

reader who has regular or somewhat regular nose bleeds, and aaron who learns how to treat them or even knows when they’re about to come on. basing this of my personal experience with a friend who somehow knows when i’m going to have a nosebleed before i do 😂

A napkin is being shoved up your nostril before you’ve even managed to finish your sentence about cult leaders and their usual childhoods. Not by you though, the familiar cologne isn’t lost on you.

“They usually grow up without any control, absent or abusive father, showing traits of skittishness oh-“

Broad knuckles come into view and the first noise that graces your ears (other than the resigned panting from your lover) is a range of reacting laughter.

“Hah! Bossman wiping your nose for you?”

Before you can even quip back at Morgan’s smug retort Hotch has beaten you to it.

“No Bossman is stopping blood from pouring down a fellow agents white blouse…”

Hotch creeps closer his lips inches from the shell of your ear, damn him and his minty breath “the blood isn’t letting up honey you should follow me next door”

The pair of you do a sort of awkward side shuffle. Pairs upon pairs of beady eyes follow along, if the local police didn’t take you seriously before they certainly won’t now. Your dale cooper lookalike, the definition of authority now being reduced to a human blood mop.

With your eyes squeezed shut Hotch closes the door behind the pair of you, leaving you alone in one of the stations storage closets. Talking is tricky but you attempt to shoo away the attention he’s paying you, as fond as it makes you feel “Aar-Agent hotchner really I’m quite alright…”

“We’re alone you know… formalities don’t apply..”

God if the team could see how whipped he had become. Even at your grossest, the remnants of a nose bleed tickling your lips and a your hair tousled messily but not in the hot 90s rom com way, he still looks at you like you hung the stars.

“I’m trying to remain professional, you might as-well have picked me up bridal style and carried me through the station…”

The devilish smirk that curls upon his face is sickeningly handsome, and the expression of pure warmth that you’re emitting isn’t helping Mr g-man feel any less confident.

“Thanks for giving me a step to add to my plan next time this happens” There is only fondness in your eye roll.

If it wasn’t for Rossi’s incessant knocking and murmured groans along the lines of “stop your canoodling we have a cult to bust”, the two of you would have stayed there in the bleach scented storage cupboard for the rest of time, just staring at each other.

“You sure you’re alright?” Ever the worrier your Hotch. Even though you both know these nosebleeds are a regular occurrence and after many a doctor’s appointment (scheduled by Aaron) it has been down to sensitives to climates, you still indulge his query. Anything to smooth the crease between his brow.

“Yes… I’m perfectly fine…” a hand squeeze, and a dip of his neck, you’re about to kiss-

“CULT. BUST. COME ON LOVERS”

Rossi the ultimate cockblock.

[littlemisshyperfixation]

Hoshi Fic Recommendations

a - angst f - fluff s - smut

One Shots

What? Like It's Hard? (f a) by @starsstuddedsky ✩♬ ₊˚. With the help of a little bit of bleach, Soonyoung is certified legally blonde–complete to last minute-dedication to scoring as high as Elle Woods on the LSAT. While he has no interest in law school, he’s notorious for never turning down a dare. So how does a frat bro in serious danger of failing his senior year get a 179? He asks the smartest person he knows. 

The thing about love (a f) by @gyuswhore ✩♬ ₊˚. The slap you sent across Kwon Soonyoung’s face sent a reverberating sound across the dance studio. He looks up, eyes bloodshot and swimming with fury. There’s a hint of a smile on his face for some reason, which you realize may be out of disbelief. You don’t register anything else other than the rage that accelerates down your own veins. There’s a part of you that wants to do it again when he utters his next words.

“That was a bad fucking idea”

driving lessons for dummies (f s) by @shuaflix ✩♬ ₊˚. ❝ i can't parallel park, but i know all the lyrics to 'driver's license' by olivia rodrigo now. ❞

Main Thing (s) by @hannieehaee ✩♬ ₊˚. after years of insistence from soonyoung, he finally convinces resident social butterfly seungkwan to introduce him to his unrequited crush; a fellow idol at hybe who he has not been able to take his eyes off since moving to the company.

high-rise (s) by @sluttywonwoo ✩♬ ₊˚. walking around your apartment naked has never been a problem, since you live in a high-rise and no one can see in, at least that’s what you thought…

vowels and veracity (f s) by @hansolmates ✩♬ ₊˚. after a blind date that makes you feel like a giddy teenager all over again, you’re forced to grow up and take a chance when you realize that special someone is your daughter’s kindergarten teacher.

Bluff and Nonsense (a) by @thepixelelf ✩♬ ₊˚. “Soonyoung? Yeah I know him, you should too. He’s on the uni’s dance crew, and ever since he joined them, their popularity’s skyrocketed. I’ve met him a few times, great guy — got a tendency to run his mouth but hey, no one’s perfect. He’s smart anyways, probably knows how to deal with the consequences, right?”

sweatshirt season (s f) by @eoieopda ✩♬ ₊˚. your fuck buddy is good at a lot of things. taking hints isn’t one of them.

warm (s) by @cheolism ✩♬ ₊˚. you are so warm beneath the blankets and, like a moth drawn to a flame, soonyoung was helpless to resist your body.

charity f*ck (s) by @ncteez ✩♬ ₊˚. Have you ever taken anyone’s virginity before? Well, yeah, your first time was both losing your own and taking someone else’s but, that was a long time ago. Have you ever taken the virginity of a twenty-six-year-old man who probably should have gotten laid by now anyway? Nope. Are you about to? Yep.

crazy stupid love (s f) by @toruro ✩♬ ₊˚. your best friend, turned fuck buddy, seems a little too upset about your latest instagram post ...

good influence (s) by @cheolism ✩♬ ₊˚. slowly soonyoung begins to influence you into making some questionable decisions

Delicate (f) by @idyllic-ghost ✩♬ ₊˚. You've been friends since he could remember, and since that summer night last year it's been different - you can both feel it. So why is it so hard to just say it?

worth it (f) by @fallinnflower

best friend hoshi (s) by @97-liners

7PM (s) (ft. seokmin and seungkwan) by @onlymingyus

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Video Games Part 11

Alien: So what is this one about? Human: Vampires in the wild west. Alien: Sounds interesting. Human: You’d think so, but when the main characters are as animated as the undead monsters they fight it’s pretty hard to take them seriously. Alien: From your own admission they are fighting vampire cowboys…..how serious were you expecting it to be? Human: ……. Touché. ---------------------

Alien: What is “The Quarry”? Human: Murder porn and sadness. Alien: ……………… ------------------------

Alien: “Boltgun”? Human: A man too angry to die because of what a sassy bitch he is. Alien: How does being sassy make you avoid death? Human: Because even death is afraid of being mocked so hard. ---------------------

Alien: Why would anyone want to play an aquatic predator? Human: You ever just look at someone and wonder what they’d taste like? Alien: I believe that is called cannibalism. Human: Not unless you’re a giant fish. ---------------------

Alien: Why does the tiny creature have a machine gun? Human: To stop you from eating it. Alien: Most effective. ---------------------

Alien: I heard this one is a popular game. Human: Eh, I guess. Alien: What do you mean “eh”? Alien: There have been five of them made. Human: It’s mostly made for people that like to watch a slow mo shot of a bullet going through a man’s balls over and over. Alien: What sadistic beings are you?!? Human: You should let me tell you about Meat Boy sometime for more context. ---------------------

Alien: This one looks cute. Alien: It’s about a brother in sister in your primitive era. Human: And a shit load of rats. Alien: What? Human: Yeah, you can make the rats devour a man whole as he screams and begs for his life. Alien: I…..but…..just….why? ----------------------

Alien: Why on florps name would someone want to play a game about manual labor? Alien: is not the point of your entertainment games to seek enjoyment? Human: Some people feel pleasure from a job well done. Alien: That is the stupidest thing I have ever heard. Human: Didn’t your people worship a rock a couple centuries back because when the light hit it the thing sparkled? Alien: ………touché. -------------------------

Alien: I wish to escape this bunker. Human: You just need to find some dynamite and a plunger to trigger it. Alien: Sounds easy enough. Human: And avoid the ancient giant rat god stalking the halls of the bunker. Alien: What is with your people and rats?!!?!?!? ----------------------

Alien: What is this “Crackdown 3” about? Human: A cops fantasy about how they view themselves. Alien: How so? Human: They see themselves fighting crime when more often they help prop up a totalitarian regime. Alien: Did not the second one have monsters in it? Human: That’s how they see poor people. Alien: Holy gargle…..that’s messed up. --------------------

Alien: What is this one? Human: Designing overly elaborate death machines to murder guys in metal suits with swords. Alien: Is that not what we did to your people during the third age of your species? Human: Come again? ------------------

Alien: Is this game about zombies? Human: More a social experiment. Alien: How so? Human: It has no set rules or goal in a zombie apocalypse, but more often you find people choosing the worst things to do to each other for shits and giggles. Alien: It can’t be all that bad. Human: I watched a group of high level players capture a new player, strip them of their gear, and force them to drink bleach under pain of death for a meme. Alien: ……………….. ----------------------

Human: How’s the new game goin- Alien: *Grabs human friend and sprays them with foam Alien: Good…you’re not one of them. Human: spits out foam One of what? Alien: A shape shifter! Alien: They were everywhere on the station and that made me wonder if those bastards are here in the home as well! Human: Wouldn’t say they’re all bastards. Table: Yeah, some of us are actually nice fellows. *Alien and Human both scream*

[user211201]

Identity Death

--- Originally posted on 2024-04-12 by dumb-and-jocked. ---

As directed by @mrrharper

“Endless war will end our world!” Alan shouted.

“Stop funding our military!”

Alan was amongst the hundreds of protestors at the courthouse fighting against the proposed budgetary reforms. Schools, roads, transportation, parks, environmental protections agencies–they were all on the line. Through the presented bill, thousands of institutions would be shut down as billions of dollars would be rerouted towards a single entity: the military.

“The military corrupts! Stop the brainwashing!” Alan spat. He had organized this event under his alias, a popular political blogger on multiple social media outlets. Although his voice was loud and aggravated, Alan's physical appearance was anything but. He wore a baby blue tee and white-washed skinny jeans. 5’7 with bleached hair. All he needed was a rainbow somewhere to perfect his twink look. But he was not here to make that kind of statement. He was at the protest to make another form, something that could gain traction. Peering across the crowd, Alan saw his chance. 

A few of Alan’s fellow protestors were bombarding one of the towering guards with jeers. They scrutinized him, although it appeared none of their words got through the soldier’s heavy artillery padding. In fact, the solider stood proud in his position, dominantly poised with his chest puffed up in pride. Alan approached the guard slowly, noticing he remained perfectly still as the protestors continued to insult him. Without thinking twice, Alan approached and made his move. 

“How about you show us what they’re really funding, dickhead?”

Alan threw a fist at the soldier, putting all his strength behind the movement. Due to the crowds, the soldier did not recognize the motion until it was too late. Alan’s knuckle dove right into the much taller man’s neck, ricocheting into the muscular, masked chin. Instantly, there was a cheer from the crowd at the successful blow, but it was quickly hushed.

“You pathetic cocksucker,” the soldier growled. In a flurry, the once peaceful statue became a merciless brute, swinging down and dragging Alan out of the crowd. Before he knew it, Alan found himself handcuffed with the soldier escorting him off into the enemy’s territory.

“You can’t do this! This is illegal!” Alan cried out. 

“Shut your whiny mouth.” As soon as they were out of public sight, the soldier slapped Alan hard across the face. The warmth of blood soon filled his cheeks where the bruise began to bloom. Alan made sure not to react, but he could not hide the worry in his voice.

“Where are you taking me?”

“The barracks, you fairy prick.”

The soldier brought Alan to a building not too far from the protest lines. He guided them down numerous hallways, Alan losing track before they even made it halfway there. There were checkpoints, various nods, and some curt conversations with other soldiers, but nobody questioned about Alan or the situation. Eventually, Alan was tossed into a small makeshift bedroom, only holding a cot and a pile of unwashed clothes.

“Get undressed,” the soldier demanded.

“Why should I listen to you?”

Alan was met with another forceful assault, this time a punch to his gut.

“Cause I’m First Sergeant, maggot, which means out of the two of us, I’m in charge.”

Alan scoffed. “Is that your name: ‘First Sergeant’?”

“First Sergeant QF24,” the soldier gruffly shot back.

“That’s not a name either,” Alan replied. 

“Been in service so long I don’t need a civilian name.”

Alan wanted to jump on this, make a point about how this was evidence of the dangers of the military, but First Sergeant continued.

“While my identity is real, I assume the one you were about to give me is not. What do you go by, something like that 'AlanActivist' snot?”

Alan blushed, believing that his pseudonym had been cool and unique.

“It’s about time you considered that maybe it is not the military that enforces this ‘identity death’ you all are so worried about, but your own belief system.”

“You can’t be serious,” Alan snarked, surprised at the soldier’s intelligent argument. First Sergeant was however humorless, once again pointing to the pile of discarded clothes.

“Get dressed, degenerate.”

The soldier placed one of his giant, gloved hands behind the twink’s back and pushed him towards the pile. It appeared to Alan as a giant heap of army green and camouflage. Slowly but hesitantly, he began to strip himself of his clothing, hoping to avoid any further hazing. Once down to his underwear, he silently pleaded that he would not have to drop anything else.

“Soldiers go commando, sissy.”

First Sergeant quickly appeared behind Alan before ripping his underwear clean off, exposing the twink’s bare bottom and small package to the world. Alan quickly covered himself up with one hand before leaning down towards the pile. He grimaced, his fear no longer overriding the powerful musk seeping from the military cloth. First Sergeant chuckled at his disgust from behind.

“Aren’t homos supposed to like that kind of thing?” he asked, before grabbing the back of Alan’s head. “Go on, get a better whiff of it!” Amused, First Sergeant plunged Alan’s head into the musky pile of clothes. Alan’s oxygen supply was cut off, forcing him to inhale the overpowering masculine fumes.

“You idiots never consider that being in the military is hard work. It’s not all fun and guns.” First Sergeant smothered Alan’s head further. “‘Bout time you realize what it’s like, standing on the front line all day, hot and sweaty and random strangers berating you for protecting their country, their freedom.”

The military body odor seeped into Alan’s system, numbing his body and clouding his mind. By the time he was pulled away, the naked twink struggled to form a coherent thought.

“Much better,” First Sergeant noted the lopsided smile on the twink’s face. “Now, fit yourself into some tactical gear.”

Without questioning it, Alan followed the soldier’s command. He did not know every single piece of equipment that went into the common soldier’s uniform, nor did he understand the procedure to follow, but somehow Alan managed to get the attire onto his body.

Combat pants, military-grade socks, gore tex boots. Camouflage button-up, hardshell jacket, belt with holster and magazine pouches. Shooting gloves, army print hat, face mask. It took a minute longer for Alan to place every minor piece of tactical protection onto himself, but finally his smaller frame was completely covered, dwarfed by the oversized gear.

“Looking like a real soldier there,” First Sergeant mocked. “Now let’s actually make you one.”

Already covered in the musky clothing, Alan’s intellectual ability had been dulled considerably. But when First Sergeant approached, clutching Alan’s head once more before shoving it into his wet armpit, his brain completely halted. Coming straight from the source, the soldier’s stench wafted past all Alan’s barriers, taking control immediately. Its first instruction was to keep sniffing, its second was to conform.

With a chuckle, First Sergeant watched as Alan’s body began to expand underneath his hold. The shrimpy twink grew inside of the tactical gear, filling it out properly in every direction. Muscular arms filled the sleeves of the jacket, meaty hands stuffing the crevices of the gloves. The vest became as padded on the back as it was in the front, juicy pectorals and rigid abdominals forcefully pushing against the fabric. 

Thicker thighs padded the pants, bloated feet crowded the massive boots. Two muscular buttocks crammed the seat of Alan’s pants. A lantern jaw and cleft chin became prominent underneath the face mask. Buzz cut hidden by the cap, deeper voice waiting to confirm with “Sir, yes sir!” First Sergeant even noticed the prominent padding his new soldier was developing beneath the belt. When he ultimately removed Alan from his hold, the man before him now stood at the same domineering height.

“Good, now just stand still for one moment.”

Even if he wanted to, Alan could not move. The musk was still lingering in his mind, holding him steady as First Sergeant deposited an obnoxious military headset onto Alan’s head. He then plugged the headset into a walkie-talkie before tuning it to an empty channel. A robotic voice began looping into Alan’s ears, along with a few simple tones to open up the receptive pathways in his brain.

“Ready to get back out there?” First Sergeant asked, knowing his fellow soldier could not hear him. With a smirk, he escorted the dumbfounded subordinate out of the room, pacing slowly as Alan absorbed the propaganda. It was simple phrases, nothing too complicated but through repetition effective on the psyche. “Military good,” “pacifism bad”. “Nationalism good,” “multiculturalism bad.” “Masculinity good,” “progressivism bad.” The messages were rudimentary, but deliberate.

Once they stepped back into the open, fresh air, Alan’s consciousness resurfaced. He tried to fight back against the rampant messaging, doing his best to tune out the audios as the First Sergeant led him back to the front line. Alan was being attacked on all fronts: his morals, his identity, his sexuality. Every time he turned away to defend one trait, it was like he lost another. He felt himself dwindling, chipping away.

Before long, the two stood directly in front of the courthouse, mere feet away from their first encounter. First Sergeant loaded the new soldier up, arming the man with a weapon and other items necessary in case of an emergency.

“Let’s see if you’re done cooking yet.” First Sergeant looked directly into his subordinate’s eyes, pleased with their reflective quality. He then removed the headphones.

“Name and rank, soldier?” he saluted. The other man fell into place, mirroring his actions.

“Private Aaron Steel, MH36 sir!”

First Sergeant smiled. The name change was a good sign of transition, but complete removal would have been preffered.

“Ready for the task, soldier? Will you be loyal and obedient to the greatest nation? Follow every instruction in the name of tradition?”

The soldier nodded his head quickly, “Affirmative, sir.”

“Alright then.” First Sergeant replaced the headphones back onto the private’s head, knowing a little more time would do the trick. “Dismissed. Get back to work, private.”

“Sir yes sir!”

First Sergeant strolled back to his command at the front line. The new private monitored the crowd, absorbing his commands as he scanned for any disturbances.

[jmscornerlibrary]

(back in the Marauder days, Lucius and Snape in the Slytherin common rooms)

Barty Crouch: (sitting down in an armchair) Good evening, gentlemen. Now, that we are all together, I can inform you that sodium hypochlorite does not even come near tasting like apple juice, as one of our fellow Slytherins had informed me yesterday morning.

Snape:

Lucius: (turning a page of his book) ... Sodium Hypochlorite?

Snape: Bleach.

Barty Crouch: ...and now that we have that behind us, I would like to request that someone accompanies me to the infirmary, because I am hardly in a state fit to get there or explain myself.

[strangemaleswaps]

Strange Job Swap

“Oh it's beautiful!” exclaimed the customer waiting in line. I handed her a nicely decorated cake for her son's birthday.

“It's no big deal. Just doing my job.” I acted like it was no big deal, but really I was gladly accepting the praise!

“This is perfect though. Have you considered being an artist?” she replied with a slightly more serious look.

“Yes I have actually…but the job market is tough.”

“Aww you'll get there eventually! Don't give up! Well anyway, you made my day so for that, thank you!”

“You're welcome.” I was a bit sad though, because she was right; I SHOULD be an artist. I recently earned my bachelor's degree, but yet I was still stuck in this dumb hick town, working as a grocery store cake decorator. I may have been good at what I do but I wouldn't want to do it forever!

At least my co-workers are pretty decent, especially my fellow bakery buddies, Chase, Amber, and Domingo. Amber was cool and didn't take anyone’s shit, which is why I loved seeing her because I didn't have much confidence when dealing with unruly customers. Domingo was very sweet, and even though he didn't speak very good English, he's hella good at his job. And Chase, well…he's hot! His bleach blond hair somehow always caught the light at a perfect angle. I don't know how I even kept my focus when he's working next to me.

At the end of my shift, I clocked out, and decided to buy a couple groceries like I normally did. I scanned everything at the self-checkout, put the receipt into one of my bags, and started walking towards the exit. The store had 2 exits on either side of the front, but I only took one because the other had a certain asshole at it - Richard.

The greeter position was removed a long time ago, but they bring it back for employees that have been injured or are too old, so that they can keep their jobs. Now this old guy named Richard had surgery a long time ago and became the greeter while he recovered. But yet he never went back to his old position.

He always stays at one specific entrance, and the reason I hated him so much was because he's racist. Part of his job has him checking customers’ receipts to make sure they didn't steal anything, which seems pretty unnecessary when you have those anti-theft machines at the exit. But I've seen him. The only people he checks the receipts for are minorities. It's not a subtle thing either; he’s super friendly, greeting and saying goodbye to all the white people passing but when it comes to someone who's not, his demeanor suddenly changes. 

My luck must've run out today, because I found the sliding glass doors at my usual exit were broken and currently being fixed. The area was blocked off by a barricade, and I knew there was only one other way to leave. I headed over to the other exit, and there Richard was, waving goodbye to a white mother and her toddler. He was wearing his typical gray uniform shirt that was clearly too small, because you could see his gut and nipples trying to poke through. Gross.

I moved through the aisle, trying not to draw attention to myself, but it was all for nothing because right on cue, Richard walked up to me and gave a great big (and so obviously fake) smile.

“Hello sir, can I see your receipt please?”

“Richard, it's me, Marco. I work in the bakery. You've seen me a million times before.” His smile suddenly faded, and his eyes narrowed, as if every ounce of happiness in his body just vanished.

“That's no excuse. How do I know you aren't stealing?”

“Because I want to keep my job?”

“Don't backtalk to me. You seem awfully suspicious today.” He then reached for his walkie talkie and started to page a manager. I really was able to walk out with no repercussions because I truly didn't steal anything, but there's a chance he would page the Asset Protection lady, who was almost as awful.

“Hello? Is anyone there?” Nobody answered him. Thank god.

“Am I free to go now?” I said happily. The anger returned to his face.

“Just don't let me catch you stealing again. Or there'll be consequences!”

“Yeah…suuuure.” I walked out the door, into my car, and back home. I can't believe some people honestly. I was so sick of this town! I needed to move away real soon.

When I got home my dog, Kenny, was excited to greet me as usual so I let him outside to do his business while I got into my running clothes, prepping for a run. As I let Kenny back in, I went to check the mail and found a weird envelope in between the bills and spam. I opened it up and it was a letter addressed “to whom it may concern”. I threw it away without a second thought but Kenny suddenly ran up to the trash can, took it out, and placed it back in front of me.

“You really want me to read this, don't you boy?” I said cheerily as I patted him on the head.

“To whom it may concern,

Are you struggling with your current job? Unhappy with the life you have? Well I have just the cure for that! We are now selling happiness inducing coins for only $1 with free shipping! One flip of this coin will guarantee you will soon get a job you love! Get it fast before it all runs out! Just follow the link on the back of this letter if you are interested.” - VV

I wondered who or what VV was supposed to be, and $1 with free shipping sounds too good to be true, so this seemed like a scam. I also wasn't a superstitious person,  but for some reason my gut was telling me that this was a good idea. Kenny seemed to think so too as he was wagging his tail under the table and I read. I followed the link listed on the back of the page, typing in each random letter and number combination into my phone and ordered the lucky coin. I went to bed that night feeling a little more hopeful.

The next day at work was just like the previous day, only the door was fixed so I didn't have to walk out the exit Richard was standing at. We did make eye contact though, and he shot me a dirty look. I got home to find that the package had already arrived, which was awfully quick. I cut open the box and inside was a golden coin with a picture of a brain on it. The other side had a picture of a person with their arms spread wide. It was a really weird design. I read the instructions.

How to use:

Flip the coin

No matter what side it lands on, you'll be guaranteed happiness in your new job!

It sounded so lame, but I followed the instructions anyway. I flipped the coin the air, and slapped it on the back of my other hand. Tails. Nothing happened. I guess it was just $1 so it wasn't a huge waste of my time. It's pretty cool looking so maybe I could display it on my dresser or something.

I felt especially tired the rest of the night, but I was fine because I had a day off tomorrow. I was gonna go to the park with Kenny, as well as do a few errands. I was just glad I had time away from my job.

The next morning my alarm went off for some reason. I must've accidently set it by mistake. The weirder thing was Kenny wasn't there. Normally at the sound of my alarm, he comes running from wherever he was sleeping, and jumps on the bed to get me up. But there was nothing. When I started to truly wake up and become more alert, I realized that my alarm was set to the default or something. Instead of my usual calming piano, it was an annoying ringing. I opened my eyes to see what was happening. My vision was blurry, but I could tell I wasn't in my own room.

What happened? Did someone kidnap me? The alarm clock wasn't even on a phone, but rather it was an actual alarm clock. I had no idea what was going on, but I reached over to turn it off so I could think. I'm certain I must've been kidnapped somehow but why? And why would they set an alarm clock? I couldn't see but felt around the nightstand for a clue and found a pair of glasses. When I tried them on, just like that, my vision returned to normal. I had perfect vision before! Why did I suddenly need glasses? I reached up to scratch my head and found my hairline was incredibly receded. I was balding! I looked down with my now clear vision to find an even worse fact. I was chubby!

I sat up and stared at the foreign gut and two large man tits, as well as numerous graying chest hairs. I ran my hands through the hair, pinching them to make sure they were real. I pinched the tits as well, and felt sensations I've never felt before as they wobbled when I let go. I ran my hands through my face and felt a mustache and double chin, and began feeling nauseous at the thought of what I actually looked like. I didn't see a mirror in the room so I walked out the door trying to find a bathroom. The fat jiggled all around as I ran.

I got to the bathroom and nearly puked on the spot when I saw who I was. Richard. Oh god no. Of all people, I had to look like this racist bastard? I stared at myself and grazed my hands along my face. Suddenly I felt angry and started pinching it instead, as if I was doing the same thing to the real Richard, but denial didn't help; that was my face and it hurt. I touched his mustache and pinched it, as if it would come off. 

Just then I heard the doorbell ring. I didn't want to interact with anybody looking like this but until I figured out how to fix it, I knew I had to pretend to be Richard. I answered the door to find the mailman.

“Howdy Rich! Woah uh.” He stared at my chest. I forgot I was still shirtless. Having this much fat hanging from my body was almost like answering the door naked. “I see you've lost some weight!” he said, obviously lying.

“Oh uh, thanks.” I replied, trying to imitate Richard’s voice, which was pretty easy considering I've mocked him before.

“Well anyway, not much today; just a letter.” He handed me a letter with a purple stamp on it.

“Well uh see you tomorrow!” The mailman went on his way and I closed the door. I opened the letter and found a note similar to the lucky coin advertisement.

To whom it may concern,

Good morning! I trust that your lucky coin worked well? Welcome to your new life! As promised, you now have a job that you love. Unhappy with the results? Just flip the coin once again, and make sure it lands on what it landed on before! If not, however, your fate is sealed. Best Wishes! - VV, Venefica Viola

Shit. They're not lying though. Richard did love his job. And since I was in his body, I now had that job! But who is this Venefica Viola? It sounded like Latin somehow. I walked back to the bedroom to find Richard’s phone. Luckily he didn't have any lock screen pin so I could easily get in. I searched for a translator, dodging the random pop up ads that were everywhere on his phone and looked up Venefica Viola.

Violet Witch. So magic is involved somehow. I needed to get my coin back so I could undo this! It must still be at my own house. Shit! I just realized why the alarm clock went off. Richard worked today! He had perfect attendance and never uses his PTO, so not going in was gonna look suspicious. I glanced at the clock and realized I only had 20 minutes. 

Even though I'd love to see Richard be humiliated by going to work in his underwear, I decided that it wasn't worth attracting attention so I looked through his clothes to put on a work uniform. I found a pair of boxers and accidently flashed myself when I completely forgot I didn't have my own dick either. It was all wrinkly, but honestly a lot bigger than I thought. No. I was not about to get horny over Richard's dick! I found what he normally wore to work and put the rest on. I found tucking the shirt was more difficult than usual, as I had to pull it over my belly.

I guess I could make this work…for now. I hated to admit it, but Richard wasn't all that bad looking. It was his personality and habits that made him so repulsive, but now that I was in control of him, he didn't look all that bad. Maybe I could even turn things around for now and do something nice for the people I know he hates. I grabbed the car keys on the nearby table, and drove to work.

I walked in the store, put Richard's nametag on, and clocked in. I nearly started walking to the bakery area but stopped myself. I guess I'm really going to have to be a greeter for a day. This feels humiliating. I made my way to the front entrance and just stood there, waiting for customers to enter or exit.

Soon enough customers began arriving and I tried my best to act like Richard, though one customer asked if I was all right because I guess I overdid it. I didn't ask any customers to show their receipts though, because I might as well take advantage of being a greeter. I noticed Domingo at the checkout and when he bagged up his groceries, he approached me first instead of the door. He hastily grabbed his receipt and started showing it to me. I wasn't about to let this happen.

“No no it's ok. You don't have to show me the receipt anymore.”

“No?” He looked shocked.

“Checking receipts is stupid anyway. I don't need to do it anymore.”

“Really? I can go?”

“Yep! Have a good day.” It was unnerving seeing him so scared at the sight of me, but he smiled like normally did as he put the receipt back in the bag and walked out.

As I moved towards the break room to take my break, I noticed someone who looked awfully familiar walk through the door. It was…me! I mean Richard. It must've been; if I was in his body, he must've been in mine. It became more obvious by the way he was walking, taking big steps as if he was used to having his gut swinging around…like mine was now. God I hated this. I had to talk to him to sort things out. He smirked as I approached.

“Hey!”

“Oh it's you. I mean me. I mean,” he paused for a second and rounded his mouth into an even bigger smile, which looked uncanny with my face. “The old me.”

“What do you mean ‘the old you’”?

“Well seeing as I'm much younger now, while you're much older, I think the term is appropriate.”

“Well yeah, but not for long. I'm going to switch us back.”

“Oh no you're not! I may have preferred being white, but I’m enjoying youth again! Oh, and don't worry. I saw that coin thing and that letter this morning, and I made sure it would never see the light of day again. You got that…Richard?” 

He called me that in the same mocking tone that I always use to call him. I can't believe this!

“Y-you can't do this! I had a future!”

“That's my future now old man. You know maybe I could be a model with these looks. Maybe make one of those, what do you kids call it? OnlyFans?”

God no, I'm an artist, not a pornstar. He can't do this!

“The greeter is a real fun job, Richard. Enjoy it. You're hired!”

[bbq-potato-chip]

if Bleach characters had tumblr

🍰lovergirl Follow

I just think that love and friendship are just so important i think we all should talk about this more

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#{textpost |♥*♡∞:｡.｡}

🤬murderpanther Follow

MURDER KILLING I LOVE KILLING SOME ONE ILL KILL ANYONE ILL KILL I LOVE KILLING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

🍍the-red-pinapple reblogged frostbunny Follow

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🌸senbonzakurakagiyoshi Follow

my oc

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🐰frostbunny Follow

OMG THIS ART IS SO GOOD EVERYONE LOOK AT THIS NOW!!!! HE'S THE COOLEST EVERYONE FOLLOW THIS ARTIST NOW!!!!

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#mutual art

😏supercoolsupermanlordaizen reblogged

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captain-niceguy-deactivatived7581497147687

I'd just like to say that I appreciate all of my squad members and fellow captains. I am truly honored to work with such talented individuals

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🎇hina-mori Follow

Awwww taicho <3 this is so nice

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shinigami748258711-deactivated65782991376

captain aizen is like so totally sweet i wish i could be in his squad

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😏supercoolsupermanlordaizen

suckers

4️⃣nihilistic-hater Follow

who keeps putting positivity posts on my dash i'm trying to think about how great it would be to be in a void stop it there is only hatred and darkness

❄️hitsugayathecoolestcaptain reblogged

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😏supercoolsupermanlordaizen

me and my underlings are about to kick yall's asses. be prepared

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❄️hitsugayathecoolestcaptain

AIZEN WHEN CATCH YOU ITS SO OVER

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❄️hitsu-gay-a

"aIzEn WhEn I cAtCh yOu ItS sO oVeR"

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❄️histugayathecoolestcaptain

istg if this is aizen on another account i'm going to kill him extra

🍓ichi-go-1 reblogged

🏹shinigamihater

anyone else have a terrible dad or is it just me

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#ugh same my dad is terrible

🍓ichi-go-1 reblogged

🍰lovergirl Follow

yet another great day of eating lots of bread and loving my friends \^w^)/

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4️⃣nihilistic-hater Follow

friendship isn't even real the only things that exist are pain and suffering

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🍓ichi-go-1

what is your like actual problem like chill man shes literally just eating bread calm tf down make your own post

🙍‍♀️shinigami465871157905 Follow

look i know he's problematic but aizen is kinda fine w/o the glasses fr

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💁‍♂️shinigami648525691 Follow

um...aizen stan anyone? this is super problematic thinking i don't care how hot he is (he's not btw) but you can't just say these kinds of things!!!!!!!!!1!!!!!1!!!!!

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#imagine being an aizen stan in today's world omg 😂 #he's literally a traitor to the state

🔪kenpachithekiller Follow

IF I DONTKILL SOME ONE RIGHT NOW IM GONNA KILL SOMEONE ANYONE WANNA FIGHT TO THE DEATH HEEEEYYYYY

👨‍🔬evilscientist Follow

doing unethical experiments

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🏹shinigamihater

OH MY GOD STOP IT??? THEY"RE LITERALLY UNETHICAL STOPPP

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👨‍🔬evilscientist. Follow

heehee doing unethical experiments again

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🏹shinigamihater

STOPPPPPP I'LL KILL YOU

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🍓ichi-go-1

just block em man he's not worth your time

shinigami6371928103912-deactivated47928039410

wow what a great day i sure hope i dont get killed by a hollow today

🍓ichi-go-1

murderpanther asked ichi-go-1: FIGHT ME FIGHT ME FIGHT ME FIGHT ME FIGHT MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

🍓ichi-go-1 responded💬

NO??? I DON'T WANT TO?? STOP SPAMMING ME THIS IS LIKE THE THIRD TIME YOU SENT ME THIS

🍰lovergirl reblogged tatsukithechamp Follow

🤜chad-the-man Follow

👍

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# so true like im always saying this #[✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ*I'll always love queue✧･ﾟ *✧･ﾟ:*] #fav

[sassenach77yle]

May 1, 1771 May Union Camp

I glanced sideways, careful not to move in case he was still asleep. He wasn’t. He was lying quite still, though, utterly relaxed, save for his right hand. He had this raised, and appeared to be examining it closely, turning it to and fro and slowly curling and uncurling his fingers—as well as he could. The fourth finger had a fused joint, and was permanently stiff; the middle finger was slightly twisted, a deep white scar spiraling round the middle joint. His hand was callused and battered by work, and the tiny stigma of a nail-wound still showed, pale-pink, in the middle of his palm. The skin of his hand was deeply bronzed and weathered, freckled with sun-blots and scattered with bleached gold hairs. I thought it remarkably beautiful.

“Happy Birthday,” I said, softly. “Taking stock?”

He let the hand fall on his chest, and turned his head to look at me, smiling.Aye, something of the sort. Though I suppose I’ve a few hours left. I was born at half-six; I willna have lived a full half-century until suppertime.” I laughed and rolled onto my side, kicking the blanket off. The air was still delightfully cool, but it wouldn’t last long. “Do you expect to disintegrate much further before supper?” I asked, teasing. “Oh, I dinna suppose anything is likely to fall off by then,” he said, consideringly. “As to the workings . . . aye, well . . .” He arched his back, stretching, and sank back with a gratified groan as my hand settled on him. “It all seems to be in perfect working order,” I assured him. I gave a brief, experimental tug, making him yelp slightly. “Not loose at all.” “Good,” he said, folding his hand firmly over mine to prevent further unauthorized experiments. “How did ye ken what I was doing? Taking stock, as ye say?” I let him keep hold of the hand, but shifted to set my chin in the center of his chest, where a small depression seemed made for the purpose. “I always do that, when I have a birthday—though I generally do it the night before. More looking back, I think, reflecting a bit on the year that’s just gone. But I do check things over; I think perhaps everyone does. Just to see if you’re the same person as the day before.” “I’m reasonably certain that I am,” he assured me. “Ye dinna see any marked changes, do ye?” I lifted my chin from its resting place and looked him over carefully. It was in fact rather hard to look at him objectively; I was both so used to his features and so fond of them that I tended to notice tiny, dear things about him—the freckle on his earlobe, the lower incisor pushing eagerly forward, just slightly out of line with its fellows—and to respond to the slightest change of his expression—but not really to look at him as an integrated whole. He bore my examination tranquilly, eyelids half-lowered against the growing light. His hair had come loose while he slept and feathered over his shoulders, its ruddy waves framing a face strongly marked by both humor and passion—but which possessed a paradoxical and most remarkable capacity for stillness.

“No,” I said at last, and set my chin down again with a contented sigh. “It’s still you.”

[...]

Jamie’s free hand rested on my back, his thumb idly stroking the edge of my shoulder blade. With his usual capacity for mental discipline, he appeared to have dismissed the uncertainty of the military prospects completely from his mind, and was thinking of something else entirely. “Do ye ever think—” he began, and then broke off. “Think what?” I bent and kissed his chest, arching my back to encourage him to rub it, which he did. “Well . . . I’m no so sure I can explain, but it’s struck me that now I have lived longer than my father did—which is not something I expected to happen,” he added, with faint wryness. “It’s only . . . well, it seems odd, is all. I only wondered, did ye ever think of that, yourself—having lost your mother young, I mean?” “Yes.” My face was buried in his chest, my voice muffled in the folds of his shirt. “I used to—when I was younger. Like going on a journey without a map.” His hand on my back paused for a moment. “Aye, that’s it.” He sounded a little surprised. “I kent more or less what it would be like to be a man of thirty, or of forty—but now what?” His chest moved briefly, with a small noise that might have been a mixture of amusement and puzzlement.

“You invent yourself,” I said softly, to the shadows inside the hair that had fallen over my face. “You look at other women—or men; you try on their lives for size. You take what you can use, and you look inside yourself for what you can’t find elsewhere. And always . . . always . . . you wonder if you’re doing it right.”

His hand was warm and heavy on my back. He felt the tears that ran unexpectedly from the corners of my eyes to dampen his shirt, and his other hand came up to touch my head and smooth my hair. “Aye, that’s it,” he said again, very softly. The camp was beginning to stir outside, with clangings and thumps, and the hoarse sound of sleep-rough voices. Overhead, the grasshopper began to chirp, the sound like someone scratching a nail on a copper pot.

“This is a morning my father never saw,” Jamie said, still so softly that I heard it as much through the walls of his chest, as with my ears.

“The world and each day in it is a gift, mo chridhe—no matter what tomorrow may be.”

I sighed deeply and turned my head, to rest my cheek against his chest. He reached over gently and wiped my nose with a fold of his shirt. “And as for taking stock,” he added practically, “I’ve all my teeth, none of my parts are missing, and my cock still stands up by itself in the morning. It could be worse.”

Cap 58 HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU ~the fiery cross

[forest-hashira]

Day Off

hi everyone! this is my first request fic for @ficsforgaza, requested by the lovely @yutaleks! he asked for a day off with maki + flustering her a little. as i tend to do, i got carried away, so this is over 2k words instead of being a 500-700 word drabble, whoops. i hope you guys enjoy!

read on ao3 | wc: ~2.1k | cw: no pronouns used for reader but sort of implied fem!reader, fluff, maki & reader spend the day at the arcade

“Kugisaki, come on, Maki’s waiting for us!”

You’d been knocking on your classmate’s door for over five minutes, and that was after you’d spent ten minutes trying to get her to answer her phone. You’d both agreed to meet Maki at the entrance to campus, since it was the weekend and none of you had a mission to complete, but now your fellow first year was apparently ghosting you.

“Go away!” she shouted from within her dorm, not bothering to open the door. “I look awful! Itadori fucked up my hair, I can’t be seen in public like this!”

An exasperated groan escaped you, your head thumping against the door; there was no use arguing with her, and you knew it. It would be a miracle if anyone saw her out of her room for the next six business days. “Fushiguro and I told you not to let him near your hair with bleach.” Yuji meant well, he always did, but when the words “I’ve never done this, but how hard could it be?” had left his lips, Nobara should have thought twice.

Whatever. She was dealing with the consequences of her decision now.

“I’m going to meet Maki now,” you told her, already stepping back from the door. “I’ll see if I can find you a hat that goes with your uniform while we’re out.”

“Don’t you dare get me something ugly!”

“Yeah, yeah!”

Already running late, you hurried out of the dorm building and down to the torii gates, where your senpai was waiting, phone in hand. You called out to her, waving as you jogged over to meet her.

She looked up at the sound of your voice, glancing behind you and arching a brow when she realized you were alone. “Where’s Kugisaki?” 

“Not coming,” you sighed. “She thought it would be a good idea to let Itadori help her touch up her roots last night.”

The expression she made in response was borderline comical, her nose crinkling up and her brows furrowing together as she frowned. “What made her think that?”

“No idea, Fushiguro and I both told her not to but she didn’t listen.” You shrugged slightly, stepping past Maki to make your way off campus. “I promised I’d buy her a hat while we’re out.” You made it down the first couple steps that lead off campus before you realized she wasn’t following you, and you paused.

“Aren’t you coming?” you asked, turning to face her.

“We’ve never gone anywhere without her,” she replied, glancing back in the direction of the dorms for a moment.

You arched a brow slightly. “What, you afraid I’ll bite without Kugisaki around to keep me in check?” 

Maki turned back to face you as you spoke, and when she saw your cheeky grin, she rolled her eyes. “If either of you needs to be kept in check it’s her.” Finally, she walked forward to join you, and you made your way down the stairs side by side. “Just feels weird leaving her behind, is all.” 

“A little bit, yeah,” you hummed in agreement. “But without her here, we don’t have to spend all day shopping. We can go somewhere else for once.”

“Like where?”

There was a brief silence as you took a moment to consider her question. Your first thought was the movies, but you were fairly certain that was where Yuji had dragged the others for the day, so you reconsidered. “The arcade?”

Maki looked as if she was going to argue, so you were quick to keep talking. 

“Come on, it’ll be a good time! I’m really good at the claw machines, I’ll win you something nice.” Your words were punctuated by you batting your lashes at your senpai. “Besides, I’m sure you’d smoke all those lame high scores on the dance games.”

The look she gave you was confused, though when you batted your lashes at her, she quickly looked away, picking up her pace a little, getting a few steps ahead of you before you fully noticed. “Fine,” she agreed. “We’ll go to the arcade, but only if you can keep up with me the whole way there.” 

She paused when she reached the bottom of the stairs, glancing at you with a smirk tugging at her lips. “Ready?” she asked, but before you were able to give a response, she took off in the direction of the arcade – not at her top speed, but certainly faster than you could maintain over that much distance.

“That’s cheating!” you shouted after her, smiling despite your irritation as you raced after her, eager to catch up with her. 

You did manage to catch up with her eventually, but only because she had reached the arcade first and was waiting for you.

“Your speed could use a little work, y’know,” she teased, smirking down at you as you braced your hands on your knees, trying to catch your breath.

“Screw you, Maki,” you groused, lifting your head enough to glare at her, though the effect was lost because of your breathless state. “Sorry we’re not all gifted like you are.”

She laughed at your words, giving a slight shrug. “Guess you’re right,” she agreed, then tilted her head towards the doors of the arcade. “Shall we?”

Having finally caught your breath, you stood upright again and nodded, walking into the building with your schoolmate. You looked around for a moment, trying to spot the claw machines. After a moment, you noticed them along the back wall. “C’mon!” you said, beaming at Maki as you grabbed her hand and pulled her after you.

“Wha— where are we going?” she asked, stumbling for a step as she went with you.

“I’m showing you my claw machine skills!” Your bright smile had yet to fade, and you stopped once you reached the wall of claw machines. “Pick one.”

“Huh?”

“Pick a machine,” you repeated. “And then pick a prize. I’m gonna win it for you.”

Maki looked skeptical, but when your earnest expression didn’t change, she finally turned to look at the array of claw machines. Most of them held various kinds of plushies, one looked like it held some gaming consoles, or something, but one, tucked away in the corner, seemed to be full of rhinestone bedazzled accessories, including a denim newsboy-style cap. “You said you were gonna get Kugisaki a hat, right?”

Following her gaze, you also saw the hat in the claw machine, and you couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh my god, yes! She’s gonna hate it, I have to get it for her.” You hurried over to the machine, wanting to make sure you would be the one to claim the prize you were after. You examined the placement of the cap in the machine for a few moments, leaning around the sides of the machine as much as you could to get a good look. Once you were satisfied, you fished the coins out of your bag, sliding them into the slot.

A grin broke out across your face as it beeped to life, but once you had control of the claw, your focus sharpened, zeroing in on the cap. Maki was a little shocked to see the focus that came over you, and she watched in amazement as you carefully maneuvered the claw over the cap, picked it up, and deposited it in the prize basket on your first try.

“Damn,” she said, grinning when she saw the cap in your hands. “Maybe you do have some claw machine skills.” 

“I have mad claw machine skills, thank you very much,” you corrected. “I’ll prove it to you again later by winning you a prize, but right now I believe you promised me a round on the dance games.” You tucked the hat into your bag as you spoke, not wanting to lose track of it.

“I made no such promise, and you know it,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Hmm, do I?” you asked, feigning innocence as you tapped your chin, as if in thought. “I definitely remember you promising me a dance off, so let’s go!” 

Once again, you grabbed her hand to drag her across the arcade to the dance games, and once again, you missed the way her eyes widened and the tips of her eyes went a faint shade of pink. 

The Dance Dance Revolution machines – two of them, side by side and both unoccupied at the moment – weren’t far from the claw machines, and you grinned when you reached them. “Alright,” you said, shooting Maki a grin, a glint in your eye. “Time to see how your skills translate to this.” 

Releasing her hand, you stepped up onto one of the platforms, scrolling through songs for a moment as your upperclassman stared at you like you had spontaneously grown a second head. You turned over your shoulder when you realized she wasn’t on the other machine yet. “C’mon, Maki, please? Just one song, then you can go back to being boring.” When she still seemed reluctant, you batted your lashes at her. “You’ll probably kick my ass. Don’t you want bragging rights?”

Though your words were partially meant as a joke, they seemed to do the trick. Maki rolled her eyes at you, but she had a hint of a smile on her lips, and the tips of her ears still burned a light pink. “Okay, fine. One song. And I’m definitely going to wipe the floor with you.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at her words, throwing your head back for a moment before returning to the task of finding a song. Eventually you picked one of the songs ranked “medium” in difficulty, and once you were both ready, you clicked start.

At first, it looked like Maki might have to eat her words about wiping the floor with you, having a rather unceremonious start and missing the first several steps almost entirely while you got most of them on beat. She was quick to recover though, getting a feel for both the game and the song, landing every step perfectly on beat, not missing a single one for the rest of the song, and she didn’t even seem to be breaking a sweat.

She was annihilating you, and you barely managed to keep from watching her instead of trying to keep up. In the end, she was right: she did wipe the floor with you, her score almost twice what yours was. 

“That was fun,” she said, turning to you with a grin of her own. “Wanna go again? I wanna try one of the harder songs.”

You felt like your eyes were going to bug out of your head. “I think I’ll pull a muscle if I try to keep up with a harder song. But I’d love to see you smash it.” As you spoke, you stepped off the platform for your machine, not wanting to hog it if someone else wanted to play.

“Embarrassed?” she teased, narrowing her eyes playfully at you. “I gave you a warning, you can’t be mad at me.”

“Not embarrassed,” you corrected. “Practical. Because as much as I would love to be your damsel in distress, I doubt you want to carry me back to campus, and it would be embarrassing as hell to explain to Shoko that I hurt myself playing a video game.”

It was Maki’s turn to laugh then, her ponytail swishing as she shook her head at you. “Fine, fine,” she conceded. “Pick a song for me, whatever difficulty you wanna throw at me.” She shot you a wink, and you quickly looked towards the game screen to hide your burning cheeks.

After a few moments of clicking through to the higher difficulty songs, you eventually picked the hardest one, just to see if Maki would be able to keep up. As the countdown for the song began, you stepped back, eager to watch how everything was going to unfold. Like before, it took a moment for her to get into the rhythm of the song, but unlike the first song, it only took her about three seconds to get into it.

Watching her move was fascinating. Sure, you’d seen her fight gracefully in training and on missions, but this was different; this was fun, and it came across in the way her body moved to the beat. You couldn’t help but cheer in excitement as she got a particularly quick, tricky set of steps all in a row, your cheeks beginning to ache from how wide you were grinning as you watched her. 

Soon enough, the song was over, and Maki had unsurprisingly claimed the top score for it. She turned back to you with a smirk, her expression brightening slightly when she saw your lingering excitement. “I think I want you to win me something from the claw machine for winning that.”

“Anything you want.”

this was my first time writing for maki, so i hope she doesn't seem too ooc. either way i had a lot of fun, thank you so much for requesting this aleks! i hope this fulfills your expectations 💜

taglist: @mitsuristoleme @sugurei @peachdues @ghost-1-y @witchbybirth

@marinnnnnnnnn @dr-runs-with-scissors @entirelysein-e @yutaleks @ficsforgaza

divider credit to the ficsforgaza blog

[marimayscarlett]

Rammstein getting ready for the new tour

Richard: holding freshly bleached chicken coat.

Flake: Die Sonne kam.

Oliver: clutching a bucket of black paint.

Till: So I went to Rewe and they had these rotisserie chickens...

Paul: They're freshwater pearls, thank you very much!

Tour manager: 🧍‍♂️

Schneider: Rocking back and forth, surrounded by bananas and drumsticks

Tour manager: ..................🧍‍♂️Have you considered taking a break after this?

Well, they did decide to take a break after it. They even sent down the little gremlin man (with his pearls!) to speak to the fans, to bring them the message first hand (which he enjoyed doing because another opportunity for him to talk a lot with in an interested audience)...

But before they took a break, they decided to make the most out of the last few moments on this tour - they wanted to make a lasting impression for the years to come, you know?

So Till went shopping again at Rewe (he left the little gremlin man outside to do some Rewe rave dancing - keeps him occupied and happy) and bought some stuff to make sure the fans are well fed 🍌 and to make his soup extra tasty - got to bring the best on the table for the loyal fans:

Flake stood in front of his closet and decided it was time to refresh his outfit a bit - being the Sonne is nice and all, but you've got to dress for the occasion of the tour end:

Richard decided to take one last close look on the guitaring of his husband colleague, to make sure everything goes smoothly... And instead of choosing addition fashion items like Flake, Richard just decided to strip down (enough coat and sleeves-time the last few years) - enough teasing and finally showing off the guns for the special occasion (do you have a permit for these sir 👮🏻‍♂️):

(left gif by @mrsfitzgerald)

Paul, still in the company of his precious pearls, decided to use the last few shows to get his hands on everything regarding his husband fellow guitarist - who knows when the next opportunity comes along? (x)

And Olli, together with Paul, even found some headware fitting his black paint, as well as a way to showcase his enthusiasm and acrobatic skills (x):

And well...Schneider decided to surround himself with something else than bananas and drumsticks for the occasion - decade long companions, to go through thick and thin together 🤍

[gallusrostromegalus]

oh my god I am frothing at the mouth PLEASE tell us about how Unohana is SO WEIRD ACTUALLY

(her reveal is my favorite thing in the whole series and I was obsessed with Bleach for a good long time)

I love Unohana. She's magnificently insane and deliciously fun to write so far.

My take on AEIWAM Unohana is that fundamentally, she just wants to be happy.

Oh, that doesn't sound too nuts. I hear you say.

Yeah, but I also headcanon that she has ADHD. We joke a lot about it on this site, but if you have the good fortune to have functioning dopamine factories, allow me to explain the worst part of it, for me.

There's no passive happiness.

Most people, as I understand it, if left to their own devices without undue stressors like capitalism or any particular stimulation, tend to be able to feel pretty okay most of the time. Which fascinates me because if I am left alone without undue stressors but no stimulation, my malfunctioning dopamine factories will shut down and I will rapidly develop a terrible black depression and paranoia that life is cruel and I will never experience happiness again and also my appetite vanishes and sleep cycle collapses and I will end up mentally and physically distraught, sometimes in less than an hour.

So I've always got to be doing something, or The Horrors get me.

So imagine Unohana, and with a brain that wants to die if she gets bored... living in fantasy magical ancient japan. Not much to do, out in the early days of the soul society, besides being attatcked by monsters, or participating in warfare, or starving to death. the first two, at least, get the blood pumping, but the first is difficult to come by regularly, so as a young woman, the most interesting thing that happens to her on the regular is Mortal Combat.

And how exciting it is! Adrenaline! Dopamine! And on the rare occasions she meets a fellow combat enthusiast, she also gets one of the best things about ADHD- Recognition Responsive Euphoria. You know that great feeling you get at Con or meeting another person with your special interest and you guys just VIBE and it feels like you've been best friends for life in less than five minutes? Yeah, apparently Non-ADHD people don't get that.

So naturally, she develops her skill in combat, not in pursuit of Honor or The Art or something nebulous like, that, but in the simple Pursuit of Happiness. She gets very good at it, and a lot of people die.

But she starts getting... too good at it. The fights don't last, there's nobody willing- let alone able, to meet her on her level and the previous joy she felt fades and fades until she is once again left in the darkness.

Then, a Miracle happens! Some punk stabs her in the lung :)

Man, what an evening for her. Kills a hundred men with barely a stroke and there's no more joy in the world for her when suddenly some barely-legal scarecrow looking bastard with a raggedy sword he pulled out of someone else's corpse appears at the top of the pile of bodies and then goes Ape. Fucking. Shit. on her.

It's the most fun she's had in ages! He's strong and fast and his moves are inefficient but delightfully unpredictable and by the GODS the STAMINA! Alright, she might be 1,000 years his senior but in the soul society age really is just a number and she can't help but be charmed.

So she flirts back by nearly cutting his face off. This DELIGHTS him!

And there it is again, that sudden feeling of intimacy between like-minded individuals, only these two ships aren't passing in the night, there' here to make Titanic 2: Electric Boogaloo. They make eye contact, and know-they're just like me.

True Love is a wonderful thing.

It's also a great opportunity for a surprise thrust and she only sort of manages to block it, and despite the feeling of blood pooling in her lung, she returns the blow full across his chest.

She staggers back, coughing.

He, miraculously, sits up, coughing. He won't die if he can crawl off somewhere to lick his wounds, but he can't continue the fight either.

She stands up, teeth gritted through the pain, and sheathes Minazuki. "What's your name?" She asks. "So I may find you to fight again."

"Don't have one." he wheezes. "But I'll never forget yours."

She's had men spit that as a threat to her before. It sounds very different as a declaration of love.

"Yachiru." she says, trying to not cough up blood. "Unohana Yachiru."

*

A Year later, there's a problem.

Soul Society has a bit of a problem with lungs. They can make entire fake bodies for shinigami to travel the living world, but individual organs, especially lungs... never seem to transplant well. Perhaps it's the fact they're already dead.

Her left lung is "healed" in the sense that it no longer has extraneous holes in it, but... Godsdammit, she still has all the power but none of the stamina. Barely 10 minutes into a fight and she's wheezing worse than The Old Man. 20 minutes and her hands are starting to shake and she's seeing spots in her eyes because she can't breathe well enough to keep the oxygen in her veins. Her fights usually last seconds so functionally she's still one of the most powerful people in the afterlife but it's a far cry from where she was before.

She can no longer be the 11th division's Kenpachi. Hell, she can no longer be the woman she was before.

"Unless you figure out some new medical miracles, this is as healed as it's going to get." Explains the chief medical officer after yet another frustrating checkup.

"...If that's what it takes." She decides.

The next morning she re-enrolls in the Shinigami Academy, under the name Unohana Retsu. The sole change she makes to her appearence is to braid her hair down the front of her chest because people WILL ask about the scar, and she doesn't want to think about how badly she's letting down that warrior with no name.

Either she needs to learn how to get back to his level, or find a new rival and learn to heal them to actually last the 20 minutes she has, or she'll die.

She studies.

To her vast surprise, bodies are actually fascinating. She'd previously seen that there were lots of interesting organs inside people but now learning what they are and how they work and the fact that the human body is already astonishingly death-resistant compared to most animals AND a carefully balanced meat sculpture minutes away from catastrophic failure at all times delights. She learns about the extreme ways humans can survive and the bizarrely mundane ways they can die, and she starts to form an idea- not an image, not a philosophy per se- but a working theory of how to keep someone alive and moving for as long and far as they will go, and what they need to stay upright.

This idea shines so brightly that it can keep that terrible darkness away.

The century practically flies by, and one night she stays up manually pumping the mechanism on a device used to keep the also-failing lungs of a young boy going after the power goes out. He's been blessed by A God that he's lived as long as he has, but even Gods can fuck up sometimes and she effectively has to breathe for him for twelve hours until the God gets its shit back together and he can breathe under his own power again.

"Hell of a fight you put in, keeping him alive." says one of her colleagues, collapsing beside her out in the 4th division medical garden where all the doctors go to smoke.

Retsu slowly exhales the smoke, fatigued but still coming down from the high of success. She cocks her head. Her body aches and her mind races and her heart thrills, just like- "I guess it was. " she realizes. "Interesting fight, going 12 hours in the ring with a dying child and winning because he walked away at the end." She laughs, and hands him the cigarette to share.

"You weirdo." he colleague laughs. He's far too young to remember when she was Yachiru. Most of them are these days, and it's a weird sort of peaceful anonymity and personal joke. "You weren't fighting the kid. If we were actually allowed to fight patients, I'd've stabbed the Kuchki hypochondriac decades ago." he grumbles, taking his own drag.

She snorts. "Who was I fighting then?"

"Death?" smoke billows out as he laughs, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

She freezes. Oh. Oh. That's why she likes this so much. She's gone from fighting mere men to the one opponent she knows she can win battles with, but never the war, and who will defeat her personally someday.

"Are. Are you crying?" he asks, a little worried.

"I- yes." She laughs, tears streaming down her face. "I just fell in love all over again."

"Ouch." he nods sympathetically, offering her the cigarette back. "Who with?"

"Death's own Angel, apparently." She giggles, feeling positively prepubescent with this crush.

And thus she goes on, for centuries, learning everything there is to know about bodies and minds and how the two keep each other going and the ways she can help. She gets very good at it, and a many more people do not die.

But there is a special, secret place in her heart for that nameless warrior that defeated her in battle, and made her stronger than every before.

*

Nearly 1,000 years after she stopped being Kenpachi, she is supervising the annual "see if you can kill the captain" tournament. Her colleague Kaname is there, a walking anxiety disorder with undoubtedly real but strangely hard to diagnose phantom pains, but he's still easily in her top 10 coworkers of all time because he made her a new medical record filing system so functional they were actually able to recataloge three millennia of medical records into a usable format in under a decade. He can come twitching into her office any time he likes, especially if it gets her that mass vaccination process for the Rukongai he's been biting The Old Man's heels for.

Then

as suddenly as he had appeared the first time,

He's back.

He's older now and larger, having matured into a spectacular bastard, but there's no mistaking that cutting edge on his reiatsu (which, oh, that has gotten much, much stronger since last time) or that scar running down his face as he turns from where he had just cleft the previous Kenpachi in twain, and stares out into the crowd in the shower of blood, challenging anyone to do something about it. Hell, even when Yamamoto appears to congratulate him on his promotion, Death's own angel's first reaction is to turn to fight the old man without hesitation.

He then promptly picks three different fights with four captains in under five minutes, tells Yamamoto to shove the job up his ass, imply he's had a WILD collection of vocations in the last millennium and furthermore, he has to get home to his daughter.

...Named Yachiru.

Hilariously, Unohana is only having the second weirdest time about this here, because Kaname and Kenpachi are, somehow, even weirder than she is.