#my unwanted opinions on bleach | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

criticalcrux · 2 years

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I'm not really one for rules so I'm gonna call them guidelines for interaction.

This blog is mostly active via mobile for the time being.

Content. Things here will be 18+/25+ meaning content may at any given moment include topics that are not suitable for minors, such as but not limited to violence, gore, cannibalism, blood, death, alcohol use, drug use, and other mature-related themes. Anyone familiar with the source material "Bleach"(as well as the other various fandoms I'm known to write for) would be well aware of the correlations. Expect nsfw. By following this blog you agree to acknowledging possible explicit content and explicit themes that may or may not be tagged. I will do my best to tag accordingly but if something doesn't appear excessive in my perspective there is the possibility it will not get a tag. Apologies in advanced for any possible triggering content but please consider yourself warned and please request tags if needed. I shouldn't need to state this but blogs posting content such as racism, bigotry, discrimination, hate of any kind, homophobia, incest, noncon ect. will be instantly unfollowed for my own wellbeing and mental health.

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Multi-verse. Multi-ship. All ships will be treated as though occuring in seperate universes unless stated otherwise. Open to Alternate Universes. Duplicate/Variant Friendly. Original Character Friendly. Cross-over Friendly.

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#Rules

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recurring-polynya · 3 years

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What’s your opinion on pre-canon Renruki?

I think that they already had a romantic or almost romantic relationship back in the Academy, maybe even back in Rukongai, and the reason it wasn’t explicit is because firstly it would have spoiled the endgame couples, and secondly it’s a shonen, so it’s implied.

I think they fooled around when they were orphans in Inuzuri. They grew up together, they were always together in their “teenage” years (however adolescence works for souls😅), I think it’s not impossible that they had their first experience, if just their first kiss and make out session, with each other. When they joined the Academy, they spent less time together due to their different courses, and I think Rukia’s sad expression when Renji leaves for the mission in the real world depicts that (along with worry for him, and maybe even jealousy for his achievements compared to hers). By then I think they were quite intimate, they fooled around sometimes (with the little time they had) and knew the other’s and their own feelings, but never said anything like “I love you”, or talked seriously about the depth of their relationship. If they were “just friends”, as some antis like to claim, they wouldn’t have been so heartbroken, have so many regrets and felt so guilty during their separation. And why that separation in the first place? It’s not a matter of class difference, because Rukia did talk to people of inferior status, like her Squad mates. What’s actually forbidden to people from different classes is relationships. If Renruki was just a friendship, there would have been no problem, but their bond was beyond that. Rukia wanted Renji to tell her to stay with him, but his feelings of inferiority and belief that Rukia deserved better (maybe even better than him) prevented him to do it. Their separation doesn’t feel like an end to a friendship to me, it feels like a breakup. They avoided each other because it hurt so much, and they couldn’t bear to have any relationship other than a romantic one, which was impossible once she became a Kuchiki.

After the Soul Society arc, they got back together. They were physically too comfortable around each other to be just friends, like when he basically hugged her to encourage her to go back to Soul Society when Orihime is kidnapped (and maybe he was also comforting her), or when, during the fight with the Fullbringers, he casually placed her head resting on his thigh. By then they were secretly dating, in my opinion. In the last arc they were always together, it’s so easy imagining them as a couple.

What do you think? Is my interpretation far fetched? I’d like to hear your theories about their feelings, when they blossomed, when they confessed, if they had something going on during their Academy years…

Thank you if you decide to answer!🤍

Well, as you say, Bleach is a shounen, and also I don’t think Kubo was particularly interested in including romance in the story, so I don’t think there is a correct or incorrect interpretation. It’s left to the reader to imagine what they like. I don’t think “spoiling the endgame” has anything to do with anything.

I don’t think your interpretation is “too far-fetched,” although I don’t happen to agree with it. There’s very little to go on in canon, people can fill in the gaps in whatever way makes them happy/makes sense to them. I have exactly 0 interest in arguing with people on the internet about stuff like this. I enjoy reading fanfiction that has wildly different interpretations from my own, I generally love to hear a variety of ideas, although I generally prefer the format of a narrative over Tumblr posts (funny, since I do seem to write a lot of them).

Anyway, here are a bunch of opinions. This is way, way too long, so I'm gonna throw it under a cut.

That being said, you have some really amatonormative ideas in there that I do take issue with. Friendships absolutely can be as deep and important as romantic relationships. I categorically reject the idea that a romantic bond is stronger than a friendship one or that acts of physical affection necessarily imply a romantic relationship. I actually have no beef at all with people who want to read Rukia and Renji’s story as a very strong friendship. I do think it was still reasonable for Renji to avoid her during their separation, even if his goal wasn’t romance. He wanted to see her live a better life, and didn’t want to drag her down. Yeah, sure, if he just wanted to be a casual workplace friend, he probably could have joined Squad 13 and seen her once in a while. But, especially in the early days, it would have been a bad look for Rukia to continue socializing with people deeply below her station, and I feel in my heart that Byakuya would have forbidden her from seeing Renji if he found out she was hanging out with someone from her Inuzuri days, even if it was just casual. Yeah, there exist people who say Rukia and Renji are "just friends" for the sake of other preferred ships, but also, like, so what? Who cares? That’s a lot better than making Renji out to be a bad person or trashing his character. To be honest, I am generally happy to read a fanfic that had some other Renji or Rukia pairing if it actually contained some solid Renruki best friend content (I have found a few 369 fics that do this, and maybe also in the little bit of RenIchi content I have read, so, uh, good job, my gays. This is sometimes touched on in ByaRen fics, but usually not as much as I want, althought I also tend to hold these to a high bar, because if I have to deal with Byakuya in my fanfics, they should have to deal with the Rukia-Renji friendship 😂)

Anyway, you asked for my interpretation, so here it is . These are all just, like, my opinions, man:

Life in Inuzuri just really, really, really sucks, and Rukia and Renji both have a lot of trauma and emotional hang-ups from that time. I think they forged a deep emotional connection during this time that was probably a little too codependent to actually be healthy. They had no models of healthy families or relationships. I also think they were incredibly close to Fujimaru, Kosaburou, and Mameji, and that even if they wanted to have a romantic relationship, they wouldn’t have, at the risk of ruining the more important bonds of the larger group.

In my fanfic, in their last days in Inuzuri, I do have them fool around for a brief period. It coincides with the deterioration of the bond with their last surviving friend, leading to his death. I did this for trauma reasons, because that’s how writers are.

“Communication” is probably the most important theme in my writing, and a thing I bring up all the time is that young Rukia and Renji had a thousand ways of communicating survival-based things between each other, and 0 ways of communicating how they felt about each other.

I did a post on this recently, but their whole gang was incredibly powerless in Inuzuri. They lived on the fringes of society and stole scraps to survive. I think that their number one duty to one another was to survive. In the anime, Rukia swears that she will never leave Inuzuri, that she will always stay with her friends. I think the reason she does an about-face is not just because their friends are gone, but because she realizes that she will lose Renji next, and the only way to prevent that is for both of them to get stronger. Neither of them actually wants to become a soul reaper. They do it for each other.

I think that Renji would have remained in Inuzuri and tried to make a life as best they could, but Rukia knew this was futile, and where Rukia goes, Renji follows.

I think they purposely maintained distance at the Academy. Just as in Inuzuri, their primary duty to one another is to survive and thrive. They were rejected and mocked for their low origins, and hanging out together would have made this worse. I think it hurt Rukia that Renji made new friends, but on the other hand, they were exactly the sort of people who would help him get a leg up in the Gotei. Rukia’s Academy days were very painful because she saw Renji succeeding, just as she wanted, but leaving her behind in the process. Conversely, Renji got super focused on doing well, with the idea that he could pull Rukia up behind him, except for the part where he never actually told her that.

I feel like I’m in the minority here, but so much fanfic focuses on Rukia and/or Renji being “wrong” in the scene where he tells her to go to the Kuchiki, but I disagree! Everything they have done is in order to get to a better life! It is Renji’s duty to encourage her to leave him behind. He doesn’t want to be an anchor holding her down. Likewise, Rukia knows that if she doesn’t go, she’s just gonna be a burden on him. Their relationship has always been about each of them surviving separately over having happiness together. Up to now, they’ve always managed to find each other again, although this kinda looks like it might be it for them. Do these kids need to go to therapy? Yes! Did they do anything wrong? No!

I think about this a lot, but even if Rukia had turned down the adoption (which… I’m not actually sure she could have), even the offer would have ruined their relationship. Imagine that Renji asks her to stay, and she does. Maybe they even get together at this point. Every rough patch, every time there’s money troubles, this spectre of “Rukia could have been a Kuchiki” is going to hang over them. In fiction, there is often an idea of sacrifice being a one-time romantic gesture, but in my real life experience, this sort of thing hangs around like an unwanted ghost. I can, in fact, envision a scenario where this is exactly how Aizen manages to get his hooks in Renji, by offering Rukia an unseated spot in Squad 5, even though she “isn’t really good enough to deserve it” and “taking care of them.”

I am really fascinated with Rukia’s crush on Kaien/Miyako. Bold proclamation here, but I think there is something developmentally healthy about young people having crushes on the older people in their lives, provided that said older people treat them with respect and dignity and don’t take advantage of it in any way. Crushes are, by their nature of being unreciprocated, a safe way for young folks to imagine the sort of people and relationships they want to have in their lives. I headcanon Rukia as bisexual, and maybe also a little bit genderfluid, and she had these two extremely cool people in her life, whom she maybe wanted to be and maybe wanted to kiss and maybe to have a marriage like that some day. I… like to think that their role in her life healed some of her trauma before their death caused even more.

Fully into headcanons now, but I like to think that Renji had a parallel experience, with, of all people, Ikkaku and Yumichika. Like him, they came from the ass-end of Rukongai, but they stuck together instead of bowing to the social mores of the Seireitei. It is critical to note that they were able to do this through strength. This is literally not a thing that Renji and Rukia could have done, but at the same time, Renji sees this as the kind of relationship he wants to have with a partner. He doesn’t want to look after Rukia and protect her, he wants to fight back-to-back with her and then make out afterwards. He’s still convinced that he needs to go through the proper class channels to see Rukia again, but without their influence, I don’t think he ever would have been able to say “fuck it” and turn on his captain during the Soul Society Arc.

Meeting Ichigo and dealing with his unreasonable need to protect everyone he cares about, personally, was also a huge blow to Rukia and Renji’s “I cannot allow the other person to take any risks for my sake” hang-up. Ichigo has his own traumas, which are entirely different from Renruki’s, but the one thing he had was growing up in a loving family. (Isshin has his problems, but I feel strongly that he always made his kids feel like his love was unconditional). I’m not saying that making friends with a shounen protagonist is a good replacement for therapy, but it does have healing properties.

Entirely off-topic, but I feel like Ichigo is incredibly selfish in the way of Terry Pratchett’s witches: “All witches are selfish, the Queen had said. But Tiffany’s Third Thoughts said: Then turn selfishness into a weapon! Make all things yours! Make other lives and dreams and hopes yours! Protect them! Save them! Bring them into the sheepfold! Walk the gale for them! Keep away the wolf! My dreams! My brother! My family! My land! My world! How dare you try to take these things, because they are mine!

Where were we? Oh, yeah. I honestly think that it is unknowable when in canon Rukia and Renji confessed. I already covered this pretty thoroughly in this post. I hate the idea that they were secretly dating. Renji worked incredibly hard to get his post and I think that both his job and Byakuya’s respect are very important to him. I do not think he would put either of those things at risk like that, nor would Rukia want him to. I tend to prefer a slow-burn approached, and I honestly think they got together during the 17-mo timeskip at the earliest, and more likely post-canon entirely, although I think them confessing in the Royal Realm is the spiciest possible outcome, so that’s what most of my fanfic cleaves to.

#renruki #did tumblr increase number of characters you can have in an ask?#i was honestly surprised when i opened this one and saw how long it was

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holdmyhopeinyourhands · 3 years

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Unlike everything you just said they are whistling Messi and neymar in their own home. Messi who didn’t even play like 20 games for them is like always taking the heat and shielding his team mates who embarrassed him on the ucl. All you see on the internet is people clowning Messi. It’s his own fault for going to a small club with no ucl history. He joined the circus on his own free will. Psg fans have some nerve to whistle him he is bigger than your club. It’s neymar who sold you dreams he didn’t deliver for many many years and you won’t give Messi a chance after one season

Your obsession with Messi is legitimately embarrassing. Get a life. The only player not getting booed is Mbappe and the only player I could remotely say is bigger than the club right now is Mbappe. I'm not going to shit talk Messi because I like the guy but you my dear are pathetic and unbelievably stupid and honestly need to go outside and touch some grass. Messi isn't shielding anybody you absolute clown. He's getting booed like everybody else not named Mbappe; which if you had reading comprehension you would have noticed is what I said in my previous reply. (psg fans have enough hate for everyone to go around). Also imagine saying Messi teammates embarrassed him on the ucl when this man (sorry messi buuut) literally has less goals than Danilo for this club this season. Honestly fuck off your entitled prick. If Messi was too good for this club he would have stayed at his broke as home but I guess he couldn't because no matter how fucked up we are, even we couldn't fuck ourselves over as much as you guys have in recent years. Lol also imagine saying it's Messi's fault for coming her and then blaming the fans for not cheering for him and insisting he's bigger than the club lmao. You're actually an idiot aren't you?

Now put your condescending bullshit in your glass and drink it and then fuck back to your clown club and leave me to mine. Your opinion is not only pathetic but unwanted and honestly gotta go bleach my eyes now because wow, this is just all kinds of gross.

#psg #football #football ask #ask #anon #longpost #dumbass anon

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bansept · 3 years

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I'm always opened to talk, have commissions or simply give my unwanted opinion

Be it about Ichihime, my other bleach ships or others

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artificialqueens · 3 years

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A Series Of Mutual Feelings, 1/3 (Scarjah) - Pazinae

chapter 1: i hate u (and the feelings mutual)

Chapter Summary: Ra'jah is determined to have a fresh start and be a better person, now enrolled as a first year fashion school student- but Scarlet has a way of always making her newfound plans falter. With a rocky high school history, the (not so) fortuitous pair endure some mutual hatred

A/N: enemies 2 luvers scarjah everyone xoxo meant to be a oneshot, but got a little carried away n my doc for this is currently 19 pages long ahaha so to be more palatable it will be a 4 chapter story (its says 3, but you'll see). this one is mainly the intro for the story to understand where they're at emotionally in the present, and is mostly ra'jah centric on her growth + kylie friendship fluff bc theyre the cutest, and a bit of scarlet pov. feedback super super welcome, enjoy !!!

***

Scarlet strode down the hall with a sway in her hips, her heels clacking on the laminate floor. What kind of tacky ass bitch wears heels to school anyways? Ra'jah scoffed internally, watched the girl saunter like she's on a tightrope, each tantalizing step brought her foot exactly in front of the other. Her body fell into a rhythm, stomping the fucking campus like a lion stalking the jungle for the sheer fun of watching it’s prey scamper. Scarlet's bouncing skirt, her signature grin and luscious ginger curls sprouting out her scalp made her gag. And not in the stunning way. Just as quickly as she came she was gone, and, to be fair, she was just another girl sandwiched in the masses just getting to where she’s going. But she could pluck that arrogant little redhead bitch out of any crowd. Not a conscious choice of course, hell, being reminded of her sheer presence causes a battle of trying not to roll her eyes behind her skull. She can't help that she sees her. Not when Scarlet's lips are painted the same shade of bold crimson as the tight, sleeveless top she's wearing, like a fresh drop of blood in a sea of grey clad bodies swimming around in their hoodies.

This isn't high school anymore Ra'jah. A repetitive reminder that needs to be said evermore until it's understood at her core. Because It's different now, she knows that- it has to be. No fucking way are her dreams going to get caught up in everything again, they're too big to be put at stake. She can't live just to be like that again, and this time she's too grown to waste her time on useless people. High school was a bubble, a 4 year trance that she's left and is more than ready to forget about.

"Hey, Ra'jah!" That southern, velvety voice could only belong to one stunning woman. She turned around to spot her speed walking to catch up.

"Aye! Kylie!" Ra'jah stopped and gave a little wave as Kylie approached, her highlight shining even in the shitty indoor light. The two moved over to the side of the hall, and leaned against the wall. "If it isn't Miss Kylie Sonique Love," With such a pleasing name, Ra'jah doesn't think she will, or, really can ever get tired of saying the other girl's name. "What's up?"

"Nothin', just tired as fuck," It's kinda cute, the way her accent gets stronger when she's grumpy. "I'mma pass out at some point, I did not get enough sleep." Even as a grumble her voice is so soft and angelic, Ra'jah could probably fall asleep to the blonde reading true crime murder stories.

"Goddamn, it sure as hell doesn't show!" Which is true, Kylie was as effervescent as always, any visible messy hair from under her beanie looked intentional. Even in her oversized t-shirt and shorts, there was an undeniable, captivating charm about her that made it impossible for her to look bad "You look gorgeous girl"

"Awh, thanks honey," She smiles a soft, hazy smile. "You don't look too bad yourself." She hums, eyeing her up with a grin. Before she could even argue a response, the country girl quickly perks up and slaps her hand on Ra'jah's shoulder in excitement. "Oh also! I want your opinion- I'm thinking about dying my hair pink." She can see the visible sparkle in the pair of eyes looking at hers. "Thoughts?" She asks, voice becoming giddy "Oooh bitch! You better, that'd be so fierce!" The (mostly) purple haired girl exclaimed, delight evident in her voice "For real, you'd look so good. And you know, ba-BY" she claps her hands together just for added emphasis, "I support ALL the impulsive hair decisions".

"Yess, obviously I want input only from bad bitches with the best hair"

"I told you I did these myself right?" she asked, running her shoulder length hair through her twirling fingers. "I've been really into doing hair recently"

"Wait, really? It looks so pretty, the fade to purple is so good"

"What'd you mean 'wait really' hoe, what you implying 'bout my hair skills?"

"Just that a talented woman like you should share your expertise!" Even when she was loud her voice was just as comforting, the tone reminiscent of a silk blanket on her skin

"All it took for me was bleach, a bottle of violet Arctic Fox dye, and the holy spirit of Brad Mondo"

"First of all I'm not trusting no mans named Brad," Ra'jah cackled a little because, yeah that's fair. "And secondly, if you're free, come an' help a girl out then!

"You're inviting me over? Wow we're moving kinda fast Kylie"

"Oh shut up bitch" but the undying twinkle in her eye confirmed the unsaid agreement that Ra'jah would be doing Kylie's hair, at some point.

"I'm free on Thursday, can I visit then?"

"Yea that works" She smiled, and the closeness between the two wasn't something the taller girl ever planned, or really felt before. But she had it now, a friend she really cares about, and she never wanted to lose it.

"Shit what time is it?" Even in her Shitty Human era she was still a timely gal, her mother didn't raise no late hoe. "Don't stress it Raj, we have like 15 minutes. Introduction to drafting and sewing, right?"

"Yes ma'am. Wanna start going?" "Sure thing" This year is for a new start, making new friends, and getting a chance to create new first impressions. Rebrand herself y'know, and the hindrance that is Scarlet's existence, wrapped in all the ancient things she'd rather not think about, won't stop her.

The walk to class was a pleasant blur. With Kylie yawning and walking essentially shoulder to shoulder with Ra'jah had they been the same height, they slipped into both comfortable conversation, and silence. With all the noise around them, their presence brought an ease without any awkwardness.

A trek opted through the outdoor route that was albeit a tad longer, provided some well needed greenery and fresh air.

"You excited for class?" Ra'jah asked, only half aware of where she was walking to. Her body was on autopilot, and Kylie knows the way, probably.

"You're amazing if you can get excited by class"

"It's fun!"

"Only 'cause you're good at it"

"You're good at it"

"You know what I mean. Isn't this one your favorite?"

"It's not my favorite"

"Uh huh"

"I just like it a lot. Maybee essentially jus' cause I don't hafta try" It was a mandatory course, but Ra'jah's not complaining. Perhaps it's a little vain to enjoy something just to remind everyone you can do it, but it was an easy break from the rest of the courses. And a nice little egoboost.

"So I'm right!"

"C'mon it's October and we're still on basic techniques"

"It's called introductory," She remarked. "Do you even pay attention half the time?"

"No but bitch neither do you"

"True" Kylie grinned in agreement.

"The way you're coming for me but it's easy for you too!" She hasn't been sewing as long as Ra'jah, but she has great taste so it really balanced out. "And let it be known that I use that class time to think about incredibly productive things"

"Oh that's her name?"

"What?" She didn't mean for her tone to drop. Didn't mean for her legs to stop walking, planting themselves into the cement. Didn't mean for the smile on her face to plummet at the implication. Her visceral reaction was louder than the cluelessness she gave off.

"Calm down" She giggled, as if Ra'jah's reaction woke her up from her grogginess, her breathlessness equivalent to a shot of espresso for Kylie. "You just seem really occupied sometimes is what I meant"

"Me? No I'm not" She couldn't convince herself.

"Okay babe. The models of your fashion sketches just look a little reminiscent"

"You know Scarlet isn't the only person with ginger hair right?" Ra'jah bites back, the condescending tone not her intention, but not exactly unwanted in the moment. Scarlet is insufferable, she doesn't want her own name slandered is all, being associated with the arrogant shit.

"Baby, I ain't mention Scarlet. That's all you.'' She had a shit eating smirk and maybe Ra'jah takes everything back about how nice friends are. IF there was inspiration, Scarlet is objectively nice looking so it's not a big deal there might be similarities if you squint.

"She was implied"

"If you want her to be"

They get inside and take a seat at one of the large tables, divided into stations with a sewing machine and some material at each one. Ra'jah takes a spot at the edge, with Kylie seated to her right.

On paper, it's all been planned out for Ra'jah; during her strolls between classes she'll take in all her surroundings and actively look for inspiration, pondering all the natural shapes and patterns of the world in a way she can manipulate into clothing. On paper, she'll make the most out of the introductory class, sketching designs between the minimal notes and sewing practices. On paper, she'll finish the mornings class with ease and have extra time to practice some new things.

In reality? Paper is flimsy, especially when its accountability is held by a fleeting mind. It's hard to bask in the world when unwanted questions plague her head. Mostly revolving around a certain redhead. God, fuck her. Fuck her pretty eyes and fuck her sculpted face and fuck her euphonious voice. Does everyone who sees Ra'jah see her patheticness? How she allowed some cunt to infiltrate her mind, set up home in her head and take up all the space? Let her infect every cell in the brain like a parasite until her skull is nothing but an infiltrated shell for an infestation caught up with infatuation?

"Ra'jah, you good?" The girl sat across from her, Trinity, piped up, and Ra'jah had to bite back a smile. The icy, timid girl she met just a few weeks ago was starting the conversation.

"Yeah, I'm fine, why?"

"You just looked a little spaced out"

"Nah, it's just that this class is a breeze an' I'm just thinking about a project for another class"

"Mmm"

"Plus it's hard to just think of designs when there's no inspiration"

"I mean, we're supposed to practice gathering and making ruffles right now"

"Oh shit! We are?"

"Yeah girl!" Ra'jah, shaking her head at herself, finally picked up some of the fabric around her and got to work. "You'll be alright?"

"Oh don't worry about me! I'm all good"

"Okayyy if you need anything just yell" Ra'jah replied with a hum and a nod. Watching the girl running the fabric under the machine, memories of the first time they'd talked flashed, days of the nearly silent girl feeling so distant.

"I really like your earrings" The girl raised her head, looking left and right a little as if making sure it was directed at her.

"Thanks." She mumbled, vaguely looking at Ra'jah's direction.

"If you don't mind, where'd you get them?"

"Uh, I thrifted it."

"Oh, cool" Ra'jah smiled, before quickly adding "Thanks". The raven haired girl didn't reply. The start of the intriguing game of 'does she hate me, is she shy, or both?'

After all the awkward attempts made for the quiet girl to be comfortable and maybe make a friend, a sense of pride rang through her. She met Kylie and Trinity here a mere month ago, and yeah, maybe she could be nice. She could walk the fineline of warm socialization without being annoying. The new Ra'jah doesn't do unnecessary mean quips just for the sake of a little power rush. She can be authentically her while being polite. New Ra'jah makes friends- not enemies.

"Oh by the way" Ra'jah snapped her head up at Trinity's voice

"Yeah, what's up?"

"I know it's a little random but do you know what you're gonna be for Halloween?"

"Huh. Well, I haven't really thought about it" Ra'jah remarked, "I just don't care for Halloween and all that"

"Really? Girl, you're not gonna do anything, dress up, go out, nothing?"

"Baby all that work and money for some costume I'll wear once? No ma'am- and the fuck will I do, I barely have ideas for school!"

"Hey, you could wear anything and it's a costume. Wear a black dress, you're a cat"

"You think I'm that basic?"

"Yeah?"

"Fuck you" She snorted, and Trinity had a goofy smile, looking at Ra'jah with a sense of familiar fondness. "And thanks, really, but I don't care for all that spooky shit anyways"

"Damn, alright!" Teeth out and all, she laughed. The blonde on the right leaned in a little, a pleasant opposition of Trinity's hesitation is Kylie's eagerness

"Jesus Ra'jah, what did Halloween do to you?" The southern girl butts in. "You could dress as the grinch of Halloween, steal children's candy"

"You know what, yeah, I'll be a sluttified grinch"

"You're kinda built the same already" Trinity joins with a grin

"Hey!"

"Sluttified? Are you implying the grinch isn't sexy enough?" Ra'jah choked a little at that, found herself smiling with some dopey content, at what exactly she's not sure.

"Do ya'll think being the grinch would count as like, being a furry?" Trinity asked, voice dripping in an odd amount of seriousness.

"What? Baby no" Kylie jumped in. "Yes! absolutely, how would it NOT?" Trinity argues, and maybe it's the easiness of everything. Of how nice it is to just fall into banter when you let people in. Bouncing off the two girls, she doesn't need to think of how to be funny, how to one up herself, remind everyone of why she's worthy. She can just, be. And that warrants a smile.

With Ra'jah's elbow propped on the table, she rested her cheek against her palm to face forward, before turning a little to face Trinity

"But why do ya ask Trin? About Halloween"

"Oh, kinda last minute but I just want some ideas to figure mine out" She shrugs, and Kylie leans over once more. It's a little heartwarming, how physically close she always instinctively wants to be.

"Oh! Are you going to the Halloween party this weekend?"

"Nah parties aren't really my thing"

"Awh, but it'll be fun!"

"Yeah standing in a mass of people I won't talk to will be so fun"

"Fine- Ra'jah, are you goin'?" Rajah turns her head to follow the voices like a cat keeping up with a beam of light.

"Uh..."

"RIGHT, forgot, Halloween's not your thing". A party where she can have a disguise, let loose and have fun. It feels almost embarrassing to admit to her newfound friends that she's never been to a party, and the thought of a Halloween party didn't even cross her mind. Maybe Halloween isn't not her thing, it's just not something she'd indulge in. For reasons. Like, schoolwork.

"Welllllll…" Ra'jah hummed, dragging on with a small grin

"OH the prospect of partying changes things huh?"

"You know, me an' Halloween, we complicated okay!" They laugh, but Ra'jah's left thinking. New or old Ra'jah both, spends a little too much time in the internal realm of the brain.

The class falls silent except the murmurs of the buzzing machines, and the three chatter in whispers. Although usually it's mostly her and Kylie with occasional injections of confirmation from Trinity

"You're insane if you think spaghettini is better than fettuccine" Kylie protested "Spaghettini is literally the objective worst"

"Says who?!" Ra'jah paused sewing to look up at Kylie in defiance

"Me!"

"Trinity which is better"

"Huh? Ya'll It's too early for this." Trinity complained.

"Oh, says the bitch who asked if the grinch was a furry" Ra'jah retorted, but Trinity brushed her off to look at Kylie "Oh wait! Also, Kylie, what're you gonna be for Halloween?" She gave a little snicker before answering

"Don't come for me but honestly? Was thinking about being a cat"

"AAAAAH!" Ra'jah and Trinity erupted laughing.

"But like, a hot one okay!" Ra'jah quickly tried to redeem herself.

"You'll be the hottest ass cat around" Plus, worse comes to worst, Ra'jah will be a witch or something, and they can be hot and basic together.

When the class ended, they packed their things, and exchanged their goodbyes

"I'll see y'all around!"

"See you! Good luck on your textile project Trin"

"Thanks!" She waved, yelling a final "Bye!"

"Bye!" The three part, and Ra'jah makes her way to her second class. History of costume and design was next, and quickly weighing it out, she decided to take a quicker path through the halls. Suddenly, the weight of a body knocked at her side, the two stumbling around for a few seconds. A gust of papers had fallen from both parties' arms, and landed on the floor.

"Oh shit! I'm so-" Scarlet cuts herself off when she looks up at whom she's bumped into.

"Maybe watch where you're going" Ra'jah snorts out of sheer instinct, squatting down to gather her papers where Scarlet follows suit, just a little too close. The vague, sweet scent of strawberries she gives off is suffocating.

"Maybe if you weren't such a stuck up cunt taking up half the hallway I wouldn't hit you" The attention sends a masochistic jolt down her spine

"Uh oh someone's in a bad mood. Stuck up cunt that's a new one! Love the creativity. You should drop out of this school and be a writer" As much as she screamed internally to just shut the fuck up and get your things, it was so easy to slip back to this.

"Thanks but I'm good! When you fail out this year you can give it a try"

"Baby, me? Fail out?" Please don't imply that. Please don't make me doubt that I can and deserve to be here. I don't want to seek approval from others, but I can't help but be hurt at disapproval. Of course, her thoughts don't verbalize as the words that come out of her mouth. "That's a lot of talk for a girl who probably spends more hours getting fucked than studying" Before she can think it through, process the flash of hurt on her face and the way her fingers tense around the last piece of paper, before Ra'jah can really understand the weight of her own words she continues. "But I guess that's how you get yo' A's right?"

Their exchanges were in aggressive whispers, hushed to anyone above them. To most people, they'd find a sight of two girls muttering to one another while they pick up some things they've dropped.

"You're so much prettier when you're quiet" Scarlet huffed, standing up in one swift motion. Those words aren't a compliment. Like, at all. So why does Ra'jah's dumb, twisted heart stop for a second? The implied connection of herself and 'pretty' slows her body and slurs her mind until she's pushing herself up off the ground in slow motion. It's been so many months of mundanity, the small interaction felt all so familiar and foreign and exciting at the same time.But the haziness of her words and their little games makes her forget for a second of what the fuck just happened, and a wave of patheticness washed over her as she started to walk, eyes focused at the cream walls. For all her hemming and hawing, Ra'jah hasn't. Fucking. Changed.

A rush of everything dives into her guts, a sick adrenaline coated in dread, self loathing and the slight urge to cry, nestling in her stomach like a bird claiming a branch as it's home. Her skin was electric, and she hated to admit she loved it, the thrill of interacting with her, cattiness and all. Imagine feeling this much from fucking bumping into someone? Fingers clenched, nails digging in her own palms at how much she hates her. Intense emotions are a high of their own, and Ra'jah can't help but indulge. The piercing sting of her flesh being pressed in with her nails is intensified as she listens for the faint voice of that lanky girl always accompanying Scarlet.

"You good Scarlet?"

"Yeah, thanks" She can't look back, but she can't help but wonder- are they hugging? Holding hands? It doesn't- it shouldn't matter to her. The fun amusement pales in comparison to the misery settling in. The realization that she's fighting with Scarlet like they're 16 at the back of English class.

Of all the schools, why'd that girl have to come here? Of all the things to pursue, why the same as herself? Of all the people, why'd it have to be her? Ra'jah didn't have the audacity to explore the last question. What she means, she's not too sure. The only thing in the world she's sure of is that she can't be both New Ra'jah™ and Old Ra'jah™ to different people. The line between the two existences isn't so bold anymore, and painting over the bumps isn't as effective as she'd hoped.

***

Truth be told, watching herself move around in skirts was one of her favorite things- just about tied with watching others watch her. Maybe that's why she joined cheer in highschool. Especially with the support from (or, lack of thereof) a certain grimacing purple haired girl, a runaway model from a fashion show who wound up wandering this school. She never needed to turn and look, didn't need sight to know there's a burn at her back, nor who it's radiating from. Scarlet always walked with just a bit of a straighter back, just a bit more purpose, and just a bit more stride in her step when her favorite pair of wandering eyes were around. A small part of her always wants to turn around, catch her gaze and watch her frantically look away and pretend she's talking to someone. Or maybe she'll hold it, stare back with just as much intensity. But her wistful attention is enough of an ego boost. The scowl ridden bitch, smile washed away just for her, and yet that's where her attention lied. It made her bite back a smile.

Scarlet is a pretty thing, and she didn't need constant confirmation to remind her that she's beautiful. She's hot, she knows it, Ra'jah knows it, and Scarlet knows that's all she is to her. A pretty thing. Whatever. She's not important.

In fear of her brain melting, and/or being fried to a crisp, Scarlet doesn't bother having two classes back to back. Her mental capacity is full, and a nice salad will probably help with that. She's on her way to meet with Yvie for lunch, thinking about their weekend plans, when she takes a misstep and stumbles, all her weight focused in her shoulder which slams against someone else's side.

"Oh shit! I'm so-" the universe is an asshole. May the odds never be in my favor.

"Maybe watch where you're going" Her sneer is venomous, and the universe has suddenly become just the second biggest asshole.

"Maybe if you weren't such a stuck up cunt taking up half the hallway I wouldn't hit you" Ra'jah didn't do anything, a rational voice lectures, but she ignores it the way she's ignoring the taller girls face. Scarlet's grabbing at her papers, avoiding eye contact because that selfish pile of shit on her right takes up enough space as is, and if she looks into her eyes, sees that stupid fucking face this close she might do something bad. Like, in the sense of, punching her. Yeah, she can't look at her or she'll beat her up. Because that's a fight she'd win.

"Uh oh someone's in a bad mood. Stuck up cunt that's a new one! Love the creativity. You should drop out of this school and be a writer" Ra'jah snides, and she needs to drop out before Scarlet gets grey hair from her.

"Thanks but I'm good! When you fail out this year you can give it a try" Her words are about as empty as her own stomach, because she hasn't eaten since last night, and Ra'jah will quit fashion school and become a science engineer before she fails out.

"Baby, me? Fail out?" Yeah, with the flawless outfit you're wearing that you sure as hell made just because you were bored one night. Your pants could literally be sold as a luxury brand. The girl who started sewing when she a embryo in the womb, you'll fucking fail out. "That's a lot of talk for a girl who probably spends more hours getting fucked than studying- But I guess that's how you get yo' A's right?" Scarlet looks up, not at Ra'jah but away from the ground, and the urge to yell, hit her, and cry come up at the same time. She wants to scream, get everyone in hearing range to know that Ra'jah is a loser who will amount to nothing. She wants to reach out and choke her. But articulating her anger into words is too much, and she ends up just whispering whatever words are willing to come out as she gets up, not caring if she left any papers behind.

"You're so much prettier when you're quiet" And that's the closest thing to honest Scarlet's said all day.

In the distance, she sees Yvie walking towards her, so she waits until the freshly dyed green haired girl is caught up beside her.

"You good Scarlet?"

"Yeah, thanks" The two walk together, side by side, and Scarlet loops her arm through Yvie's, linking the pair.

"You know, Scarlie, you should stop wearing heels before you break your ankles"

"Hey!" She giggled, slapping the taller girl's arm in response. "I never fall, people just get in my way" Yvie scoffs, unable to stop the corners of her lips turning up and giving her away, forever endeared by the shorter girl. Scarlet's affection makes her forget that they've only known each other for a month. They reach a set of blue doors, and Yvie opens it, holding it for Scarlet to come through. Her face seems puzzled

"Are you down to go to Mika's Cafe? I want to get some coffee"

"Sure, they have nice breakfast sandwiches and omelettes, I'm down" It's only a few minutes away from campus

"What's on your mind"

"Just like, school stuff. I have to make a dress for creative fashion design, and I'm just thinking about it, and what I wanna do" Would it be tmi to blurt that Ra'jah is insufferable?

"Cool," Yvie hummed, and spiteful words cycled through Scarlet's head, deciding on what exactly to say, before Yvie beats her to it, whipping her head in some seeming urgency

"OH by the way, I know you're busy with your project and you're determined on getting in the top 5 and all,"

"Uh huh"

"Buuuuut, there's a Halloween party this weekend, and I was gonna go with Brooke and her friends but they're not going anymore," Scarlet knows how Yvie feels about Brooke, and to be fair she's only met her a few times in passing, but how someone like Yvie could fall for someone as uptight as the boring blonde is beyond her. She doesn't dare bring up another possibility of why her dorm mate would be avoiding the stoic girl, a possibility involving a particularly hot headed latina glued to the Canadians side. "They decided clubbing downtown would be more fun or whatever," They're outside on the pavement now, and the afternoon breeze graces their skin. It's a welcome environment, and Scarlet slows down her pace to enjoy the air, with Yvie quickly matching her pace.

"Wouldn't you rather go clubbing though? Like not with Brooke and them but with others," Scarlet is friendly and all, but she swears Yvie is somehow friends with half the school. She sure as hell can find a group to go with.

"I guess, but I want to go to the party," she quiets a little as she continues, "There are some people I want to see there, for fun and stuff"

"Mmmm!" Scarlet widens her eyes, looking at the taller girl with a knowing glare, sprinkled with a teeny bit of judgement.

"It's kinda lame to go there alone!"

"No it's not!"

"Scarls, yeah it is"

"Why do you even care? Wanna impress some girls?" In response, Yvie rolled her eyes so hard Scarlet could practically feel it.

"'Cause you want me to go to a fun Halloween party by myself?

"Yes! You could walk up to anyone and there's like an 80% chance you already know them, and a 100% chance you'll become friends anyways" The quirky girl's charm is undeniable, she'll be fine without Scarlet. Yvie gives a defeated sigh

"Seems kinda homophobic"

"Ugh you know what's actually homophobic? The fact that more people aren't madly in love with me. I'm LITERALLY perfect" The prospect of love feels like it's been dangled infront of her, her whole life. Imagine looking like Scarlet, and never dated before?

"You're right girl, you are" Yvie laughed her deep, hearty cackle and Scarlet wanted to melt a little.

"Thank you, finally someone with taste" Looking at her outfit, she remembers that the tall girl's taste is kind of debatable, and Scarlet almost wants to say she takes it back

"You think Ra'jah has good taste then?"

"What?"

"Also a party seems like the best way to meet more people y'know?" She brushes over her last question, and it's much better that way.

"You know what, whatever 'll go with you" Scarlet agrees so she'll shut up. If she hears her roommate bring up she-who-shall-not-be-named-because-shes-a-stick-in-the-ass anymore she might lose her mind. And, she really doesn't have any other plans for the night so might as well.

***

AN: going to be a while for the next chapter bc im busy so here's a lil thing lol xo

***

They weren't supposed to meet here. Weren't supposed to see each other. At least, that's what Scarlet tries to tell herself.

"You are such a fucking pain, oh my god" Scarlet seethed because everything is hazy except the impassive girl standing before her and she can't think straight. Her cold eyes are apathetic and Scarlet wants to implode, like a glass thermostat engulfed in a burning heat where it's not a question of if, but an inevitable when? "Maybe I am arrogant" Her voice was coated in a sickly sweet frustration. She pushed further into Ra'jah's space, the taller girl stiffening at the ever decreasing space between the two. How can she be so still, so unreactive? This is all so amusing to her? Is she having fun, so fucking detached from everything and watching Scarlet crumble? Pretending like she cares about Scarlet past her pretty face? Enjoying her sadistic game? Fuck her, fuck her, fuck her.

"Maybe I am narcissistic" Their faces were inches apart, and Ra'jah could feel the angry womans hot breathe on her cheek, the pungent smell of alcohol intruding her nose.

"But I'd rather be a confident, arrogant narcissist than whatever kind of sad fuck you are"

Scarlet growled, and she wanted to breathe fire, burn Ra'jah's existence out of her mind and scream at everything she felt because of her. Except that she sees her, and wants her, wants to hurt her and touch her and without thinking her hands are digging around Ra'jah's waist.

"You are such-" Scarlet was interrupted as the other girl leaned in, framed the shorter girl's face with both her hands, and pressed her lips against Scarlets. Any thoughts or mental functionality she had were put to an abrupt stop. This wasn't supposed to happen. It's been so long, but no time has passed since they were last like this. The plug to her brain was pulled, and it's all static and her bodys done a full 180. Ra'jah's piercing lips are numbing, and her overheated body feels like it's been dunked in ice where all her nerves are all in shock. They weren't supposed to do this anymore, it's the only thing they've ever been able to agree on. She was frozen, unable to move, or think, far too busy being hyper focused on the familiar sugary lips on hers, sending waves of nostalgia through her body. Time has only heighted the intoxication. She gains some composure and surges forward, but Ra'jah's pulling away, opening her mouth to finally say something.

"You're so much prettier when you're quiet"

#rpdr fanfiction #as6 #ra'jah o'hara #scarlet envy #trinity k bonet #kylie sonique love #yvie oddly #ra'jah x scarlet #enemies to lovers #lesbian au #fashion school au #a series of mutual feelings #pazinae #concrit welcome

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creating-a-username-is-hard · 4 years

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You know spn has this really weird trend of violently killing off its black characters; Jake, the husband and wife trio in season 3 (Tamara & Issac), victor, Rufus, BILLE, Missouri and DONT get me started on the racist truck episode. But having Sam empty on entire clip into Jake’s body or having a black character die on screen drinking bleach is just like excessive in my opinion idk I just wanted to share this unwanted opinion

#supernatural #castiel #dean winchester #sam winchester #spn #cas #unpopular thoughts #unpopular opinion

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victoriaholmeswriting · 5 years

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Weird

Gabe Lewis x Reader One-Shot

Read it on AO3!

Fandom: The Office (U.S.)

Rating: T

Words: 771

Paperwork, paperwork, and even more paperwork. That’s all his career had ever been at Sabre and, once again, Gabe Lewis’ desk was buried in tedious paperwork. Who would ever look at it? Why was it necessary? And why was he -- ONCE AGAIN -- wasting his life away in a company he gave zero fucks about?!

Surrounded by people that gave zero fucks about him, too…. Again.

They didn’t like him. They didn’t understand him. Hell, he suspected half of them didn’t even know his last name.

It was better than open rivalries over a woman that never really loved him and repeatedly humiliated him, and blatant disdain from both sides of the company liaison, he supposed. But, still…. Was it so much to ask just to be liked by -- well, anyone?

He groaned, leaning his elbows on the piles of bleached-white hell and massaging his temples.

“Are you Gabe?” The unfamiliar voice startled him out of the spiraling thoughts.

Gabe looked up to find a tall, attractive goth woman standing on the other side of his desk. She wore all black clothes and captivating, dark makeup that made her (y/e/c) eyes shine in a mysterious, almost hypnotic, sort of way. Her hair, which hung down to her waist and was topped with a beanie, was dyed a brilliant shade of dark red.

She raised an expectant, carefully-sculpted eyebrow.

“Oh,” he said quickly, jumping to his feet (which caused several sheets of God-Only-Knows-What forms to fall with an obnoxious sound), “yes, I am. I am Gabe Lewis.”

He mentally kicked himself. A clear image of the “awkward meter” Angela Martin -- now Schrute, he remembered with spite -- had hissed about under her breath during one of his meetings filling and overflowing flashed in his mind like a Vegas billboard.

“(y/n) (y/l/n),” she replied, shaking his hand. “I’m sorry to do this to you given -- all this,” she continued, gesturing to his chaotic desk, “but I was told to drop these papers off with you.”

Gabe felt the last of his sanity jump out the window head first as he took them from her. He flipped through them briefly without really looking at them. “I’ll get right on it,” he lied.

She wasn’t fooled.

Another examination of his desk during this charade drew her attention towards something hidden by some of the papers. “Is that a Pennywise balloon mousepad?”

“Yes, it is,” Gabe affirmed, perking up a bit (though he was not sure if he should be embarrassed or ecstatic that someone actually knew what it was). He moved aside the papers and mouse to show her.

“That’s so cool!”

Gabe’s whole demeanor changed. He wasn’t being made fun of. In fact, something that normally usually garnered him odd looks and unwanted nicknames actually seemed to improve her opinion of him.

She considered him for a moment, locking him under the gaze of those hypnotic eyes, before producing a business card from her jacket pocket. It read: “(y/n) (y/l/n), YouTube Creator/Internet Personality.” A number and business email was also listed, along with her social media handles. Barren trees and her channel logo comprised the background. Taking a pen from his desk, she wrote her cell number on the back.

“I go to haunted places -- houses, forests, abandoned hospitals, you know -- and tell their stories,” she explained as she handed the card to him. “I’ve been looking for someone to join me. Doing it on my own has kind of gotten stale,” she added. “If you’re interested in a job you might actually care about, give me a call.”

“I’ll think about it,” he said seriously, grinning. “Thank you!”

She shrugged, suddenly looking a bit less confident than before. “Yeah, I don’t really know what to say now…. So, Imma just head to my flight. It was nice to meet you, Gabe, and I hope to hear from you,” she concluded in a way that almost sounded like she wasn’t just talking about the job offer.

“Nice to meet you, too,” he responded as she turned to leave. His mind was racing.

Making up his mind, he hastily snatched up his phone and dialed the handwritten number. She answered it just as she pulled open the door to his wing of the office.

“Hello?”

“Would it be weird to accept the offer right now?”

She laughed and turned back to him. “I like weird!” she replied with a wink. “Come on, I have time before my flight. You can buy me a coffee while I tell you more about it.”

Tags: @madshelily @klinenovakwinchester @once-again-i-am-dead @josiecarioca @emmelynecosette

#the office #gabe lewis #gabe lewis x reader #reader insert #the office fanfiction #gabe lewis fanfiction #language #angst #giving this beautiful weirdo the ending he deserved #weird #victoriaholmeswriting

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levaer · 4 years

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THE BIG BLEACH HC MEME centering around politics, repost & fill out! For anyone who wanted to explore those aspects more, considering it played a big role in the story. Some things may be unknown to your Muse, just think in WHAT IF then & well, have fun and take your time!

BASICS

Name: Askin Nakk Le Vaar / / / Age: 1000+ / / / Gender: Cis male Race: Shinigami / Quincy / Hollow / Fullbringer / Visored / Human / Other Currently lives: Soul Society / Hueco Mundo / Silbern / Living World / Hell Exact Location: Half of his life is set in the Wandenreich. Post-war, his location varies. Group(s): Quincy / Sternritter / Schutzstaffel

QUESTIONS

- Would your muse consider themselves more: GOOD / BAD / NEUTRAL ? - Would your muse consider their group more: GOOD / BAD / NEUTRAL ? - How does your muse think others see them: GOOD / EVIL / NEUTRAL ? - How does your muse think others see their race: GOOD / EVIL / NEUTRAL ? - How does your muse think others see their group: GOOD / EVIL / NEUTRAL ?

- Is your muse considered a threat: YES / NO ? From whom?: No, because I hc that the Shinigami aren’t actually aware Askin survived; if they knew, however, there’s the possibility he’d be deemed a threat. - Is your muse powerful: YES / NO ? Could they be considered OP: YES / NO ? - Did your muse commit any crimes: YES / NO ? - Does your muse think they are doing mostly the right thing: YES / NO ? - Would society think the same: YES / NO / MIXED OPINIONS ?

- Does your muse think they are treated unfairly: YES / NO ? - Does your muse feel understood from others: YES / NO ? - Is it important for them what others think of them as a person: YES / NO ? - Would they welcome death: YES / NO ? - Will they ever find peace: YES / NO ?

01.0. Do they fully stand behind the group they are part of? YES / NO. Why is that? Explain: Askin likes to think he’s rootless, and that’s true for the most part, but he’s still a human being. He was rootless enough to drop everything he knew, his entire world, and embark on a journey with a blurry destination - but not enough not to feel a little bit of sense of belonging to the Wandenreich, which he has been serving for over a thousand years, and for the Quincy as a whole. They’re not all good or bad, they’re people; he’s not all good or bad, either. But they’re his people, a part of his, even if not aloud, acknowledges this.

02.0. Do they like as things are in Soul Society? YES / NO / INDIFFERENT. 02.1. Is there anything they would change? Explain here: Askin is not one to judge. He would not condemn the many for the sins of the few, but ... he would not forgive the few for the sins of the many, either. He’s not too informed about the specific dynamics of Soul Society, though he’s familiar with the violent foundation of it since he fought against the first generation of the Gotei, during the First Quincy War. Let’s say, he would not change anything in particular, but he would not mind if all got wiped away, either.

03.0. Would they ever actively try to bring change (in general)? YES / NO. 03.1. Is your muse more: passive / active ? Introverted / Extroverted ? 03.2. Does your muse care more about: others / themselves ? / / all of Askin’s life has been projected on someone else’s dream. Ultimately, he looks after himself, but he led a strongly collective life for so long, it kinda shaped him. 03.3. Do they trouble their mind over a lot of problems, others? YES / NO. 03.4. Do they mostly involve: the world / everyone / themselves / comrades / friends / family / elderly / kids / teenagers / home / workplace / strangers / souls / humans / quincy / shinigami / nobles / fullbringer / visored / hollows / espada / arrancar / (former) boss(es) / pets / animals / zanpakuto spirit / enemies / partner / lovers / soul king / god / other…(add more) 03.5. Name (up to) three which are the most on their mind (optional, adding names): Askin has a tendency not to hold onto anything. His own thoughts feel light as clouds to him as they cross his minds, and he’s definitely not the type to obsess over something or someone. After the war, Urahara Kisuke has been on his mind for a while; mostly, he wondered whether he had succeeded in taking him down. Grimmjow too; I think, especially for a Quincy, the feeling of a Hollow’s claws is not something easily forgotten.

04.0. Do they think frequently about politics? YES / NO / SOMETIMES. Why is that? Explain: More frequently than he would like to, actually. His social background demanded of him at least some basic knowledge of the feudal system, administration and interrelations with other Quincy families and with the central power of the Carolingian empire. That said, Askin never let himself got too involved, but growing up witnessing his lord father administering justice, taxes, law-making etc. kind of left an imprinting. He spent a thousand years serving as a soldier in an army where all the power was intensely centralized, so he did not have much to do with politics - that’s how the Wandenreich was, as Yhwach really wasn’t a politician, anyway. Post-war though, if he contributes to the reformation of a Quincy nation, he will have to get involved whether he likes it or not.

05.0. How do they feel in their current location: POSITIVE / NEGATIVE / NEUTRAL ? 05.1. Why is that?: Silbern gives him vertigo. He preferred the instability of the Lichtreich more, but still, he’s not one to complain. The world of the living is as colorful as he remembers, always shapeshifting, and it’s really nice to see the light blue sky again after being hidden in the shadows for so long.

06.0. Does your muse have any goal: YES / NO ? BIG / SMALL ? - 06.1. Does it involve anything world-changing: YES / NO ? - 06.2. If goal or not, any future plans? Share here: You know how Askin is, he goes where the wind takes him. He only ever committed once in his life and it wasn’t even to a dream of his own, it was Yhwach’s design, so it would be really unkind to ask him to think about the future haha. In my rebuild verse, any plans for his immediate future involve making himself useful to the new Quincy state. Best way to keep himself occupied.

07.0. Does your muse know about the Original Sin of Soul Society*: YES / NO ? * curious? Read about it here. 07.1. If they knew, would it change their views on Soul Society: YES / NO ? 07.2. More: POSITIVE / NEGATIVE / NEUTRAL ? / / I’m not sure Askin would care to the point of completely changing his opinion on Soul Society, since it’s already a pretty negative one. It would feel somewhat eerie to him, thinking that the victim of the original sin was Yhwach’s literal father, though.

08.0. Who is the worst person in their eyes?: Mayuri Kurotsuchi. 08.1. What should happen to them? Execution (quick / slow death) / Imprisonment / Stripped of their powers / Torture / Repay for their sins / Pay a Fine / Social Work / lose their loved ones / Exile / other… (add more). 08.2. Explanation: he’d kill Mayuri off quickly, as one gets rid of a thorn. It wouldn’t be a painless death, but it wouldn’t take too long; Askin is not a sadist by nature, and he would just want to make sure the bastard doesn’t take one more breath in the world.

09.0. Thoughts on: Quincy Massacre if they knew: POSITIVE / NEGATIVE / NEUTRAL ? 09.1. Would they be alright with such thing happening again: YES / NO / INDIFFERENT ? 09.2. Would they try to prevent it: YES / NO / DEPENDS ? 09.3. Explanation: I said this already, the Quincy genocide is a generational trauma for the Quincy, even those too young to be born at the time. Askin is unmoved by most things, but he witnessed with his own eyes those of his kind that were captured and killed and experimented on. It’s something you just don’t forget, and Askin doesn’t forget easily anyway. If such a thing were to happen again, and lbr there’s a possibility since the numbers of the Quincy are always carefully monitored, Askin would fight, despite his general dislike for overall idea.

10.0. Would they ever switch sides: YES / NO ? 10.1. If yes, What could bring them to do so?: - 10.2. Would they create a new one: YES / NO ? or join a current one? If so, which: Until his defeat, Askin’s allegiance is to Yhwach and betraying him / switching sides like some Sternritters did is off the table. After the war, however, he’s free of bonds, so if someone were to try and gain his loyalty, he’d consider it. He doesn’t fuck with Soul Society, though.

11.0. Does your muse follow a certain moral code*?: YES / NO / GRAY AREA ? * (ethics) A written, formal, and consistent set of rules prescribing righteous behavior, accepted by a person or by a group of people. 11.1. What does it involve?: it’s more of what’s in his character than a real set-up code, he’s not so chivalrous. He lives by the principle of letting people live their lives without prying and being chill, mostly. 11.2. What does it NOT involve?: Askin is not a sadist, although he can be a real bastard if he commits to it. He has no problem killing, no matter how gruesomely, but he’s not entirely comfortable with harming children. He’s also not a creep lol, he wouldn’t give someone unwanted attention.

YOUR MUSE’S VIEWS / OPINIONS ON THESE GROUPS ?

Central 46: positive / negative / neutral. ━ because: the core of Soul Society executive functions, and by extension, the most fucked up.

Four Great Noble Clans: positive / negative / neutral. ━ because: he’s not knowledgeable enough about the specifics of Soul Society politics to have an opinion on its nobility. Askin is nobility too, after all.

Royal Guards / Gotei 13: positive / negative / neutral . ━ because: they’re the ones primarily responsible for the genocide, the ones Askin fought against during the first and the second war, the ones who reinforce the violent supremacy of Shinigami and who openly oppose his people.

Fullbringer: positive / negative / neutral. ━ because: doesn’t really know them, doesn’t care. A human with hollow-based abilities is somewhat of an abomination in the eyes of a Quincy, I believe, but Askin is an open-minded person.

Visored: positive / negative / neutral. ━ because: Shinigami AND Hollows? Ew.

Espada: positive / negative / neutral. ━ because: his only experience with an Espada in canon was Grimmjow, and it’s a tricky subject. He’s never come in contact with Aizen’s whole elite, so not much of an opinion could be formed.

Quincy: positive / negative / neutral. ━ because: he’s a Quincy. It doesn’t matter how disconnected Askin might feel from his people, he devoted his entire life to the Quincy as a group, though indirectly. Askin has a cynical and disenchanted look on the world, he doesn’t buy into the romanticized concept of ‘Quincy pride’, but at the end of the day, he remains a Quincy. The millenary story of his people, their culture and powers are integral to Askin’s upbringing. He thinks he’s rootless, but he’ll never be able to uproot the Quincy in him.

YOUR MUSE’S VIEWS / OPINIONS ON THESE (IMPORTANT) PEOPLE ?

Aizen: positive / negative / neutral. ━ because: he knows Aizen by reputation alone, as one of the Five Special War Powers; he’s been told the guy is a real asshole, but Askin doesn’t judge.

Yhwach: positive / negative / neutral. ━ because: Yhwach is awe-inspiring. The sense of wonder he got Askin to feel, unmoved by the passing of centuries, is the closest thing to feeling really alive he ever experienced in his life. It’s not that Askin is loyal to Yhwach himself; he’s loyal to that deep-seated feeling of wonder, the thrill of diving into the sea without knowing what’s awaiting under the surface.

Mayuri: positive / negative / neutral. ━ because: his gratuitous cruelty and the horrible things he did to Quincies viscerally nauseate Askin. And you know it takes a lot to upset him.

Kurosaki: positive / negative / neutral. ━ because: he’s just a boy. Why is everyone obsessed with this boy?

Soul King: positive / negative / neutral. ━ because: Askin is, and always has been, quite divorced from religion. He knows the guy is literally God. He knows Pernida and Gerard are directly linked to him, parts of him, and that Yhwach is his son but ... that’s about it.

EXTRA(optional): add more characters which hold some meaning to your muse.

Grimmjow: This is largely self-indulgent, but being (almost) killed by Grimmjow was like catching an disease you have been vaccinated against. The illness is meeker, sort of slowed down, but you feel the clash with the vaccine within your veins, you feel it distinctively. For one who lives between life and death, the experience Grimmjow gave him, that of a frozen instant in which he’s both alive and dead, is something Askin will never forget. He will never forget the feeling.

CONGRATS, you managed till to the end, now tag your fellow bleach partners!

TAGGED BY: myself, @senboago and @tatarfora TAGGING: steal it.

#ch study.#this DRAINED me

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disappearinginq · 5 years

Text

New Bingo Card

Crankiness is apparently a powerful motivator, but so are awesome people randomly swinging by with words of encouragement.

Currently, the fandom is Magnum, PI, but I plan to add in some from Prodigal Son over the break.

Fic can be found on AO3: Found Family

and FFN.net: Found Family

and below the cut:

Rick tugged at the stiff collar of his dress blues for the umpteeth time, stretching the starched material a little further every time. The fabric no longer lined up to make an even line, and the top button was in danger of popping loose. His face was starting to itch from his five o’clock shadow, and the colonel had made it abundantly clear that he was to shave before they were picked up by their escort, but after 18 months and 11 days of no shaving, he just felt naked without at least some scruff.

Besides.

Clean shaven he looked like he was 12.

Well, used to. The rounded features he’d had almost his entire adult life that had bartenders carding him well into his thirties – a source of never ending amusement for Nuzo and TC and a shared affliction for Thomas – were gone. They’d been out of the Valley for almost four months now, but weight and muscle were slow to return.

“Why in the fuck do we have to stay in our dress uniforms for this bullshit?” he grumbled. The uniforms were never what one would call roomy but now they just felt like woolen weighted blankets slowly suffocating him. With the high collar, it felt like a really weak guy trying to strangle him all day. It didn’t allow for slouching or raising arms or even stretching, and Rick had to resist the urge to gnaw on the collar that jabbed uncomfortably at the underside of his chin. “Why do we even have to do this bullshit?”

TC heaved a long suffering sigh of someone who’d had to explain to a whiny toddler one too many times already – “because we’re a big deal. People want some good news for a change, and we’re it.”

“If people want a happy story, they can fucking watch the Hallmark Channel,” Rick growled. “This is the last of things I want to do on my To Do list.”

TC played along. He looked utterly unbothered by his uniform, the new Major insignia gleaming in the midmorning sun. “Oh yeah? What’s above it?”

“Chug a bottle of bleach, for starters,” Rick said.

The abrupt bark of laughter at his shoulder was worth the dark scowl from Nuzo and TC.

Thomas looked better than he had, but that was a pretty low bar. The same missing baby fat from Rick’s cheeks hollowed out Thomas’s entire face, making him look gaunt and worn. His hair was still too long for regs, but the admiralty let it slide, if only because Thomas wouldn’t let anyone close enough with a pair of scissors to cut it. He still wasn’t talking much, and rarely strayed any further than a few feet from any of them, but at least he was mobile. And alive.

He fidgeted with his pristine white uniform, pulling absently at the sleeves every few minutes to cover up the still healing skin graft scars.

“That’s a corker of a To Do list, brother,” TC said easily. “Anything else?”

“Well, if we’re still talking ‘Things I Would Rather Do Than a Press Tour’, then I’m going to have say eating a nest of spiders, getting kicked in the teeth by a mule, having recreational surgery to remove a testicle,” he animatedly counted off on his fingers as he prattled off worse and worse things, ignoring Nuzo’s eye rolling and TC’s look of abject disgust while watching Thomas’s smile grow to the point it crinkled the corners of his eyes. Worth it, Rick thought.

“Is there anything actually fun on this list of yours?” TC interrupted before Rick could come up with worse things.

“Food,” Rick said. “I plan to eat myself stupid now that we’re out of that godforsaken hospital. And I’m sorry, but German food is not my thing. I want an Americanized pizza, with something gross for toppings. I want whatever the hell that thing is,” he pointed to a six foot tall advertisement for something pink from Starbucks. “I want an all-American hot dog made from kangaroo meat and old boots.”

“That is not what hot dogs are made of,” TC sighed, making a face. “Shut up before you ruin all the things I’ve been looking forward to.”

They were sitting in the VIP lounge of LaGuardia, waiting on a ‘personal escort’ to some talk show – Rick honestly hadn’t been paying any attention when the general spoke. Fallon? Kimmel? SNL? Something that was supposed to impress him, and instead all Rick heard was ‘the first time you’ve been on American soil in over two years, and for the next six weeks, we have your entire lives mapped out for you – where you eat, where you sleep, who you talk to’ and he couldn’t shake the feeling it sounded suspiciously like they were still prisoners.

Just fewer bars and indoor plumbing.

They hadn’t been home in over two years – Rick hadn’t been state side in almost three. He’d been in the middle of back to back tours when they were captured. He almost forgot what it sounded like to hear people speaking primarily in a language he understood.

But his nerves were far from soothed just stepping onto American soil. They’d spent weeks in Germany recovering, trying to undo the damage done in a year a half, and Rick felt like it was like slapping a new coat of paint on rust – looked pretty on the outside, while everything still rotted away underneath.

They were flown first class from Bagram. Well, first from Bagram to the UAE, and then to the USA. The comfy seats didn’t mean much when he had to sit in the most uncomfortable uniform ever made for thirteen hours, with the military escort reminding them they weren’t allowed to drink in uniform.

When Rick had threatened to strip down then and there, the escort had relented, but he’d caught the exaggeratedly disappointed looks from the stewardesses. He’d smiled as they refilled his drink when out of the blue the thought struck him so hard he’d flinched, almost spilling it – would they still smile if they saw the scars?

He’d avoided any further attempts at conversation with them, just the general pleases and thank yous for service and tried not to throw up.

Nuzo laughed, interrupting the dark line of thoughts. “You idiots are gonna be the one doing the junket, not me.” He elbowed Thomas with half his usual force and tried not to let the hurt show when Thomas still noticeably flinched. “I guess married man, father of one doesn’t interest the people like three singles ready to mingle.”

“Don’t be hatin’ ‘cause we have the celebrity looks,” TC joked, fussing with his own dress blues that were still pristine.

“Yeah,” Rick piped in, slinging his arm around TC’s shoulders. “Look at these mugs. We’re gorgeous. And you somehow still have a bald head despite being stuck in a cave for 18 months and 11 days without access to a razor. Who would you want on camera?” He smiled broadly.

“It’s because Lara said no,” Thomas said quietly, before Nuzo could reply. He barely met Nuzo’s gaze, dark brown eyes looking away even before they connected. “And everyone is afraid of Lara.”

Nuzo stared for a moment. They all did. It was the first attempt at humor – actual humor, not dark, gallows jokes that made the therapists scribble madly in their notebooks to up his meds – since the Valley.

The ghost of Thomas’s former grin faltered, those same dark eyes that spoke more than the man did himself these days shifting away suddenly as he bit his lip, suddenly unsure if he’d overstepped an imaginary line.

It was more than a little crushing to see someone who once spoke so freely stop and second guess almost everything they said. Even to their friends.

Rick saved him.

Seemed like he was doing that a lot lately. But it gave him a purpose – a mission. And isn’t that what the counselor kept saying returning servicemen struggled with? A lack of purpose in the absence of mission?

Guess they were saving each other still.

“Thomas has a point, Nuz,” Rick said. “Lara is a lovely and terrifying woman. No fair getting her to spring you.”

“Are you trying to tell me that Lara, love of my life, sun in my sky, to whom the angels pale in comparison, is intimidating enough that she can bully an Admiral into letting her beloved husband out of an unwanted assignment?” Nuzo put a hand over his ribbon rack, mouth opened in feigned shock before shrugging one shoulder in agreement. “Damn right she is.”

The frightened rabbit look faded slowly from Thomas’s expression as they continued to banter back and forth, the familiar rhythm of their teasing soothing frazzled nerves better than any therapy. It worked in the cave, it worked at the airport.

TC and Nuzo were still talking, Rick occasionally butting in with an opinion that no one asked for or needed, just to keep things lively. But mostly he kept an eye on Thomas.

Thomas, whose attention waned easily these days, and more often than not, drifted back to less pleasant times. He fidgeted in place almost constantly, clenching and unclenching his hands, only following the conversation when voices were raised and even then, only to make sure it wasn’t a danger loud, before staring off into space again. The press conference they’d already had in Bagram was a nightmare – everyone wanted to talk to Thomas.

And Thomas held his own for a while. He really did. But the questions started to get a little too personal. Once he’d answered about finding something that let him help people, now that they were being early retired from their military service, the reporters took it as an invitation to ask him more invasive and personal questions that somehow also still made political statements out of it – like “Does that mean you don’t agree with the US’s involvement with Afghanistan?”, or “Do you believe that the military presence isn’t helping people?”

Rick was all ready to come to his brother’s aide, but TC beat him to the punch with a solid, rumbling: “You’re gonna ask a man who went through hell to solve a war that’s been going on since before we left Africa as a species?”

The following “get fucked” that even had flustered Thomas laughing because TC rarely ever swore, even in the Cave, probably had more to do with the abrupt end to the questioning, but…eh. It was worth the ass chewing from the higher ups.

Now he was starting to fidget again, despite the familiar bantering, pulling at invisible threads on his uniform as he tried not to make the constant rolling of his shoulders obvious.

“I’m bored stiff. You wanna come take a walk around the airport?” he asked, already heading for the door to the lounge. “Get some air? Stretch these legs? I think I’m losing circulation to my feet in these things.”

“Sure,” Thomas agreed, practically jumping out of his seat at the invite. “It’s stuffy in here.”

It wasn’t, but Rick let it slide. He held the door open for his friend, sending a quick ‘okay’ sign behind his back towards Nuzo and TC, letting them know he had this one.

The airport was crowded, but not claustrophobically so. The concourse was packed with people waiting for food and flights, the enormous floor to ceiling windows looking out onto the tarmac for people to watch incoming and outgoing flights making the crowd tolerable.

Except for the part where people stared at them as they walked around.

It had nothing to do with who they were – Rick doubted that many people really watched the news. But the military dress uniforms were eye catching. Something that he never minded in the past, but now felt like he was under a microscope. He found himself walking closer than necessary to Thomas, studying the ceiling with closer intensity than it probably warranted.

“I don’t think I can take this for another six weeks,” Thomas said, so quietly Rick almost missed it. Rick hadn’t been paying all that much attention, preoccupied with his own feelings of being under a microscope, but now that he actually looked at Thomas, he wasn’t looking so hot.

The damage done by the Taliban was a slow recovery. Damage done by raging infections and Thomas’s own recklessness was even slower. Long walks winded him still, but now Magnum was looking positively gray.

“I know…I know what we did was important,” Thomas said softly. “But…I don’t want to keep reliving it. Letting people ask us like it’s some part of a movie, or somehow entertaining. And the more I try to convince myself that these people…” he gestured absently with a flick of his hand that made him wince. “They’re the reason why it should be worth it, the more I keep thinking of that press release, and the more…the more I hate it.” The more he hated them.

Rick considered it for a long moment before replying, trying to channel his inner TC to find something that might actually mean something. “We took an oath to stand against all threats, foreign and domestic. We signed up to fight for them. Not to suffer for them. You don’t owe them more than you’ve given.”

Thomas shrugged like he didn’t believe him but was too tired to argue. The higher ups made the press tour a non-optional request. As long as they were still in, they were supposed to ‘obey the orders of those appointed over them’.

What was irritating was that Thomas used to have no problem telling the chain to get bent when needed. Or just pretending like he didn’t hear them in the first place. He even said some unpleasant things to the Taliban holding them prisoners, but now…now he just didn’t seem to have it in him to complain.

Like someone had snuffed that spark.

“But first things first – I’m getting out of this monkey suit.” He veered abruptly into the clothing store, boasting hoodies with ‘I heart NYC’ in every color imaginable and Yankees and Mets gear stacked to the ceiling. He almost gagged when he saw the outrageous pricing, but hey – he had back pay for a year and a half of hazardous duty coming his way. He could afford it.

They were supposed to stay in uniform while traveling, according to the military.

Well, they could go fuck themselves, Rick thought darkly. If he was gonna be gawked at, it was gonna be because people thought he was an overcompensating tourist – not a Marine who just returned from hell.

“Here,” he tossed Thomas an overpriced t-shirt. “Take that. I’ve never been more appreciative of airlines catering to the idea that at least half their customers have lost all their stuff in customs, but I am getting out of this uniform, and so are you.”

Thomas stared blankly at the plain black shirt in his hands. Rick watched as he carefully traced scarred fingertips over the soft fabric, touching at the collar before fingering the sleeves that would only come to just past his upper arm.

“It’s softer than dress whites,” he conceded. He almost headed for the changing room before he stopped, glancing back the racks. “I need something with sleeves,” he pointed out hesitantly.

Rick nodded his chin towards the display of hoodies. “Take your pick. Personally, I dig the pink one, so if you’re not down for looking like twinsies, pick a different color.”

Thomas laughed at that. Rick had never been ‘conservative’ when it came to civilian clothes – mostly because it annoyed everyone else, but as more than one woman had told him – ladies liked a daring man with more color in their wardrobe than that of Johnny Cash.

Their obscenely expensive clothing bought and tags ripped off, they headed back towards the lounge where TC and Nuzo were probably beginning to wonder where exactly they wandered off to.

Rick’s stepfather once told him ‘clothes make the man’, and for the most part, Rick flatly ignored him. But the change in Thomas was…tangible.

Dressed in jeans which cost more than a car rental, shoes better served for a teenager on a skateboard but were the only ones soft enough to accommodate sensitive scar tissue, and a hoodie two times too big for him, Thomas actually looked…relaxed.

No one was staring at him. No one even batted an eye as they walked past them – not even the ones who’d openly stared at the dress uniforms not twenty minutes earlier.

It was like they were invisible.

For the first time in a year and a half, no one paid any attention at all to them. Not to demand questions of them, not to decide who they were going to take away to the Pit, not to mock from behind bars, not to question whether they’d followed the doctor’s advice or if they’d eaten anything that day.

Nobody cared.

And.

It.

Was.

Marvelous.

“Like a magic cloak,” Thomas half whispered in awe. He still tugged at the long sleeves of the sweatshirt, but they were long enough he could actually pull the ends over his hands, hiding the scars completely.

It also made him look like he was fifteen.

But there was a kindling light in those dark, expressive eyes, and that was all that Rick cared about.

“Told you,” he teased gently, opening the door back to the lounge.

There was an indignant squawk of abject betrayal when TC saw them in civilian clothes.

“Really, guys?” TC gaped, a hand of mock betrayal going to his chest. “You gonna do a brother like that?”

Rick huffed. “Like we would leave you hanging.” He tossed a bag of clothes at the pilot, who caught them deftly in one hand before peering suspiciously inside. “No, I didn’t get you pink. We decided yellow was more your color anyway.”

“What in the hell is this?” TC demanded, yanking out a bumblebee yellow button up. “TM, is this your doing?”

Thomas shrugged innocently. “There’s a limited selection in the big and tall in an airport.”

TC scowled without anger. “Sure.”

“Nah, the kid’s right – you had your pick of that or lime green. I don’t know why they think a 6’2”, 240 pound man needs to be more noticeable, but it’s what you get,” Rick defended, even as Thomas shot another scowl his way at the mention of age.

“Nothing for me?” Nuzo asked. “I see how it is.”

“Your wife and kid are coming to pick you up in like an hour – don’t pretend like Lara and Jake aren’t going to have a change of clothes,” TC pointed out. “Watch the youngin’s – I’m getting out of this clown suit.”

Before Nuzo could protest, TC was out the door with a speed that belied his size.

Nuzo shook his head, then quickly darted his gaze back to Thomas who was looking out the floor to ceiling window at the parking lots, not paying them any attention. He met Rick’s gaze, cocking his head to one side, questioning.

How’s our boy?

Rick held a hand out and teetered it back and forth. Not great. But not terrible.

“Any word on our hurry up and wait status?” he asked aloud. Their flight had been bumped back in Dubai – they arrived two and a half hours ahead of schedule, and Lara and Jake had to drive up from Virginia Beach to pick Nuzo up. The others were left waiting – as per usually with the military – until someone filed paperwork to get them a ride. Their escort was supposedly off conversing with the USO representatives, but that was over an hour ago, and Rick not so secretly hoped they’d been forgotten.

“No news yet,” Nuzo answered, glancing at his phone.

Having phones again was just weird now. How fucking handy would it have been to just reach into a back pocket and call for help?

TC practically kicked in the door when he returned, grinning like an idiot, holding his arms above his head like the statue of Adonis. “I can move my arms again,” he crowed. He rolled his massive shoulders, relishing the freedom of movement out of the restrictive uniform. He pulled at the hem of the large shirt. “You know what, I ain’t even mad about the color. I look fantastic. I’m getting more of these when I get…”

The word they all dreaded died in his throat.

Home.

The only one who even had one was Nuzo, and even that came with its own perils. Trying to readjust after deployment was hard enough on married couples. Readjusting after…everything…seemed like an unwinnable purgatorial task.

“I guess this is just a temporary patch job, huh.” TC faltered. He glanced down at the bag that now held his carefully folded uniform. “We’re going to have to get changed again as soon as the guards – escorts – come back.”

Thomas flinched at the word guards, his shoulders coming up quick and sharp as he ducked his head, automatically making himself smaller than he already was. Somehow, it was made worse by the oversize sweatshirt – perhaps because it made him look even younger than he already did.

Nuzo had mentioned going to Hawaii back in Bagram, when Thomas quietly admitted he wasn’t ready to go home. But none of them had anything set up in Hawaii, either. Not for another six weeks, at least. The older man had reached out to Robin Masters, hoping the former journalist would be willing to help out the man who’s life made him a millionaire that owned half the island, but he’d only reached a very polite but very firm assistant who informed him that Mr. Masters was very busy on world tour, but she would pass along the message but couldn’t guarantee when he would be able to return the call.

“First of all, if they want me back in uniform, they’re going to have to wrestle me back into it,” Rick declared, crossing his arms over the Yankees emblem on his shirt. “And I plan to go out like a honey badger on meth.”

TC raised a questioning eyebrow at the metaphor but shrugged one shoulder in agreement. “Yeah. I can see that.”

“What if…”

All three heads turned to Thomas.

The younger man had one palm up against the window, fingers splayed out on the cold glass as it fogged around his hand. But he wasn’t looking up. He was looking down at the parking lot. At the rental car return lot.

They waited patiently.

“What if…we ran away?” Thomas asked, voice hesitant and barely above a whisper. “What if we didn’t wait around for them to decide for us? What if…what if we just left. We could just...go. Anywhere. Anywhere we wanted to.”

He shot a glance over his shoulder back at the group that was so cautiously hopeful, the first real spark back in his eyes since last September – and Rick realized he would’ve agreed to anything that kept that look on his friend’s face.

“I’m down,” he said immediately, before glancing back at TC. “Could use a pilot though.”

“Hell, yeah.” TC tossed his bag to Nuzo who caught it one handed. “Cover for us?”

Nuzo smirked. “I’ll do you one better. I’ll get Lara to do it.”

Fortunately, LaGuardia had an overabundance of rentals available, and while Rick pointed out the flashy sports cars in the lineup, TC argued against being forced to sit in the back seat with his knees up his nose at any point of the trip.

“Then don’t sit in the back!” Rick protested, pointing out the sport car again.

“I am supposed to believe that you and Thomas aren’t even once going to want to both be up front at the same time?” TC shot back and pointed to the SUV that looked like it would be better suited for a drive by or government agencies.

“What about this one?” Thomas asked.

The car had no business being there. It was almost fifty years old and completely out of place amongst the minivans and crossovers, but there it was – a 1968 Chevelle convertible, in mint condition.

“I think someone just parked it in the wrong spot, buddy,” Rick said. “I don’t think it’s a rental.”

Thomas leaned over the passenger side door, fishing into the glove box. “No, look,” he said, holding up a piece of paper. “It is a rental. It’s from Auto Classics Enterprise, apparently.”

“It gets like six miles to the gallon,” TC pointed out. “We’ll need to refill twice before we even get out of the city.”

Rick glanced up at him. “You got somewhere you need to be?”

“Just stating facts, bro. Though…” he considered the front seat and back. “It is pretty roomy.”

“It’s got class,” Rick agreed. “And leg room. Not to mention zero to sixty in six point four seconds.”

“We’re in downtown Queens, Orville. We’ll be lucky to see anything about 13 miles an hour until we get out of the city.”

“Why you always gotta be a negative Nancy, Theodore?” Rick asked, squinting up at the larger man before hissing: “Who hurt you?”

“I’m a realist,” TC corrected. “And one of us has to have at least one foot on the ground while you got your head up in the clouds.”

“There’s no roof,” Thomas interrupted, making both men stop mid argument. He looked sheepish, like he hadn’t meant to say anything aloud, but couldn’t take it back. “I’m just…sick of walls, you know? Of not being able to see out. We can get a different one, I just…” he shrugged, offering a faint echo of his normal Cheshire grin. “Something without a roof?”

Rick and TC glanced at each other. It’d been hard to deny Thomas anything even before they were captured – he was just that kind of guy. He called in a million favors, but he racked them and stacked them the same way some people stacked bodies. Everyone always owed Thomas because Thomas was always, always giving something. Hard to deny became impossible – especially since lately, he asked very little.

Rick sighed, held one hand out, palm flat and his other hand clenched in a fist on top. “On the count of three?”

“Nah,” TC grinned, giving Rick an affectionate shove. “You’re enlisted. I know your ass is broke, back pay or not. I got this.”

“That stings.”

“Not as much as your empty wallet.”

Poor investment or not, the car was what they needed. All of them, not just Thomas.

Rick was always a bit of a car fanatic – he liked anything that’s entire existence could be summed up with a robust vrooooom. And he could find one anywhere – no one was entirely sure how or where he’d drummed up a 1935 Rolls Royce in the middle of the Helmand province and most were afraid to ask.

TC appreciated anything with a solid engine and good mechanics under the hood that could accommodate his large frame.

Even the stop and go traffic of downtown New York couldn’t do anything to deter the animated conversation from the front seat.

“Isn’t this the car from Dukes of Hazard?” TC teased, easing the classic further out of the city while Rick had a minor coronary over it most certainly was not, how could you spin such lies?

He hadn’t been to NYC in decades, and he’d honestly forgotten how quickly the city disappeared once they were across the bridge. It didn’t exactly up and vanish in the blink of an eye, but as they crossed from New York into Jersey, the sky scrapers and towering apartment complexes with convenience stores and neon lights gave way to suburbia, the hill houses of the Palisades Parkway offering glimpses of the Hudson between the billion dollar homes as they cruised along to nowhere in particular. The million dollar homes became farm houses and ranches, vast expanses of green instead of concrete jungle and the rumble of steady traffic faded away to the occasional semi rig or farm truck. The roar of the wind dulled as they dropped from 60 to 30, winding their way deeper into the state forests of upstate Jersey and lower New York.

It was hard to believe that less than an hour from one of the largest cities in the US was rolling farm lands.

Shit, there were even cows.

Rick scrolled continuously through the radio channels, changing the station as soon as an ad came on or he heard someone talking instead of music. “You know, you would think in a year and some change, someone would’ve come along with more talent than Justin Bieber.”

“Talent isn’t what makes that kid famous,” TC argued. “Pop music hasn’t been about the music since the 70’s.”

Rick grumbled under his breath as he continued to tweak the dial back and forth before finally stopping on “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun”, cranking the volume several decibels.

TC shot him an incredulous look. “This is what you stop on? This is what says bro trip to you?”

Rick smirked, putting both hands up in ‘white dude shuffle’ pose, the closest thing he could get to dancing while in the front seat of a car. “When men are confident enough to write songs about their friendships, then I’ll put those on – but until then, Cyndi has us covered.”

“You gonna sit there and deny, to my face, Queen’s ‘You’re My Best Friend’, or Bill Withers’s classic ‘Somebody to Lean On’?” TC demanded. “What about ‘You Got a Friend In Me’?”

“The theme song to Toy Story?! How is that better?”

“How is it not better than an 80’s women power ballad? TM, back me up here!”

When Thomas didn’t respond, TC risked a glance in the rearview as Rick whipped around as if he expected Thomas to have vanished from the backseat while they were driving.

But he was still there, sitting in the middle of the bench seat. Head tilted back against the seat with his eyes closed behind his sunglasses, arms above his head as he played with the wind currents like his hands were paper planes, lost in his own little world.

The dark shadows under his eyes from months of sleepless nights were lost in the bold noon day sun, and his clean shaven face looked years younger without the stubble and lines from worry and illness.

A smile as wide as the sky above them plastered across his face.

For the first time in forever, Thomas looked…well, like Thomas.

“Play whatever you want, guys," Thomas said without looking up. His too-large sleeves pooled around his elbows, and he didn’t seem to care, despite the still healing scars plainly visible. “The sun is warm. The grass is green. Today is a good day.”

#found family bingo #i decided to be nice to my characters #for once

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ajoraverse · 5 years

Text

Look, I know it’s been a while, but here, have a quick and dirty Beta AU-related side-story.

"You will destroy me."

The blue pearl blinked blankly at her owner, a star sapphire so old that Pearl wondered if she was one of the original gems. Pearl had been pleased, for reasons she didn't quite understand, that she was made for a gem so unique. Star Sapphire was a gift from White Diamond to Blue Diamond, who loved her eccentricities, and Pearl was a gift from several gems in court to Star Sapphire.

Pearl learned quickly that she was an unwanted gift.

It wasn't that Star Sapphire was cruel, or that she demonstrated her dislike in Pearl's presence. Pearl had, instead, taken the time to organize Star Sapphire's files and correspondences, and came across missives to other gems about how distasteful her mistress found the entire process of creating pearls.

What was White Diamond thinking, recycling gem shards like that? It's dishonorable to the shattered gem.

Do you think they'll ever recall who they were? What a horrid existence, to go through life as a repurposed gem shard.

Can you believe Pollucite and her cronies gave me a pearl? What in the Great Maker's name am I going to do with one?

Though the evidence of her mistress' real feelings about pearls saddened her, Pearl kept up with her work as if she had never read any of it. She tried not to think of what she might have been, before she was Pearl. And for a while, it worked.

It worked up until Star Sapphire sat her down in the visiting room. It was a pretty morning, and the sunlight glinted off the gem on the top of Star Sapphire's head. Pearl's skirts matched Star Sapphire's, and they sat in identical ways. Pearl tried not to squeeze her fingers in distress as she folded her hands together in her lap.

"I'm sorry, my Sapphire. I don't understand."

Star Sapphire snorted. Her single great eye watched her, unblinking, and Pearl resisted the urge to curl up upon herself to escape it. "You want to ask why I have been distant. It is because I have seen you destroy me."

She couldn't help staring. "Why would I do that?"

"I have yet to discern why." Star Sapphire didn't sound upset. Cold, perhaps, but she was always cold. "However, I have my purpose and I would appreciate it if you refrained from fulfilling prophesy until I am done."

"Yes, my Sapphire." There was no other answer Pearl could come up with, not to such a revelation.

.*.

It took Pearl a few hundred thousand years, but she eventually discovered that Star Sapphire was a rebel. Maybe Pearl had been a ruby in her past life, because it shouldn't have taken her so long to figure it out.

Star Sapphire didn't fight alongside the numerous rebellions that cropped up over the centuries. She crafted, instead. She fed information to promising gems, cultivated them, taught them the secret routes through communication channels and ways to encrypt their signals. Though Star Sapphire never said so outright, Pearl suspected that she loved the figureheads of her revolutions: each execution sent her into periods of mourning, followed by the steeling of her resolve. She kept herself secret; not to protect herself, but to protect the work she had undertaken. Songs aren't sung for the manipulators, Star Sapphire told Pearl once, they're written for the ones who fight and die in the name of freedom.

It was a pretty dream, but at this point Pearl wondered whether it was all really worth it. Star Sapphire's heroes rose, gathered their forces, and were quashed by the Diamonds again and again. They were then shattered and recycled into pearls as a final indignity.

You will destroy me, Star Sapphire told her, long ago. Long before there had ever been a Pink Diamond, long before there had been a reason to divide time into eras like organics did. Pearl delivered her radioactives and wondered if this wasn't what Star Sapphire had meant: a slow destruction by gamma radiation.

Things changed by the time Star Sapphire's drug of choice irradiated her enough to bleach her gem. It turned out that Pink Diamond changed herself, somehow shedding herself to become some half-organic...whatever this Steven was. In a move so unbelievable that it sent Star Sapphire into hysterical laughter, the other Diamonds catered to his whims and just stepped down because...Pearl did not understand. Must be the ruby or quartz or anorthite shard in her.

Pearl should be grateful, not offended for the sake of all those lives lost to the grindstone of Homeworld society. The grindstone that the Diamonds created and benefited from, at that. She should be grateful for the peaceful stepping-down, not wish for retribution. And yet she's not, because she remembered every televised execution. She remembered venturing to the neglected corners of Homeworld to relay vital information from Star Sapphire to the off-colors who hid there.

She remembered that pearls were created out of the shards of shattered gems. She existed because others died.

Once upon a time, her mistress had promised that Pearl would gain her freedom upon Star Sapphire's death. Ownership of Pearl would be reassigned to that off-color peridot, one of Star Sapphire's agents, who would free her. Maybe Pearl had wanted it, back when Star Sapphire told her of her plans. Maybe she still did. But her teeth ground so whenever she saw the Diamonds playing at...whatever they're playing at nowadays, and the work remained unfinished. She could not complete the work without Star Sapphire.

One day, while Star Sapphire's willpower flagged and she asked for her nuggets of uranium, Pearl refused. That she could refuse a direct order at all was surely evidence that she and Star Sapphire were more partners than mistress and slave nowadays. Or, perhaps, the exposure to radiation damaged her programming. Either way, Pearl threw out the nuggets and stood like a massif of granite in the face of her partner's complaints.

"You told me once that you have a purpose, and that I was not to destroy you until you are done."

Star Sapphire glowered at her, and Pearl was sure she was ready to give up all those millennia of resistance to that despair that seemed to come to a head when it turned out that Rose's Rebellion had been a lie. "You can't--"

"The work isn't done," Pearl said. Once she might have marveled that she had the wherewithal to say no. "We are not done until justice is served."

The annoyance seemed to drain from Star Sapphire as she leaned back into her couch. "And what is there to do while the Diamonds play at being organics?"

"We figure it out. We build." Pearl reached over, covering her partner's tiny hand with her own. Once upon a time, she was just a pearl, content with serving. Not anymore. "We make sure their sacrifices weren't in vain."

Star Sapphire gazed long at her, trying to come up with some response, and after long moments patted her hand. "We'll need information. Let's start with status checks on Homeworld and branch out to the colonies. See how well this farce of theirs went over, and see which gems accept the changes and which don't. We'll need a sense of both public and private opinions, to know what can and can't be changed, and how to go about securing that justice. Would you mind the work?"

"Of course not." Pearl smiled, relieved. For now, the work was what mattered.

#pearl stories #SU: Beta AU

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whetstonefires · 6 years

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prompt 14 is still fighting me, so fictober prompt #15: “I thought you had forgotten.”

[this is at least part of the followup to grasp of ice, the one where Damian holds Tim’s hand unironically because cold, that several people have asked for.]

The clunk-drag of Tim Drake’s leg brace was audible coming up the hall, but turned loud when he stepped into the quiet music room, off the carpet.

Damian knew he was obvious against the outdoor floodlamps lighting up the snow. He hadn’t ducked to hide his silhouette because he was fairly certain Drake already knew where he was, and he refused to show weakness. Now that the useless slob had some basic mobility back, it wasn’t entirely a surprise he’d tracked him down. Damian had been avoiding him entirely for three weeks.

He didn’t turn. The snowflakes danced wildly in air currents created by the house, both where it stopped breezes and where flaws in the insulation created plumes of warmer air, and caught in the floodlights they looked impossibly white. Drake had stopped moving somewhere behind him.

Damian set his teeth after seconds had passed and ignoring the situation had not made it go away. “What are you looking at?”

“I’m looking at the kid who melted me out of a block of ice and almost died rather than leave me.”

Damian opened his mouth, then closed it again. “I thought you had forgotten.”

Tim shook his head. “No.”

He came up to join Damian at the window. Clunk, clunk. “I have a good memory—near death experiences only rarely knock it out.”

“You weren’t conscious.”

“It came and went. But every time I woke up, there you were.”

“As if there’s anything special about me doing my duty—”

“To me? There is.”

And Damian wasn’t sure how to read those words, whether Drake meant it’s special to me that you did or doing your duty to me is special, because you usually don’t, or possible both at once.

“I didn’t do it for you,” Damian grumbled. He leaned forward, to keep Drake out of his peripheral vision and his face out of Drake’s line of sight. His breath fogged the glass. “Grayson would be devastated, no accounting for taste. And Father would never forgive me.”

“In the middle of the explosions,” Tim said. “You were holding onto me.” Judging by the way he said it, it was a fragmentary memory, pieced together from a shattered chronology and recollections of pressure. Damian wouldn’t be able to sway him from his certainty that he was right, even so.

This was why Damian hated Red Robin so much.

“Are you mocking me?” Damian hissed, because he’d been standing there screaming at fire, ready to die meaninglessly, completely forgetting about the grapple gun he himself had placed in case of emergency. If he’d remembered, he could have been the one dragging his unwanted adopted brother out of ridiculous lake explosions. He probably wouldn’t have strained his elbow or shoulder nearly as badly, either; he was younger and smaller but he wasn’t weaker, and he had also been fully conscious.

“Damian, you gave me a grapple line. Your grapple line.” Drake’s hands came up—onto the windowsill, he was leaning on it for support. He couldn’t rest much weight on the knee yet, or for long. Recovering from surgery always seemed to take longer than from mere stabbings.

Damian wasn’t going to admit he understood what Drake was trying to say. He hadn’t just swallowed.

“Why is it so important for you to hate me?” Red Robin had tried to ask it calmly, but a thread of emotion came through. Hurt, maybe? Frustration? Damian hated this inscrutable whinging bastard, he really did.

“It’s a matter of pride,” he said.

“What pride? Are you just saying you decided to hate me without knowing me, so now you have to stick by it or admit you might at some point have been wrong?”

Damian turned his head. Drake was standing a little too close—the width of the window and the fact that Damian was standing near the middle of it gave justification. Tim Drake was not a tall man, but he had inches yet on Damian, and was looking down across his own bicep. The sweater he was wearing was too big for him. It was Father’s. “Oh, believe me, I hate you more now that I’ve gotten to know you.”

Drake sighed, and his weight shifted forward a little more on his arms. “Typical. You were there the next time I woke up, too.” Shortly before Father and Grayson had arrived. Damian had left to go fight weapons smugglers directly. “And you kept turning up in my room for the first week. Until I tried to talk to you.”

Ignoring Grayson’s baffled and cooing input had been one thing. Brown had been more of a headache. Pennyworth’s careful lack of comment had been almost worst. Only Father had been reasonable. Of course Damian had wanted to monitor the course of the fever. It was his rescue that might be rendered redundant.

“Tt. If you were well enough to harass me you didn’t need my help.”

Drake opened his mouth, then closed it again, the crease deepening between his eyebrows. “What did you think I was going to say?”

He hadn’t been sure. But he hadn’t wanted to find out. Hostility would have been normal, but forced him to choose between throwing the rescue in Drake’s face and fighting over it, or pretending it had never happened. A lack of hostility had seemed like it would be even worse.

Because what if Drake was respectful and appreciative and only then found out that, at the eleventh hour, Damian had been saved, rather than doing all the saving, and he took it all back? There was nothing more humiliating than enjoying praise that, on reflection or further information, the speaker chose to retract.

At some point, even though Damian still hated him, he’d come to care about this bastard’s opinion.

“Look. You saved my life. And not while we were under fire together, or coming along on a rescue mission with somebody else who likes me better. You came looking for me when you didn’t have to, when you could have focused on the fight. You worked your ass off to keep me from freezing to death, when there was no one there to pressure you. And you didn’t leave me behind, even when for all you knew I was a dead weight holding you down in a death trap. That’s not nothing.

“It doesn’t change everything, either, but…I kind of find myself wanting to forgive you the various murder attempts.”

“That’s your business.”

Drake resettled himself against the windowsill, his hips canted against the wall beneath it now to take even more weight off his feet. Damian should make him go lie down, the idiot. “I guess.”

Damian grimaced at the dancing snowflakes, the long greyscale sweep of the east lawn.

Finally glanced sideways. “You aren’t expecting us to actually get along, are you?”

“Gosh no, you infuriating gremlin. We can argue all the time. Just, since you apparently aren’t so opposed to my existence anymore, I thought it would be nice to make peace.”

“Tt. You just want me to stop taking your supplies out of your locker.”

“…I would like that, yes. But honestly that’s a level of pranking I can live with, I was on a team with Bart Allen for actual years. It’s mostly annoying because it makes extra work for Alfred.”

Ugh. Guilt. “So if you don’t expect me to be kind to you and you don’t require an end to petty harassment, what are you trying to accomplish?”

“…I can’t believe you just called your own behavior petty harassment. Uh. Look. Do you actually want me gone, anymore?”

Drake was annoying. Damian hated him. But there was no war here, anymore; Damian had won it. Robin was his, and Father’s and Grayson’s continued fondness for his predecessor no longer seriously threatened to eclipse their regard for Damian himself. “I suppose I don’t really care.”

“Right. It’s official then. We don’t hate each other. A weight off everyone’s minds.” He sounded unsatisfied.

“Do you want me gone?” Damian asked, and then bit his tongue. He didn’t think he’d sounded young, or vulnerable, but to have asked at all….

“It’s too late for that now,” Drake told the snow.

Damian hissed in through his teeth. “So you just wish I’d never been born,” he bit out. He could say and then who would have saved your skin on that lake, but in a world with no Damian that mission might never have happened, or Drake might have been on it with a partner who never lost track of him to begin with. That was all Damian was in this moron’s eyes, even now: an inconvenient reality to come to terms with.

“…I mean,” Drake said slowly, “no? I guess not. I’d be better off, in most ways, dying in lakes aside, but…I don’t think Dick would be. And it’s good for Bruce to have a kid around, even one who causes as much stress as you do.”

“Excuse me?”

“If anybody can get Bruce to start showing grey hairs, it’ll be you.”

“Tt.” Father was past fifty, now. It was statistically probable he would start to grey soon, regardless of how much stress he was put under, and if worrying were going to be the thing that started it, he would have a full head of white by now.

“But anyway, I…can’t actually wish you out of existence, at this point.”

Damian folded his arms on the wide windowsill and propped his forehead against the glass, fogging it opaque with his breath. “I’m blown away by your magnanimity.”

It sounded like Drake rolled his eyes. “Shut up, all you said was you don’t care whether I exist or not, and I didn’t even do anything to you. It’s not on me to escalate this positivity train all on my own.”

“Hmph.”

Drake shifted his weight against the wall again. “Hey Damian?”

The tone had changed. “Yes?”

“Thanks for not abandoning me to my humiliating naked death.”

“You’re welcome, I suppose.” Damian leaned back and drew a bat-symbol into the fog of his breath with a fingertip. The symmetry was perfect, of course, and all the points were neat and crisp. “So. Truce?”

Drake nodded, the tension seeming to melt out of him. “Truce,” he concluded, that satisfied snapping-shut sound his voice took on when he got his way. When Damian glanced over he was entirely plastered against the window and its sill, looking bleached and greyish again even accounting for the cool shade of the floodlight.

Damian abandoned the dance of the snowflakes, grabbed Drake by the back of Father’s sweater, and began to drag him toward the dustcloth-swathed chaise behind the piano. If he didn’t move his feet in the right direction, he would fall over, because there was no way with that brace he could manage anything complicated, even to spite Damian.

“Come, you idiot. Sit. Stop wasting all of our hard work.”

#fictober 2018 #tim drake #damian wayne #batfam #siblings #grasp of ice #fanfic #my fic #hoc est meum #damian is an increasingly good brother #i mean #character growth #tim is trying #they both made extra work for alfred by putting their faces on the window #it's going to have greasy spots now #lmao

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