half of fic research is rereading the fandom wiki four times for obscure character info and the other half is googling shit like “when did we start using drywall in home construction”
Hello ! Can I ask for a Shinji × fem!reader where the reader kinda gets back at Shinji for disappearing for a century by pretending to have amnesia ? Truth is she just wants to see him yearn for her and see his efforts to win her back 🤭 Eventually she tells him the truth so they have a happy ending
(Ngl I just want to see Shinji yearning and being a simp for his girl)
I hope it's not too specific and thank you !
Shinji Hirako x fem! Reader
Word count: 6.1k
Reading time: 20 mins
Author's note: special thank you to this request for letting me flex my jazz knowledge. Also, this was a super fun request, I love the scenario itself so much! Idk if I should apologize for writing so much???? But if this wasn’t what you had in mind I am so sorry.
Synopsis: Falling in love with a captain of the Gotei Thirteen Court Guard Squads was hard enough, but what was even harder was grieving him. After one-hundred and ten years of presuming Shinji Hirako is dead, he returns to the Seireitei. In your newly ungrounded grief decide to pretend like you have amnesia to see how he responds after all of those years leaving you hanging. You soon find out that it may be more than you bargained for.
Inspiration: I’ve Had my Moments (Django Reinhardt), Nightmare (Artie Shaw), Some Other Spring (Billie Holiday), Superstition (Stevie Wonder), I’m Lost (Nat “King” Cole), A Pretty Girl Is Like A Melody (Django Reinhardt)
AO3, Bleach Masterlist , Request Guidelines
I’ve Had my Moments
It was a beautiful day in the Seireitei, short gusts of wind shook the trees around the barracks, the zephyr carried soft scents of florals, wood, and the scent of pond water.
It was the perfect day to sit back and relax, shrug off your duties as a member of the Gotei thirteen for a day. Today should’ve been a time to celebrate the seasons, go drinking with your friends.
“Gorgeous out, ain’t it?”
The casual drawl which hit your ear and long, blonde hair that ticked your cheek told you exactly who was behind you.
Shinji put his long arm around your shoulder and leaned in, poking a bit of fun at you for getting lost in your surroundings.
“Don’t patronize me, please. But… yeah, it actually is.”
He chuckled, flicking your nose, his toothy grin starting to form for the day.
“Yeah, I know. If you think the outside ‘s pretty imagine how pretty you must be—“
“Aren’t you laying it on thick, Shinji? I feel like you might want something from me…”
“I do, but not in the way yer thinkin’ sweetheart.”
“Shinji,“ You pause,
“My love, my life— y’gotta just hear me out on this,”
He lowers his voice and glances around the both of you,
“he’s been actin’ so weird—”
You smack your hand over his mouth, shushing him and pulling him inside of your barracks by his captain's haori like a cat pulling a kitten by the scruff of its neck. He couldn’t seriously think saying this out in the open is a good idea, let alone the discipline he’d get if he was caught.
He struggles against your hand, floundering out of your grip before waving his hands around with vigor. He fixes his hair and re-centers his haori.
“Babe, ya gotta trust me on this, I swear that kids got no soul— which does sound pretty harsh but there’s somethin’ wrong with him.”
“It’s not that I don’t believe you, Shinji. You can’t be this crass though, you started this in public. If he’s as scary as you claim him to be then…”
“He’s already watchin’ us.”
You both pause, the room's air suddenly thick, cold, and full of tension.
“Specifically you. Thank you for being semi-intelligent.”
You huff at him, turning your head away to keep watch of the door, all while trying to keep the mood light.
“ ‘m not stupid! I caught onto him!”
His whining was endearing but you couldn’t help but see your smile leave too soon, it had been seemingly years of this exact conversation. It started simply enough yet it only continued to evolve. Now, any talk of Aizen was punctuated by this awful feeling between the both of you that neither could put a finger to.
“Doll, y’know it’s bad when Sakanade likes someone! That’s how I knew y’were the one for me, cause she hated ya!”
“Shinji, please.”
He gathered himself at your plea, all playful banter replaced with the same, looming feeling of dread and foreboding as every conversation before had. Shinji took a step towards you and grabbed onto your hands gingerly, pulling you into a tight embrace.
“If anythin’ ever happens to me, please, assume it was him. I don’t care how farfetched it seems, doll and I hate making ya worry— especially ‘bout lil’ ol me.”
His breath ghosts on your ears, long blonde hair tickling your cheek once more. Yet, his hair didn’t feel as soft, as safe.
“Okay, fine. I think you’re being stupid, by the way.”
“ ‘nd I’m never afraid of bein’ stupid in your face, sweetheart.”
While Shinji was trying to regain his confidence at your masterfully placed jabs, your smile returned, somber but earnest. His shoulders drop just the slightest amount, and for a moment, this encounter is one of the small moments that harbor his love for you.
Sneaky kisses in hallways, his hand tangling itself in yours, a short dance held in his quarters while a vinyl spins around in the same motions as you two do.
“Now y’gotta act like you just kissed me stupid.”
“What?”
“I know you’ve got an actress in ya, time for her to make an appearance, unless y’want to raise suspicion.”
He gestured towards the door, he was about to stumble out.
You had little choice other than to join in his shenanigans and pressed chaste kisses all across his face before opening the sliding door and shoving him out.
He stumbled a bit, but caught himself at the perfect time. It was a shockingly ironclad performance by him, you started to wonder how many times he had done this…
“Woo! Ain’t I a lucky guy? Oh hey— Mugaruma! Why ya lookin’ at me like that?”
Shinji smiled and waved at the annoyed captain, but took the time to make one last cursory glance around himself. He couldn’t feel Aizen's spiritual pressure, but he could feel Sakanade’s spiteful laughing through the hilt.
Bastard ain’t got nothin’ on me.
Nightmare
Quick knocks rapped on Shinji’s door, waking you both from the little slumber you’d gotten, shortly followed by a curt, polite voice.
“Captain Hirako,” Lieutenant Aizen spoke through your sliding door, “You've been asked for a summons by Head Captain Yamamoto, hurry over immediately, please.”
Shinji’s blood ran cold. What should’ve been a smile on his face was a soured frown,
“Yeah yeah, thanks. ‘M on my way faster than y’know it.”
Shinji didn’t hide any of his passive aggression to his otherwise banal lieutenant. His messy hair soon combed out with his fingers as he snuck out of bed and slunk over to his uniform and zanpakto.
You rose slightly from your shared bed, rubbing your eyes, trying to ignore the pit in your stomach forming.
“Did he mention summoning you so late at all today?”
Shinji softened instantly, the moonlight illuminated his face as he continued dressing.
“No, I’ve heard nothin’ from the head captain, but whatever it is, better be dead serious. Nothin’ interrupts this ‘n gets away with it.”
“Shinji, we both signed up for this. We can deal with it.“
“ ‘m just not happy that it was him, doll. I coulda dealt with Hiyori throwing mop water over m’head if it meant he wasn’t near where we sleep.”
“Love, just focus on getting to the captains meeting.”
“I will, ‘m sorry sweetheart. I’ll be back before ya know it— okay?”
“Of course, I love you Shinji.”
“I love you more, to the moon ‘n back doll.”
…
It had been for a good reason, Shinji thought to himself, these disappearances had been getting stranger.
But when Genryusai brought up that Captain Mugaruma had been missing, that caught Shinji’s attention— no sign of their spiritual pressure to be found anywhere.
Whatever had been making these Rukongai residents disappear had the capacity to take our captains, and that within itself was terrifying. He did find it somewhat sad that the newest Captain, a young Kisuke Urahara, was barred from attending the search, but he did make a case for his lieutenant to grab samples, and Shinji appreciated the guts he had. But, any further thought Shinji took made him agree with Yoruichi.
The forest itself was dark, the wind shrieked in Shinji’s ears with how fast he had been running.
But it was quiet, too quiet. Shinji could feel Sakanade’s presence through his hilt once more, specifically he could feel its sick glee.
Lovely zanpakto I got, thought Shinji, creepin’ its own user out from its sick, utter delight.
As he made it to the investigation site, sword drawn and ready for action, he found himself attacked by a hollowfied Hiyori, if that was even possible.
The dread that had been slowly building in his stomach that week had turned out to be correct, as a hollow that looked awfully familiar had arrived—
But, so did his team.
He’d make it home, he’d make it back— and once he did, you’d both go out on a date. A real one, to a records shop or a jazz club. Something nice to take his mind off whatever the hell happened here.
Shinji steeled himself, for Hiyori, for Mugaruma, and for you, hopefully sleeping soundly, awaiting for his return.
…
His heart was beating out of his chest, breaths labored and slowing. His ego was almost as bruised as his body was, although he found it ironic that soon enough both would be lost to hollowification.
It’s slower on me, though. I’m keeping calm. I need to focus— I need to see her again—
He gripped Sakanade with newfound vigor. It didn’t matter how cold he had become, the terrifying mask blinding him partially and the excruciating pain that had been ripping his mind and body apart.
Focus, deep breaths. This is bigger than you— bigger than everyone here. If I can just hold on a little longer I can make him pay.
Every swing was met by his bodies slowed transformation, and every time he swung he could see his compatriots slowly being subjected to this sick torture.
He couldn’t do anything about that, he wasn’t some crazy healer. He didn’t even know if Unohana could do anything about this.
His breaths became shallower by the minute. Each time that Sakanade met Aizen’s Kyoka Suigetsu, he could feel his body betraying him at the most important moments.
“I could make it look like her if you’d like, Captain Hirako.”
He coughed in response, Aizen’s taunting being successful despite the harsh grasp Shinji had on his own emotions.
“No, you’ve done enough.”
“Have I? Or have you done too little?”
Shinji looks behind him, only to see that Aizen was correct, his comrades are also going through hollowification.
Slow down, focus. Nothing matters right now other than staying calm. C’mon— keep your eye on his blade, on your surroundings. Don’t give up yet, you don’t deserve to give up when so many are already gone.
He can hear Hiyori’s pained wails behind him and he just can’t stay calm anymore—
He swung once again at Aizen, but was met by Kaname Tousen’s blade cutting deep into his body.
“ ‘m not gonna let you get away with this, not after what you’ve done!”
He could feel the hollowification happen through his lungs, fuck, maybe even his bones? He knew how painful death was and yet this situation was never on his mind.
“I’m impressed you’re still holding on, Captain Hirako. Sadly, it doesn’t matter in the end, you’ll still die.”
His eyes are glassy, he can count his breaths. He doesn’t feel like he’s in his own body anymore. It’s terrifying, earth shattering. He’s managing to parry this kid— but it just isn’t enough, it doesn’t feel like enough.
An explosion happens at the pure energy of the clash of their blades, Shinji can feel pain spreading across the length of his shoulder.
Kaname Tōsen walks through the rubble, victorious.
“I apologize, Aizen, I’ll kill him immediately.”
“No need,” responded Aizen, “I had already anticipated this.”
Aizen scanned the battlefield, taking note of all the soul reapers and their varying transformations.
“Hollowification takes different amounts of time depending on the person, interesting.”
Interesting? This is interesting? Watching people who you’re supposed to respect— look up to— dying is interesting?
Shinji coughed up white fluid, resuming his hollowification.
“Well, as amusing as seeing you in this state is, your purpose has been fulfilled,”
Aizen drew Kyoka Suigetsu once more.
“Captain Hirako, you’ve been an amazing test subject—”
“Fuck you, bastard!”
He once more coughs, as white liquid spews out of Shinji’s mouth, he curses his lieutenant for what he believed would have been a final time.
And everything goes white.
He could hear laughing— it was yours.
And it was sunny outside, you stood, laughing, haloed by rays of sun peaking through open windows.
As if you weren’t picked out of the night sky, the star you were.
This was where he wanted to be, with you. Putting flowers in your hair, sipping on tea, turning a vinyl. Smooth jazz flowing through the room while he cracked terrible jokes just to see your cheeks warm, to see your eyes crinkle with joy.
He always was a sucker for a lady with a beautiful smile, and he always would be.
And then, there was nothing. You were no longer there.
Instead, he was met with a white version of himself, wielding Sakanade.
“What, ya really thought that this would end with some fairytale dream? It ain’t like that for us anymore.”
Some Other Spring
You hadn’t been able to cry for days now.
You weren’t even able to attend the trial of the new Captain, Keiske Urahara. Days had all melted into one, long year. Maybe you had been mourning for an entire year. You played the records he gave you until they broke, despite any noise complaints.
Some other spring, I’ll try to love, now I still cling to faded blossoms…
Your own captain, Rose Ootoribashi had also been lost the same night as your lover. It had been completely devastating for your squad but soon enough, a young man who had excelled in the Academy had been chosen to be the new captain, and so did a lieutenant: captain of squad three, Gin Ichimaru and lieutenant of squad three, Izuru Kira.
Fresh wind worn, left crushed and torn, like the love affair I mourn…
You had been lucky enough to be on friendly terms with Kira, as Gin reminded you too much of your now deceased lover. He had a deceptive nature, and an odd relationship with the lieutenant of squad ten, Rangiku Matsumoto.
Some other spring, when twilight falls…
Gin had an even weirder relationship with Sosuke Aizen, hopefully it meant nothing. Even if it did, there wasn’t much you could do about it.
Will the nights bring another to me?
Thinking of Aizen, he had been the first to send his apologies to you. Of course, in lieu of your loss you accepted them. Yet, you couldn’t stop thinking about what Shinji had told you only months before. All bouquets of flowers ended up given to other girls, all letters and notes from him became trashed after you slid the shoji door shut.
The vinyl had been found broken, most likely from repeated use. But something told you it was Aizen’s way of sending a message, at least if Shinji was correct about him.
Aizen must’ve picked up on the sour taste that he had left in your mouth, but never crossed any boundaries that you knew of. Soon enough, they stopped. When asked about why you seemed cold towards him he said the same thing:
“Well, late captain Hirako wasn’t too fond of me: I guess he may have given her the wrong idea of me. It’s sad, but it isn’t a big deal, she’s still grieving— give her some grace.”
Everytime he was in a room you’d watch him like a hawk, almost as if losing Shinji made you want to keep a part of himself; even if it was his hatred for his lieutenant, especially after he took his position and the third seat, Hinamori Momo became lieutenant.
You’d hear the young women and men of the Seireitei talk about how charming Aizen was, and before you knew it, you were the old woman who hated the attractive, kind, ever sweet captain Aizen.
You wore the ill-intentioned nickname like a badge of honor.
During this time of grief, you had started drinking with Rangiku Matsumoto and Captain Shunsui Kyoraku.
Matsumoto had something wrong with her, surely. But she had turned out to be a wonderful confidant and livened up a room with ease. No matter how sad you found yourself laughing at her antics, and she in her beauty and grace, helped you out of your depression— especially when she would offer to buy you saké for putting up with Gin.
Shunsui Kyoraku was exactly as you knew him before for the most part, he was an old man who loved flirting with women and you were no exception, despite your status amongst the Seireitei. But, on nights that you drank too much, cried too hard, and missed Shinji too much, he had been there not to comfort, but to listen.
You assumed he knew your pain too intimately, and out of respect for him never asked about it. He seemed to notice and appreciate you for it.
Soon enough, years turned into decades. You and your drinking buddies became a sore thumb at every bar you found yourselves at, and with shocking quickness you were back doing your duties as a member of the Gotei thirteen court guard squads.
But every now and then, you’d pull Kira aside and speak to him. He’d listen, with the same sad eyes he had when he was younger. You could also tell some days that his captain would listen in on you two, and some days even he’d show a weird kindness towards you.
On those days, you preferred to stay busy.
It had gotten to a point that every captain of the Gotei thirteen had spoken to you directly about your loss.
But the two that had been the kindest were Captain Kaname Tousen and Sajin Komamura.
They maintained a polite distance to your grief, but always offered a hand to help you in your distress. After you spoke to both of them and Kaname had to return to his duties, Komamura stayed back to tell you that Tousen had a similar situation happen to him but left it at that.
You appreciated his restraint in some ways, and in others you wished he never brought him up.
Soon thereafter, you played the record player he got for you less and less.
You began to be reborn, anew.
And soon you began to sing softly, only to yourself the songs the vinyls once held,
And love with another spring…
…
Shinji found himself along with the other visoreds in this odd familial relationship after he left the company of ex-Captains Urahara and Yoruichi.
And, they found themselves in this odd relationship with the new world they were in. Some of them could keep a job in the human world, others couldn’t. So, they found a small abandoned warehouse that Hachigen could easily put a barrier around to keep each other protected from the watchful eyes of Sosuke Aizen.
Everyone trained together, shared a kitchen, shared manga (even when Love would spoil every single chapter), and now shared a life.
Obviously, Shinji went out into the world a lot— same with Lisa Yadoumaru. When he’d go into the city and find a niche, underground record spot and sift through the vinyls he’d think of you.
Thelonious monk, flip, flip, flip,
John Coltrane, flip, flip, flip, flip,
Artie Shaw… in the wrong section, but good enough— flip, flip, flip, flip,
Duke Ellington, flip, flip,
Billie Holliday, flip, flip, flip, flip,
Grover Washington Jr, flip,
He had finally found what he was looking for:
Django Rienhardt records.
He’d give everything he had to have you listen to a record with him again, but that decision wasn’t his to make.
He knew you were alive, and he couldn’t take your life away just because his greedy heart wanted you.
Superstitious
Shinji stood upside down in the middle of Karakura town. A lazy, lopsided Cheshire Cat grin plastered on his face. He wore a newsboy cap and striped tie along with a schoolboys uniform, even though he was much too old to be going to high school.
He’d be going to that real interesting kids’ school in no time. He wondered what all the buzz was about Ichigo Kurosaki— from what he could gather from Urahara, he had quite the shoes to fill all around.
And he needed a mentor who knew what it was like to fight an inner hollow,
Thankfully, Shinji was far too qualified: both for high school and training some dork on self control.
He almost whistled to himself while he looked at who he could assume was Kurosaki, as he looked awfully familiar, and his friends: Sato and Orihime.
…
“Good morning class, I wanted to announce that we have a new student joining us— please come on in, Hirako.”
Shinji politely bowed at the teacher in front of him before glancing around the classroom. He instantly spotted the kids he was stalking the night before.
‘M getting too old to have Urahara harp on me like that, let alone pretend to be my pops— like it was believable anyways…
“I’m Shinji Hirako, it’s nice t’meet everyone.”
“Hirako, you wrote your name wrong—“
He took one last cautionary glance around the room, smirking to himself as he flew off the seat of his pants.
“Oh! No, I just have a party-trick of writing m’ name upside-down. Sorry, shoulda warned you.”
Kurosaki made eye contact, rookie mistake.
Now it was time to learn what this substitute soul reaper knows about hollows.
“I have a feelin’ we’ll be friends, Kurosaki. In the meantime let’s get to know each other, yeah?”
…
“Quiet down, will ya? Ya really can’t go attackin’ me. I gotta keep my composure, kid. Can’t afford to have myself found out so easily. Some of us have spiritual pressure.”
He never thought it would feel so good to bully a high school student. Maybe that was the reason Shinji found himself in a school uniform, maybe it was all for this exact moment.
For Shinji to reveal his hollow mask to this dork with a shit-eating grin on his face because he knows how fuckin’ cool it is.
But the kid was way too caught on who he is. Obviously he’s a completely normal high schooler— well, while that large mass of spiritual pressure is out and about he is.
“Stop focusin’ on the details, kid. Who I am doesn’t matter, what matters is we can help you. You’re a visored, idiot.”
“I don’t care what a visored is! I am a soul reaper, and I’m not one of you, beat it.”
Shinji’s brow furrowed at that, if only he knew, he thought, what a jackass he sounds like right now.
Ichigo leaves, and Shinji has failed. Soon enough, the call he gets from Hiyori confirms his failure.
“Yeah, yeah! I hear you— look I’m trying… Fine, we still have time. I know it isn’t a lot of time— stop calling me bald! It’s only a matter of time.”
…
The Gotei Thirteen court guard squads had been readying themselves for war ever since three captains defected to Hueco Mundo under Sosuke Aizen’s command.
In that time, it was like your grief kept on being dug up.
You found it sick how so many people close to you seemingly had it out for you, or at the very least for your partner: Shinji.
The most impactful betrayal was of Kaname Tousen, you and Sajin seemed to share that grief together as you wondered what could’ve made him go rogue— as both of you respected him as a paragon of justice.
Rukia Kuchiki had been freed from her execution, multiple unknown presences made themselves known in the Seireitei, notably a Quincy— as you thought Mayuri had… taken care of them, to put it gently.
Between you and Izuru Kira acting as the head of squad three, you found time to spend with Rangiku and Kyoraku.
Rangiku had especially needed the support, and at this time you had finally repaid your debts to her, possibly not in full, but in saké bottles.
Kyoraku was still himself, an ardent protester of war and conflict alike. He, like you both, shared in the grieving of a peaceful time within the soul society.
In this time, you had dug out your old record player, as it seemed to fit the somber mood. If you were to die, at least it would be in battle against hollows.
It also appeared that Urahara and Yoruichi had been welcomed back into the soul society, and small rumors had begun to spread amongst those who had been around years ago for the hollowification incident: that shinji was still alive.
But the only person saying this was some soul reaper who was, for lack of a better word, a genuinely terrible source of information.
You felt scandalized that he’d even say such a thing. According to him, Shinji was alive, had a bowl-cut, and was in a high school uniform from the world of the living.
If the soul reaper who had described that to you wasn’t an utter buffoon, you would’ve believed him.
But the bowl cut… hm, probably not.
You quickly went back to focusing at the effort at large, destroying Sosuke Aizen, aid Ichigo Kurosaki with regaining the Hyogyoku, and continue the preparation for the false Karakura town.
I’m Lost
Preparations had been complete, and with the help of Kisuke Urahara, fake karakura had been completed. You stayed in the soul society in case of any kickback, but hoped that your friends would survive.
Momo Hinamori, Rangiku Matsumoto, and Izuru Kira.
Oh, Shuhei, Omaeda, and Iba were also there.
You heard mixed recounts from the event, some said that Captain Sui Feng used her Bankai which was hilariously off kilter in comparison of her character.
Omaeda had also managed to live. It was a feat that was not expected of him.
Shuhei, Kira, and Momo had it the worst. They had to see their disgraced captains, while Rangiku saw what her childhood friend had become and shortly thereafter, saw him die.
What stood out in those reports, though was that a blond haired man of tall stature, wearing a newsboy cap and orange button up held a zanpakto that was all too familiar to you:
Sakanade.
This was the way you learned that he lived, that everyone involved with the hollowification incident survived.
Rightfully so, you were pissed.
Your emotions flipped with the wind as your friends and coworkers told you that your lover who had been missing for over a hundred years was alive and simply chumming it up in the human world.
You felt as if you were slapped, given every single thing you had ever wished for, and then had a bucket of cold water thrown on you in your sleep.
The small parts of you which screamed at the rest for rationality were quickly replaced with copious amounts of alcohol. Whatever logical argument he could’ve given you in the moment derailed the worst possible ideas being thrown between you and your drunken compatriots during your congratulatory seireitei bar crawl.
“You know what would be funny— oh my god, what if I pretended that I slept with Shuhei?”
“Don’t even joke about that,” Kira piped up, “I don’t think anyone deserves such a cruel and unusual punishment.”
You laughed far too loudly at that.
“Ohmygod— wait, wait, hear me out,” Rangiku slurred, her whole body lurching towards you in search of your drink to quickly down, “what if instead you jus’ pretend like you hit your head hard or somethin?”
Rangiku’s sweet, petty siren song was like silk against your burning-hot skin.
You were instantly sold.
“Amnesia? Oh, that’s harsh.” Spoke Shuhei, despite the incessant jabs at his manhood.
“But it’s perfect— cause clearly he forgot about you! He even got a hair cut! That’s insane.”
Rangiku’s hands fumbled at your drink, successfully stealing away your most coveted drunk possession.
And thus, your plan was formed in the way all amazing plans were, by far too much saké and grief.
…
“Now Hirako, I assume you know why I’ve called you here, right?”
“Y’gonna give me terrible advice for wooin’ my girl back?”
Shunsui laughed in response and waved his hand before his face.
“No, not at all. Despite everything you made a choice and that poor woman grieved for you, Hirako. I also know that you’re aware of the type of pain this moment has brought to her.”
Shinji scoffed at Shunsui playing the charismatic old coot.
“Just spit it out, old man.”
Kyoraku raised an eyebrow at Shinji, an old man calling him old… it wasn’t the time to get into petty squabbles no matter how terrible of an argument made.
“Well, you see, while you’ve been gone it seems that she had an accident.”
“Why are ya dancing around the issue, Kyoraku? She either did, or didn’t.”
“She had an accident,” Kyoraku corrected himself, “and it happened shortly after your hollowification. She has light amnesia.”
Shinji stared at the long-haired man before him blankly, eyebrows raised far above his bangs.
“Amnesia, she got amnesia while I was gone.”
Shunsui sighed, “Well, when you become a member of the Gotei thirteen, injuries aren’t uncommon. It might as well be a part of the oath, Shinji.”
He didn’t like lying, but he also didn’t like seeing pretty young women heartbroken. But, he understood where Shinji was coming from: speaking to you or contacting you would’ve caused a target to grow on your back more than it probably was.
“So, what doesn’t she remember?”
Kyoraku paused, using the quiet to build tension.
“Well, that my friend is where it gets interesting, It’s like she never knew who you were in the first place.”
“Huh?”
“Well, it does mean you can make her fall in love with you again, does it not? Isn’t a retrial more forgiving than a memory?”
Shinji stood up and thanked Kyoraku for the drinks and left quicker than he came.
“I refuse to play a part in this for much longer, you know how I feel about bleeding hearts— just ask lovely Nanao.”
A Pretty Girl is Like A Melody
It all started with a hangover and a bouquet of flowers.
Specifically, wildflowers. They had to have been hand-picked, by whom? You had no idea. The wildflowers had been found displayed carefully in a vase right outside of your door with small handwritten notes.
The notes contained inside jokes the two of you shared, long before he even became a captain.
Gifts started appearing at your door slowly but surely. A necklace, and a nice one at that, rings. Hair pins, blouses, dresses, even more short notes.
The handwriting gave him away immediately, as you soon began to read the poems that Shinji had written for you.
Some were certainly better than others. Some poems were far too verbose and flowery for the subject matter to make sense while others were so candid that it felt as if you took a magnifying glass to his soul itself.
“I missed you, the entire time I was gone sweetheart. I’d think about you all night. I’d think about you when you could smell the rivers and the flowers. I’d think about you til the sun came up, and I’d be met with the thing that reminded me the most of you. Vicious cycle, isn’t it?”
Then, the records started. He must’ve noticed the old record player out.
He started with Billie Holliday, giving you a one-song record of Night and Day. Soon enough, the space around your record player looked as if someone had dumped an entire antique store of records inside.
And though you once believed that your cold, dead heart was immune to romance, Shinji Hirako knew every nook and cranny like the back of his hand.
Within the week, he had started arriving at your door: asking to come in and talk to you.
“Ya really haven’t changed much, ‘m glad for it. You’ve always been cool like that.”
Although his writing was laying it on thick, to be kind he wasn’t pushy in person. He just had this melancholic expression but would still find ways to make you laugh.
Silly notes stuck gently on the packaging of your favorite vinyls, food being prepared after long days of work being the third-seat of squad three.
“I remember you liking the third song on this, but I introduced it to you when we had our first date. Maybe you’ll still like it? -Shinji”
Now all you needed were the chaste kisses held between hallways, between captain meetings.
You couldn’t restrain yourself for much longer, sooner or later you’d break and you couldn’t let him go again.
…
Shinji had been feeling pretty awful lately.
Especially after he had been told about your little accident.
It felt as if, the moment he stopped watching you like a hawk, you got out in serious danger.
And he wasn’t there to protect you for a long, miserable one-hundred and ten years.
But he had seen you return to memories of him, especially when your eyes lit up to the vinyls he’s been collecting for the both of you in the past century.
He loves seeing the crinkles in your eyes everytime you put a record on and watch it spin, the way he catches you dancing when you think he isn’t looking, your soft, contented sighs after a long days work just sitting and enjoying the music.
It was something he took for granted, and he knew it. Hell, he hadn’t been able to forget that he never kissed you the night before the hollowification happened.
But now seeing the sweet rays of sun kiss your skin as you smiled, truly smiled, from reading his corny notes left in your stuff made him happy.
It made him feel complete in ways he hadn’t felt in a century, and that to him was all he could ask for. He knew you might’ve moved on during that time and for so long he was upset at that possibility, and now he just felt… resigned to it.
As if he couldn’t do anything about it. Oftentimes this path of thinking got him in a sentimental mood.
“Captain Hirako, are you available?”
Your voice was muffled from the shoji door that kept you away from him, but he quickly scrambled over to the sliding door and opened it.
“Hey! Nice seeing ya, why dontcha c’mon in?”
He shuffled back, allowing you inside before closing the sliding door behind you both, secretly praying that Lieutenant Hinamori would be willing to do a bit more work than bargained for today.
“So, what brings ya on over?”
“Well,” you started, “mainly to apologize to you.”
He looked at you as if you had grown multiple heads
“What d’ya mean, apologize? You have nothin’ to apologize for—“
“Shinji,” you put a hand on his shoulder, rubbing soothing circles into his shuhakusho. “I’m sorry, I lied to you.”
“Lied? About what?”
“About the amnesia.”
You let the room simmer in the confession before continuing.
“I lied about having amnesia because I was upset you didn’t contact me from the human realm. In hindsight that was… far too petty of me to do. I know you just wanted to keep me safe I just— it’s not justifiable. We both need each other right now.”
He nodded, his face going through a mixture of emotions, all unpleasant.
“I understand if you need time away, or want to reconsider anything—“
You held his gaze, testing the waters.
“I don’t wanna reconsider anything.”.
His brown eyes held yours, a deathly seriousness to them.
“Okay,” you continued onwards, “then what would you like to do?”
“I wanna just have a lazy night with you. No chores, just us, alone. Together again.”
“Together again,” you parroted him.
“Just trust me doll, maybe that’s all we need— to make up for lost time. Let me find somethin’ real quick…”
He bounced out of his seat, searching through his vinyl collection until he had found it,
An old Django Reinhardt album, the one he found back in the human world so many years ago. He set the record in the platter, placing the tone arm in just the right spot, and set the stylus.
Soon enough, a laid-back violin started to fill the room
“You really haven’t changed at all, have you Shinji?”
He turned back to you, smiling once more with his arms open: an invitation to dance.
“I have, y’see, I haven’t had a good dance partner in over a century— I know! Criminal, especially with how good I look,”
“Really? No human girls sparked your fancy?”
“Never was the type t’look at the menu after I ordered.”
You laughed, “that’s a terrible analogy.”
“It was good enough to make you laugh, that’s all I need. Now c’mon, hold onto me. Let’s dance the night away sweetheart.”
“So much for a relaxing evening.”
“Hey, if it’s with you…”
“Oh my goodness, Shinji.”
“ ‘m too much! Too good at my job, which is partially annoying you.”
You pressed your head to his shoulder as he leaned down towards you, cradling your body on his own as you stepped in time with the music together.
“I love you, and I’m sorry.”
“I don’t need an apology, sweetheart. ‘M not happy, sure but… we’ve gone through a lot. Let’s focus on things one day at a time, yeah?”
You nodded into him, and he sighed. Shoulders dropping.
Hii this could be headcannons or a oneshot, it’s up to you, I just have a really cute idea in mind! Couldnyou write for Ramattra with a really social and friendly human reader. Worlds biggest hater vs worlds biggest lover do you see the vision
Ramattra x social butterfly human!reader
Request!
Word count: 1.2k
Reading time: 4 mins
AO3 , Overwatch Masterlist , Request guidelines
Authors Note: I absolutely know what you mean, trust me! I see the vision. this was honestly WAY harder than I thought it would be. I ended up scrapping the oneshot completely 3 times midway, but I think I finally got it this time. I hope you enjoy this tooth-rotting response!
Honestly, I think ram would be extremely mean in the beginning. it would take a lot for him to open up to a reader like this, but if he does then you've won the lottery.
I don't think he sees inherent kindness as a weakness (specifically look at Zenyatta in this instance) but I do believe he knows how easily this naiveté can be manipulated and will make an effort to step in when he feels like this kindness is being taken advantage of.
if you ever make him tag along to primarily human social events, he definitely won't be too pleased in the function. I think the most joy he'd get out of it is hearing people say stupid things and making those people specifically uncomfortable. he is there to VET people.
but I can see him being absolutely whipped seeing his partner flaunt their charisma or social skills. nothing would make him happier than seeing those whom he loves to succeed!
he would be listening in to a lot of your conversations out of protectiveness, boredom, and to distract himself from the menial annoyances of being at a social gathering.
would probably chime in on certain conversation topics but rarely control the conversation itself unless it has something to do with anything he's particularly knowledgeable on-- then sit back and watch him take the reins of that conversation.
on the way back home from an event I do think he'd tell you about all the stupid stuff he heard, even if it takes a bit of poking and prodding. would be actively annoyed while speaking about said things.
depending on the type of gathering, I think he'd show affection out in public. I can see him doing some hand holding, shoulder holding, a singular hand on the waist, etc.
This dude is a total lurker if nothing stupid is happening or he has nothing to add to a conversation.
i can also see this being a "you fell first, he fell harder" situation.
if you're the type of socialite that does a lot of charity events, I can see him tagging along to be the muscle of the operation, possibly give a speech, but otherwise be working the entire time.
if you are involved in anything related to omnic society, that is no longer your event, that is his, and as such you will hear about what he dislikes about that event more than what he likes.
overall, I think he wouldn't want to go out all that often, but when he does and is able to be around you most of the time, he's quite pleased with himself.
…
A bustling ballroom full of people from all walks of life stood before you both. Seemingly endless tables drenched in white tablecloth and adorned with beautiful candles and floral arrangements, heeled shoes clacking across a dancefloor, flutes of champaign traveling across the room at high speeds in the hands of graceful, agile waitstaff.
it was so much for Ramattra from the get-go.
The suit he found himself wearing was quite lovely, his long, cabled hair rested in a low bun with one stray wire out of place. His suit jacket sat perfectly among his square shoulders, black slacks ironed to cascade gracefully off of his form. Yet, the collar of his suit shirt seemed almost too stiff: too tight around his neck.
He wore a simple lapel pin with matching cufflinks, a simple ode to binary code.
a squeeze on his forearm alerted him to step inside.
"How are you feeling so far, Ramattra?"
He spoke low, leaning into you, close enough only for the both of you to hear.
"There are more people here than I had assumed."
you nod in response, and smile at him. If Ramattra is nervous he isn't showing any cracks in his facade. You give him another reassuring squeeze as you lead him across the ballroom.
As he allows you to take the lead, he glances around at the company you both will hold for the night.
Thankfully, the cast is diverse. He'll make sure to thank you for it later, after the two of you go home and have time to relax
Soon enough you both find yourselves at your assigned table, decorated in a lovely white tablecloth, what Ramattra would call a garish floral arrangement, some candles, and your names in small font on paper name cards.
His focus is torn away from the ugly florals as the lighting in the room dims and a headlight illuminates a podium with who you assume to be a speaker standing at attention, waiting for the audiences' eyes.
Out of the corner of your eye, Ramattra’s shoulders drop slightly. He’s focused, able to breathe without the readily apparent discomfort from constant surveillance.
…
It had been only a couple of hours, but Ramattra’s energy had slowly depleted. You had been bustling around the event, networking, idle chatting, reunions with people he never remembered that you knew.
Yet, you shone like a radiant star amongst the crowd. He could see you being the sun itself, or Saturn with its many asteroid rings. He loved to see you succeed, he loved to see you show off your social finesse.
Effortlessly charismatic, your heart emblazoned proudly on your sleeve. You were so different than him, yet here he stood, just as enamored with you as the day he first—
“Hey, you know there’s an after party, right? It’s shockingly close by— you wanna come with?”
You glance back at your partner, who stands completely unchanging: it’s up to you.
“Of course! Where is it?”
He listens to you respond, enthusiastically of course. It’s just your nature.
“Well, that’s the thing— the atmosphere is a bit… different.”
In a ballroom filled to the brim with champagne flutes, expensive appetizers, and even more extravagant outfits: where possibly could this afterparty be that’s so uncouth?
…
The deafening sound of bass and techno music incinerated all expectations Ramattra had. Who knew that the only place close enough to the hotel hosting would be an actual nightclub. Everything was dark despite all the gaudy, flashing lights hitting Ramattra's optics.
If he could’ve scoffed and had it been heard, he would’ve.
Sweaty bodies flooded the dance floor, which in stark contrast to the luxury of the ballroom was absurd. You, nonetheless, adapted to this change of scenery with expertise, despite your wardrobe choice being more geared for the former activity.
Stunning, once more. As you always were.
He kept a watchful eye of your activities, dancing, drinking, chatting with new friends you had made just that very night. Occasionally would he step on over to speak to you, possibly land a steady hand on your shoulders or your waist, and say hello to your ragtag gang of buffoons, but it would always be in good fun— despite his increasing guard to those staring just a little too hard at you.
In his rare downtime, he'd just have to search his cerebral systems for better metaphors than just the sun: other celestial bodies of light were bound to be more fitting.
Maybe some sort of supernovae, he thought to himself, something with an immense gravitational pull. Something abnormal, something special. Something as uncommon as you are.
He removed his focus from his mind, once more his optics found you, laughing. Your eyes crinkled, cheeks warm underneath the intense light. It was the same everywhere you went, if he had been told that you hung the stars and the sun in the sky he’d only nod along.
He’d found a name for this inexplicable phenomenon that had plagued his heart,
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While people don't work for engagement, it certainly doesn't do any harm..
Mei x reader, perhaps? Mei reunited with the reader after she made it back to them 10 or so years later?
Type: request!
Pairing: Mei-Ling Zhou x reader
Word count: 1k
Reading time: 4 mins
Synopsis: it had been nine years since an ugly storm wiped out eco-watchpoint Antarctica. Nine whole years since you had last seen your partner, Mei. Years of grieving her presumed death later, you hear fledgling reports of a mysterious figure trudging through the Antarctic wasteland.
Authors note: first time writing anything Mei related, hope it wasn’t a complete bust! Very fun dealing with all the emotions that would come with someone’s partner disappearing for almost a decade!
AO3 , Overwatch Masterlist , request guidelines
You had already been apprehensive when Mei had told you about her research opportunity in Antarctica, but you figured that this path made sense for her: her career was built entirely on studies like this, and who are you to shun a woman out of an even more pretentious career?
Soon, you’d later wish that you told her about any of your worries— but knowing her, it would’ve made her guilt much worse.
It had already been difficult to get ahold of her at the Antarctic base, let alone after the terrible storm that had been going on for days at that point. You and many other partners of the scientists had heard about the missing supply run to restock the base. You and the many other partners had also heard of the team's agreement to go into Cryo-stasis.
Of course it was an option, and probably the safest. Yet, this eco-watchpoint was isolated, hard to get to, and was missing important supplies.
But she didn’t worry, and to keep your anxiety from infecting her, you didn’t say much.
If only you knew the consequences of leaving so many things unsaid.
…
The storm had gone through, from what you’d heard. Yet, it didn’t seem that any of the climatologists were awake. It happens— you rationalized to yourself— it’s Overwatch, they’d come and help them out. This was their idea after all, so it would only make sense.
How naïve of you to believe that.
Soon after the storm, the eco-watchpoint was presumed lost.
Days soon turned into weeks, into months, and slowly into years. Your lover was pronounced legally dead, and your hope soon metamorphosed into emblazoned hate.
Soon thereafter Overwatch had shut down, much to both your joy and dismay: if overwatch was shut down, who’d carry out any investigation of the eco-watchpoint? Who would remember her just years after the tragedy? Who’d be held accountable, or would this just be swept under the rug like so many other Overwatch operations were?
The small, insurmountable piece of hope that you wanted to cling onto was dangerous. How many more years were you willing to be in mourning for? How many more nights would you scour the internet for any clues, even left by crazy conspiracy theorists?
How many more nights would she want you to mourn her?
Soon after the third year of her being gone, you’d finally lost that bit of hope.
…
It had been almost nine whole years since Mei had gone to the eco-watchpoint in Antarctica. It had been almost nine long years since you mourned her death, yet somehow reports of a singular person trudging the freezing wasteland of the Wolf’s Jaw in Queen Maud Land.
It had been utterly absurd: there was no feasible way that she’d survive nine years in Cryo-stasis. Hell, this could be someone reliving their Frankenstein fantasy in broad daylight.
Yet a part of you knew that the only person on that team with that much willpower would be her.
Adorable, indomitable, your yeti-hunter: Mei.
Your desk chair soon had the indents of your hands as you kept up with this mysterious person lugging across the no-man’s-land of Antarctica. Every single day anything new was reported about this person, you’d be the first to learn about it. No matter how much sleep you lost, no matter the energy drinks and coffee consumed, no matter how people looked at you strangely when you spoke of your fledgling theory.
It was all worth it in the end.
…
You stood in utter awe, staring at your TV screen.
It was her, just as you last saw her: Mei in a red parka and a knit hat, smiling. Holding ski poles in her hands on a small sled filled with the little rations that were left from her old team.
The scrolling text under her face caught your attention.
ONLY LIVING CLIMATOLOGIST IN NINE-YEAR OLD FAILED OVERWATCH ECOWATCHPOINT RECOVERED ALIVE, THIRTY-THREE YEAR-OLD MEI-LING ZHOU.
You felt as if you were floating, nothing else existed around you other than the pure euphoria of seeing her back, and alive no less.
The screen was blurred fast by your incoming tears, yet you felt content for the first time in nine long years. Soon after the TV played a short interview with her, and you knew you should’ve been focused on her voice but the ringing in your ears persisted.
You just couldn’t help but be overjoyed at seeing her once again.
…
Your palms sweat with the vigor of a thousand waterfalls. You felt dizzy, despite being able to eat that morning. Your emotions were on a see-saw, teetering over the edge of unrefined joy and excitement and nine years of grieving for a woman who still lived.
You were thankful for the little you could get, Overwatch (newly reformed, to your dismay once more) planned a meeting between the both of you. A private get together. No press to witness you both cry, just an ice-cold abandoned break room in watchpoint Gibraltar.
Your hands shook with every passing minute, all time feeling like it passed in thick, syrupy blocks.
Until, you heard the door open.
Your legs shot up immediately, ignoring all regular function as you shot your head to the sound.
And there she stood, in her pajamas.
Was Mei.
You ran at her, she ran at you. You could feel your arms wrap around her as hers wrapped around you. You both fell to your knees, your tears mixed with hers as your faces smushed together in silent sobs.
Both of you didn’t say anything— or more accurately, couldn’t. But soon after you had both collapsed she started speaking.
Small, hiccuped sentences of apologies hit your ears. You had grown to miss these needless apologies.
A cup dropped in your apartment, noodles that had been just a bit too spicy, a channel on TV being switched too early, unimportant, small mistakes always being punctuated by a small “I’m sorry.”
You didn’t care. You never did! You couldn’t believe that she had the gall to apologize— it was so unimaginable yet so in character. Soon, your cries transformed into laughter.
It really was her, in the flesh. Still a bit cold, yes. But it was truly her.
Soon enough, your foreheads were pressed together as time began again for you both.
Everything felt so much warmer with her, after an ice-age without her.
really got to work on requests today, so expect those to be coming out this week! also have a good chunk of chap 11 done so it should be another pretty big week for releases!
Next Chapters: Chapter Eleven, Obsculom Obscenum* & Chapter Twelve, Way of the Triune God
Word count: 1.3k
Reading time: 4 mins
Authors note: chapter eleven is a completely optional chapter, so for those not interested in NSFW I have you covered!
You couldn’t help but feel that him saying that you’re similar was his highest form of compliment. For someone so adamant on criticizing the flaws of humanity, it was unexpected. You welcomed this softer side of him, though. It was refreshing to see such a turn of tone after the invasion.
Yet, you couldn’t shake the feeling that kept you awake in the first place.
There the both of you sat, in silence after his admission. You, on the pillow on the floor and him still on the prayer mat. You could hear the exhales of his fans in his chassis. His head turned to the window, still draped close.
“Do you look at the night sky often?”
His inquiry was quiet, his tone layered and hinted with more emotion than nought.
“When I can’t sleep, sometimes.”
You haven’t been able to fully fall asleep ever since the invasion, too stressed about any little thing your conscious could grab onto. Too worried about what’ll be after Overwatch sorts through the rubble.
Ramattra stood up quietly and then drew the curtains back. It had become later in the night than when you first arrived to his room– more stars peaking through the night sky in dizzying brushstrokes.
And it was beautiful.
“Are you familiar with the constellations?”
He asked, turning his faceplate to meet your eye. You could barely make out the focusing of his optics, the shade obstructing them almost completely.
“A little, but not enough to identify many.”
The north star was obvious, but there were stars that shone brighter. Years of being on earth and only more things to learn.
Ramattra offered you a hand, it was the one you’d fixed only nights ago. You could see the difference in wear from his other hand, the difference in tone. The constant evolution he was undergoing.
The pads of his tactile sensors felt soft underneath your touch as he used the hands created to hurt to lift. There, you joined his side once again as an equal.
“Between Ursa Major and Virgo, there's Bootes– the herdsmen."
The warmonger now spoke not as someone readying their men for war, but as a poet– a compassioned orator.
He points to a cluster of stars, his finger tracing the constellation in the sky.
“Its name means ‘shouter,’ as he commands his hound, canis minor, to hunt to overpower the bear– Ursa Major.”
A teacher, a prophet. With you as his acolyte, a disciple. Ramattra spoke of the stars as if they had created him– not Anubis.
You could barely make out the differences between the stars but with Ramattra as your guide to the stars and the stories behind them, you’d end up a budding astrologer.
“Greco-roman myth says that Arcas was a bastard child of Zeus and a nymph named Callisto.”
Many Greek myths start with the malice of Hera misplaced unto the unfortunate, a consistent betrayal, a never ending cycle of lust, birth, and destruction.
“Scorned, The goddess Hera turned her into a bear. Callisto retreated into the forest in shame. The same day, Arcas went hunting with his hound and came across his mother.”
You began to wonder why he had even started talking about the stars, knowing how many myths end. Why you never spoke to him about your worries before
“In an act of mercy, instead of watching his son murder Callisto, Zeus had placed them all within the sky instead.”
Ramattra quickly moved on, his hand waving away the constellation like it’d remove the story and the stars themselves from existence.
“Romans saw it as a tale of Icarius, a student of Dionysus who offered his wine to shepherds. In their drunken excess, they believed Icarius came to poison them.”
A commonality of human life, a belief of the good to be a trick– the expectation of betrayal, the tithe of excess. A shared ignorance furthered only by the gluttony of intoxication.
“The men murdered him and buried him under a tree.”
The toll of all honest men to be destroyed by the paranoia of an impossible gift.
“Icarius’s loyal dog Maera found his body and led his daughter, Erigone, to his grave.”
The earth and her creatures, unburdened by original sin love blindly, and are loyal to the ones who show them friendship.
“In their grief, they both died. But, Jupiter put the three in the sky– Erigone as the Virgin, the dog as Canis minor, and Icarus as Bootes.”
You could easily visualize it. An innocent man, his loyal dog, and his mourning daughter. It was an image all too familiar with the crisis.
“But canis minor is also a representation of Anubis– the jackal God.”
Ironic. Ramattra, a shepherd of his people always tied to his creator. The god program Anubis.
His hand quickly moved over to another star, tracing the outline of a triangular constellation.
“Lyra is in the summer triangle, while Draco borders it to the north.”
You watched patently, trying to hold onto the form within the nearly endless specks of light in the sky.
“It represents the lyre of Orpheus, as it was a gift from Hermes to the young man– made from a turtle shell and delivered by Apollo.”
A gift from the gods, a grace.
“In his travels, he met a nymph named Euridyce, they fell for each other and married.”
The story was one you were familiar with, old songs of a love powerful enough to break the walls of the underworld flooded into your head.
“On their wedding night, she was bit by a venomous snake. Thus, Orpheus made the trek to Hades to beg for her life.”
A love lost too early,
“Hades gave her back with conditions; to play the lyre without pause, to walk ahead of Euridyce, and to never turn around until they reached the overworld.”
The choiceless hope in grief that Orpheus had. A sad story that paralleled Hades and Persephone. A yearning so strong that it broke the bounds of life itself.
“He could not hear her steps behind him from the lyre, and so turned around to see her.”
The immediate forgiveness of Eurydice.
“He had lost her, and so died from his grief. Zeus put his lyre in the stars in respect of his skill.”
A love so strong that it made the King of the Gods weep. A song sung so truly that it wove itself into the stars.
“When did you start to learn about the stars?”
You felt so silly asking, as if you just asked a cloud how it made thunder.
He turned to you before returning his gaze to the sky once more. His vocoder somber,
“The monastery had a wonderful view of the night sky, Zenyatta and I looked up at the stars often— recounting their stories.”
You wondered what this place looked like. A snowy peak, a humble village with friendly inhabitants. Beautiful statues of reverence and awe: beauty beyond comprehension.
“But I soon learned that too few omnics even looked up at all.”
You paused, gingerly putting a hand on his shoulder.
“I’m sorry.”
His optics returned to you, his head bowing in reverence of the memory.
“It is something I am remedying. Do not pity us.”
It was an answer you reluctantly accepted.
“Why did you tell those stories?”
“Well, I do not believe that we are just acquainted anymore.”
He had a point, tonight you had trampled the earlier boundaries you both held onto so tightly. But, in spite of it all, it felt lovely. Your sudden unease quickly transformed into shock as he took your hands in his. In return you flinched at the unexpected motion.
“No need to flinch, as nothing is wrong.”
“That was different, you were injured. This is…”
“Untrodden territory, for the both of us. I hope that this does not end as tragically.”
He spoke it quietly like a prayer only shared between him and a God.
There he stood, stripped of his labor before you. His heavy hands that lifted up the world as Atlas finally empty, only to find you as his new burden,
i might drop chapter 10 tonight, if it doesn't happen today it WILL happen tomorrow. im also halfway done with chapter 11 which will be an optional chapter
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