summary: “You’re sweeter than you think too, Mattheo.”
characters: mattheo riddle x whimsical! reader
warnings: none!
word count: 483
It smelled like cinnamon long before he even reached the end of the corridor.
Mattheo had been trudging toward the library with his usual scowl- tie loose, sleeves rolled up, dark curls falling into his eyes- muttering under his breath about exams and idiotic group projects. He hadn’t expected to find you there first, cross-legged at one of the long oak tables, surrounded by parchment, textbooks, and… a plate of cookies?
You looked up the moment he appeared, eyes bright, a streak of flour dusting your cheek. “You’re late, Professor Riddle.”
He arched a brow. “Professor?”
“Well,” you said, voice lilting with mischief, “you always correct me when I’m wrong, sigh dramatically when I make bad notes, and act like you’re being tortured whenever I smile-so yes, Professor.”
He bit back a smirk, dropping into the chair across from you. “You’re insufferable.”
“Mm. You love it.”
He didn’t respond. Because maybe he did.
You pushed the plate toward him. “Snickerdoodles. My mum always made them when we studied together. Cinnamon helps memory, apparently. You need that.”
You nodded, curls bouncing. “Of course. What kind of study session doesn’t have snacks? Don’t worry, I didn’t poison them-though, if you’re mean about my handwriting again, I might next time.”
He stared at you for a second longer than he meant to, then reached for one. The sugar cracked slightly under his fingers, still warm. He took a bite-and something in him stilled.
Sweet, soft, familiar.
You were watching him, chin in your hand, that ever-present gleam in your eye like you were seeing the world through some invisible bit of sunlight no one else could find. “Good?”
He swallowed, nodding once. “Too good.”
You grinned. “Perfect. Fuel for the tortured genius.”
He shook his head, smiling despite himself. “You’re ridiculous.”
“I prefer whimsical,” you corrected, flipping through your notes. “It sounds more mysterious.”
“Mysterious isn’t the word I’d use.”
“What word would you use, then?” you asked, scribbling something onto parchment without looking up.
He hesitated, leaning back in his chair, the corners of his mouth tugging faintly. “Sweet.”
You looked up then, surprise flickering across your features before softening into something gentler-quieter. “Well,” you said finally, with a shy little smile, “you’re sweeter than you think too, Mattheo.”
He didn’t answer. Just reached for another cookie, pretending to study while your soft humming filled the air between them. The candlelight flickered over your face-your nose scrunched in concentration, your hair messy from running your hands through it.
And for the first time that week, maybe that month, Mattheo Riddle didn’t feel quite so cold inside.
He glanced at you again-your cinnamon-sugar fingers flipping a page, your content little sigh-and thought, maybe sweetness wasn’t such a bad thing after all.
Rating: T | Category: F/M | Relationship: Lockwood/Lucy
Lockwood's day had been going perfectly normal until Lucy knocked on his door. It wasn't strange for her to do so, they were friends, after all, and she knocked on his door plenty of times for a variety of reasons. It was what she said this time, that changed his day from "perfectly normal" to "was he sure he hadn't woken up in some kind of twisted parallel reality?".
Or: Lucy has a date and asks Lockwood to teach her how to kiss.
So. I saw a writing prompt for poetry with the prompt words being lantern, ache, river, velvet, thistle, and autumn, and immediately thought of kcd (i say that as if i think of much else these days). An afternoon later, here we are. This is not poetry, and as such not an entry to the challenge; but it did make me write, so, thank you @scriptastra for a wonderful, inspiring prompt! ♥
Actual (micro?)fic under the cut!
In this spot, the flow of Sasau is gentle; the riverbed, however, precarious. The young novice lowers his lantern to better mind his step as he makes his way across. On the other bank, the setting sun highlights the colours of the meadow, the orange and pinkish purple on the velveteen petals of marigold and thistle glowing brightly against the darkening sky behind them like decorations on a path to freedom.
The water is achingly cold, and the robe clinging to his knees and ankles isn't helping the situation any. He should've tied it up before he stepped into the water; he wonders if Antonius and Gregor thought of that. If they even took to crossing the river, here or elsewhere; if they were better prepared than him, or worse.
It's approaching autumn, which makes it almost half a year since their disappearance, though it's been hard to keep precise track of time. How long did they plan their escape? Why did brother Gregor listen to his plans so eagerly, yet didn't say anything about his own at all? Were either of them ever going to stay? And why did they leave together?
The young novice stumbles, then, his foot catching on something at the bottom of the river.
The splash of his fall is spectacular. He should try to be quiet lest anyone catch him, but the cold and the surprise force a cackle out of him, and for good measure, he thinks about what it all must look like to someone watching. He's still laughing when what made him lose his step floats to the surface of the river.
The youngest son of the illustrious Baron of Pardubitz, with a temperament unsuitable for monastic life and a mind filled with stories both forbidden and scandalous, has thought of many a life for himself once he's left the monastery. Now, though, as the last rays of sunshine catch on a cloth, once white, now murky, still intimately familiar, still attached to someone he can, just barely, tell he once called a brother — now, he thinks about having stayed instead.
[ A Bleach fanfiction ]
Word Count: 4,774
Rating: G
Characters: Urahara Kisuke, Hirako Shinji, Yoruichi Shihoin, Shunsui Kyouraku
Relationships: Mentioned Kisuke/Shinji
Author's Note: An older piece, but still one of my favorites. A bit of a what-if scenario, in which Mayuri gave his life during the war to save Nemu, leaving the Twelfth without a Captain. Who better to take over the mantle than the former disgraced captain himself, Urahara Kisuke?
You can’t have peace without a war, that’s how the saying goes. It spoke true; the Seireitei, while in shambles, was calm. Peaceful. The sound of hammering in the distance, of laughter and voices calling out to one another. Rebuilding, slowly but surely- with the aid of Shinigami and civilians alike- and the occasional Arrancar. The dead were still being retrieved from the various fields on which battles took place. Last time the toll had been released, they were well into the hundreds. A devastating blow to them all- on both sides.
It was difficult; so many young Shinigami had been killed, but so had many young Quincy. Too many, truthfully. Some of their own Captains had been casualties of the war: Head Captain Genryūsai Shigekuni Yamamoto had been one of the first to be slaughtered before their very eyes. Aside from him, the entire first division had been killed- all one hundred and six members, in the very beginning of the war. Following this had been Fourth Division Captain, Retsu Unohana- all for the sake of getting Zaraki Kenpachi to learn the true name of his sword and release his bankai, something that had nearly killed him. Their beloved Thirteenth Division Captain, Jushiro Ukitake had been killed somehow. Very few knew the truth of the matter-
That he had become the new Soul King. That, since birth, he’d been doomed to take over when the time came. A ticking time bomb, of sorts. But to the rest of Soul Society, he’d been another casualty of war.
Many others had nearly died; Captain of the Third Division, Ōtoribashi Rōjūrō, Captain of the Ninth Division, Muguruma Kensei, and both the Captain and Lieutenant of the Tenth Division, Tōshirō Hitsugaya and Rangiku Matsumoto, had all become members of the living dead due to the the Sternritter Giselle Gewelle’s ability. Captain of the Sixth Division, Byakuya Kuchiki, had nearly been slaughtered by the Sternritter Äs Nödt. For all intents and purposes, the Lieutenant of the Third Division was dead, and yet he still walked: Izuru Kira, who lost not just an arm, but a lung and portions of other organs after having a hole shot through his torso. Their new Captain Commander, Kyōraku Shunsui, had lost his left eye and part of his left ear, as well as having a hole shot through his sternum, nearly killing him.
Others had been injured just as grievously. But that was what war did. It took and it took and it took until there wasn’t anything left to take. War was greedy.
One other had been taken from their ranks. Mayuri Kurotsuchi, the Captain of the Twelfth Division, had been killed during the battle. Details were still coming in, but from what was known, he’d sacrificed himself in the final moments to save his greatest creation, Nemu Kurotsuchi, his artificially created daughter. It seems that even the coldest and most detached of people could, in the end, redeem themselves and save those who they held closest to their hearts. It was certainly interesting to hear.
After all, when Urahara Kisuke had been Captain of the Twelfth, Mayuri had been a right bastard to deal with. He could still remember that day he pulled him out of the Maggot’s Nest, and the following years. How they had worked well together, even if the bickering was nearly constant, as well outright insubordination.
Many would grieve in silence for those that had been lost. The Fourth Division was busy; Isane Kotetsu was now the defacto Captain. She was young, but strong, resilient. She would survive.
Somewhere within the Division sat Rose and Kensei, sharing a room. Izuru Kira had his own room- something that was necessary, given the extent of his injuries. Kuchiki Byakuya was being treated at the Kuchiki Mansion; Kyōraku Shunsui, at the Kyōraku Mansion. Somewhere below them, Aizen sat, chained back up.
Kisuke sat in the bed, studying the way dust danced within the sun’s rays that spilled through his window. He wasn’t injured, not really; Benihime had made sure that her master would be pieced back together completely. All that was left of her work were the thin, surgical stitches that stretched down his face, across his knuckles, over his joints. They didn’t hurt. At least, he didn’t think they did. If there was pain, he was numb to it.
He supposed he owed his thanks to Grimmjow for saving him. He’d thank him later. Right now, the Pantera was hunting for a certain Shark that sat within one of the many, many cells beneath Soul Society. He was accompanied by a Ram and a Wolf. He could thank Mayuri for saving the Wolf.
Coyote Starrk had been a savior. A sharp shooter and a hidden weapon in Hueco Mundo.
There was also Kurosaki Ichigo. That kid deserved all of their thanks, and more. Without him, they’d all be dead. He couldn’t help but wonder where he was, right now. Back home in Karakura Town? Or here, lingering with those he’d fought beside?
Slate hues closed, listening to the hammering and calling. To the sound of laughter and weeping. Of birdsong and creeping silence. He was tired. More so than he’d ever been in his life.
But now was not the time to rest, not with the figure lingering outside of his door. Five minutes, Shinji had been standing there, reaching for the door and dropping his hand, only to reach again. A sigh escaped Kisuke as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. “Come in, already!” He called, amusement shining in his words.
The door opened, and the blonde made his appearance at last. “Didn’t wanna disturb yer beauty rest, your highness,” he teased, lips quirking up in a crooked smile.
Kisuke could remember the first time he’d seen that smile. “I think I’ve had enough beauty rest to last a lifetime,” as if to prove a point, he stretched his arms up over his head, listening as various bones popped and creaked, as if singing a song of rest. “You aren’t here to give me the latest gossip, are you, Hirako-san?”
A shake of the head. “I wish I were,” Shinji sighed, closing the door behind himself as if that would give them any privacy. It wouldn’t, but it was certainly the thought that counted. “We were called in for an emergency meeting. Y’know how… Bad everything is right now.”
“You’re down three captains, and the new Captain Commander is on mandatory bed rest.” Kisuke answered with a shake of the head. “You’re fucked.”
“And not in the fun way.” Arms crossing over his chest, Shinji grimaced. He was still in pain, too, it seemed. Not surprising; he’d taken quite the beating as well, from what he’d heard. “I have a question to ask you.”
“No, the Soul Society will not get a discount on any products they purchase at the Urahara Shoten.” A joke, though it seemed to fall flat. “... What is it?”
“You know Kurotsuchi-taichou was killed.”
“Yes.”
“They’re without a Captain now.” Slate hues widened before narrowing, understanding quickly settling in. This was the one thing he had never been prepared for.
“Nemu could act as defacto Captain.”
“She can’t. She’s a child again.”
“Of course she is.” Damn Mayrui. “Akon?”
“Doesn’t have a Bankai. Or a Shikai.”
“Of course he doesn’t. Of course Mayuri would keep all of his underlings under a careful watch and not allow them to progress. Of course he would. He never did think about anyone but himself.” A bitter laugh slipped free, one full of anger and mourning. A scarred hand reached up to rub at pale blonde hair. “What are you asking, Shinji?”
“You know what I’m asking, Kisuke.”
“I want to hear you say it.”
A pause. Shinji sucked on his teeth, lips pressing taunt. “The Captain Commander wants to know if you’ll step in and take over the position of Captain of the Twelfth Division once more.”
A bark of laughter escaped Kisuke as he tossed his head back, baring his throat and chest. He knew this was coming. But to hear it spoken aloud? It made everything suddenly so real. “Central Forty-Six is going to disagree.”
“It’ll be overridden. We’re down three captains and the Soul King knows how many Shinigami.” Shinji’s lip curled into a scowl as he shook his head. “We’re fucked.”
“We’re fucked.” Kisuke agreed softly, gaze slipping from Shinji to study the floorboards. “Whose idea was it?”
“It was agreed on immediately that you were the only one who could take over the Twelfth and not accidentally kill everyone.” The humor in Shinji’s tone brought a smile to both of their faces.
“You’re not wrong there.” A pause. “... I have some conditions, then.”
Shinji waved his hands. “Save it for the official meeting. Shun’s calling it in three days time. We’re all to attend, no matter what it takes to get there.” He pushed away from the wall and turned. “I’d love t’stay and all, but I gotta make sure my Division isn’t all dead.”
“You make a good Captain, Shinji.” Kisuke murmured, watching as his back tensed, as his head raised. “You always have.”
“... Get some rest, you ogre.” The door shut, and he was alone with his thoughts once more.
Three Days Later
The meeting did not take place within the Captain Commander’s hall. The First Division was still being cleaned of bodies and blood. Instead, it took place within the halls of the Kyōraku Mansion. The grounds were lovely, sprawling, teeming with deer and birds and streams. It was easy to see the wealth and prestige that came with the name.
But it was nothing compared to the Shihōin estate that Kisuke had grown up on. Speaking of, Yoruichi had joined him. He’d requested she be allowed to attend, and lo and behold, his request had been approved. The past three days, he’d been talking with her and Tessai, deciding on their plan of action. Now, it would come to fruition.
“I know this isn’t the First Division, but it will have to make do for the time being.” Shunsui spoke, breaking the idle conversation that had been occurring and drawing all attention to him. He wore the Captain Commander’s coat, but beneath was a simple violet yukata- loose fitting to accommodate the bandages that wound around his torso. His head was still bandaged, as well.
No one looked to be in good health. Across from him sat Rose and Kensei, both of whom looked uncomfortable. Rose was bandaged around his middle; Kensei’s color was still returning to normal. Behind them stood, or in Kira’s case, sat, their lieutenants. Kira didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. He didn’t seem to be paying attention. Hisagi looked ready to pass out at any given moment.
No one else was any better, aside from perhaps Isane Kotetsu. Akon stood behind the empty chair where Mayuri should have been sitting. Rukia Kuchiki stood behind the empty chair that should have held Ukitake.
“This meeting, while formal, is occurring off the books. We are in a grievous state, and while peace may be here, there is always the chance that it could break at any moment. That is why we are here.” He cleared his throat, brows furrowing. “We are rebuilding, and we have a shaky alliance with both the Quincy and the Arrancar- for now. I do not believe that we are under an immediate threat. However, there are certain items that must be addressed.
“The first of which is the passing of four of our Captains. There will be funerals held for each of them within the coming weeks. They will be open to the public. They will be grand, as is deserving of each.” The finality in Shunsui’s voice left no room for argument. “Captains Yamomoto, Unohana, Kurotsuchi, and Ukitake will be remembered for the rest of time for laying down their lives to save Soul Society, as well as the… Hundreds of others who were lost in battle.”
Hundreds. The word is heavy within the room. Everyone had lost someone in some form, whether it be family, friend, or lover.
“Secondly, it is time to correct the errors of our past. This is the reason this meeting is occurring off the books. I plan to contest the banning of Urahara Kisuke and Shihōin Yoruichi personally before Central Forty-Six.” Murmurs drifted through the room. It was one thing to bring up the idea, but another to say that it will be happening. “Which is why they were both invited to attend this meeting.”
Gazes turned, landing on the pair. “Ohayo,” Kisuke hummed, leaning his weight upon Benihime, who was in her sealed form. “I have questions about that.”
“Of course you do,” Sui-Feng muttered, though she remained silent otherwise.
He pointedly ignored the angry little bee. “I was made aware that you all agreed that I should take over my former position that had been ripped from me one hundred and… What was it, twelve? Thirteen, now? Years ago. A title that I had rightly earned before I was condemned for a crime that I did not commit, which we all are aware of now, yes?” A quick, cursory glance around the room. “I know a few of you here were too young to remember what happened. But let me refresh your memory, shall I? Aizen was working on a way to create Hollows out of Shinigami and chose three of your captains and one of the lieutenants here, now, to test that on, as well as Hiyori Sarugaki, my former Lieutenant, Hachigen Ushoda, formerly of the Fourth Division, and Love Aikawa, former Captain of the Seventh Division.” The words cut like a hot knife through ice, stinging and causing a few to look down or away.
“But some of you were not too young. Some of you remember when it happened, and you did nothing to intervene. So for the last one hundred and thirteen years, I have been living in the World of the Living, aiding the Vizards. Miss Shihōin had been exiled from her own family, even if they did not want to do so. They had no choice. So!” Kisuke clapped his hands together, watching as Isane jumped. Oops. “My condition is that not only we be pardoned of this crime that we did not commit, but that Miss Yoruichi Shihōin also be allowed back within Soul Society. My shop will remain within the World of the Living in Karakura Town. Tessai Tsukabishi, the former Captain of the Kido Corps, who was also wrongly convicted, will also be pardoned. He will remain and run the shop, looking over it and the two Modified Souls whom I created and love as if they were my own children, Ururu and Jinta.
“Those are the conditions upon which I will accept the Captaincy of the Twelfth Division once more. If they are not met, you’ll just have to find someone else who is capable enough to run the Division and understand how Mayuri Kurotsuchi’s mind worked. No offense to Akon or anyone with the Twelfth currently, but I don’t think any of them could actually handle that. After all,” his voice quiets, head dipping, a shadow falling over his eyes. “I was the one who brought Mayuri out of the Maggot’s Nest. Should any of you forget, I was also the Commander of the Detention Corps, as well as a member of the Onmitsukidō.” Chin raising, slate gaze swept across the room, taking in the silence that had fallen. “I’m not asking for a compensation fund. I’m not asking for a new Division. I’m not asking for a golden parade through the Rukongai. I want an apology. And I want for Central Forty-Six to admit their mistake.”
Silence met him. It was as if no one had expected Urahara Kisuke to speak out, to give demands. As if he, too, hadn’t been wronged by the events of the past. As if he, too, did not deserve an apology. As if he, too, were not angry and bitter over the mistakes of the past.
“Lest you all forget that without me, you would not have had the Twelfth as it is today. There would be no S.R.D.I.. Mayuri would have died in his cell. And you all would be dead, now, because Kurosaki Ichigo wouldn’t have been born without Isshin Kurosaki, someone who I helped personally. And you would be down four Captains and one lieutenant.” Jaw set, he met Shunsui’s gaze with his own. “These are the requirements. And I will not settle for any less, Captain Commander.”
Shunsui shifted in his seat, a peculiar little smile curling at the corners of his lips. One that read ‘I anticipated this’, or perhaps ‘All is going according to plan’. “Of course, Urahara-san. It will be done.”
“Will it?” Kisuke countered, head titling, voice low. “Just what do you have on the Central Forty-Six that would turn their vote so quickly, Shunsui-san?”
A chill crept into the air as the Captains and Lieutenants sat straighter, stood straighter, cast their gazes down. No one dared speak, no one dared to break the silence that had gripped their throats and held them captive.
“That,” Shunsui began, rising to his feet slowly. “Is for me to know, and for you to never find out. That is all that needed to be said. This meeting is dismissed.” His face was pale; it was beyond time for him to retire. Another session of healing, no doubt.
Kisuke made his way out, Yoruichi at his side. “That was ballsy,” she murmured, gaze trained ahead. “But good.”
“I figured a history lesson was overdue.” Kisuke replied with a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “Go, I’m sure no one will mind if you-”
She was already gone.
“-visit your family.” Sighing, he began the slow walk back towards the Gotei Thirteen, gaze downcast. He could hear murmurings from behind him- surprise, shock, anxiety. A presence settled in at his side, shoulder gently bumping against his arm.
“Think it’ll happen?” Shinji asked after a good few minutes of walking in silence.
“He managed to convince them to let Aizen out.” He hummed, head rising to study the horizon. “I don’t know what he has up his sleeves, but… I believe there is a chance I’ll be back to torment you, Hirako-taicho.”
The grin Shinji sent him was brighter than the sun. He couldn’t help but smile, as well.
One Month Later
“I stand before you today to contest a punishment that was given over a century ago,” Shunsui began, gazing up at the blank blocks before him. Behind them sat the members of the Central Forty-Six. “I am aware that I was here merely two months prior. A lot can happen in two months.”
“Like losing hundreds of Shinigami,” one voice spoke up.
“That is the casualty of war, something that you all seem to forget exists outside of your protected lives.” Silence met Shunsui. “We lost four captains. And while there are many who could step up the plate, one of those is impossible to replace.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“That Urahara Kisuke be allowed back into the Soul Society and be allowed to take his mantle of Captain up once again.” Shunsui fell quiet as yells met him. Anger, alarm, it all spilled out.
“URAHARA KISUKE? DESERTER.”
“LIAR, A DANGER TO SOUL SOCIETY.”
“HE’S BEEN IN THE WORLD OF THE LIVING FOR TOO LONG.”
He raised his hands, listening as the voices died down. “I understand your anger. However, merely a few years ago, the Vizards were pardoned. Why should Kisuke not be pardoned, as well as Yoruichi Shihōin and Tessai Tsukabishi.”
“THEY’RE TRAITORS TO THE SOUL SOCIETY-”
“THEY ABANDONED US YEARS AGO-”
“THEY SHOULD BE KILLED-”
Shunsui raised his hands once more, his brow furrowed. “Maa, maa- please, allow me to speak.” Agitated silence met him as he cleared his throat. “I’m not Yamomoto. I haven’t been here since the beginning. I was just a child when this place was really coming together. But because of that, I have been able to witness the way everything has changed and grown. How we’ve become stronger, how more and more Shinigami join our ranks each year. I was a Captain by the time Urahara Kisuke joined our ranks, stepping out from the shadow of the Onmitsukidō. I was able to watch as he built the Twelfth up from the bottom, and watched as he created the Shinigami Research and Development Institute. Without him, we wouldn’t have the Gigais that allow us to investigate further into the World of the Living, the Tenshintai. What Mayuri had to work with wouldn’t have existed without Kisuke. We wouldn’t have even had a captain to fill his place originally without Kisuke; he was the one who brought Mayuri out of the Maggot’s Nest.
“At the end of the day, you have to sit back and consider more than what those of the past did. At the time, there was no true solid proof that Urahara Kisuke, Yoruichi Shihōin and Tessai Tsukabishi were behind the hollowfication project that was, in actuality, spearheaded by Aizen. Their only crime had been being at the scene, trying to help their friends. When you consider this, along with how they have continued to aid us despite being stranded in the World of the Living for so long… Don’t we owe them this?” Murmurs began to echo through the tall chamber. Forty-six voices all talking, debating. Shunsui stood, hands folded politely before him as he waited.
He was right, and he knew it. After all, it had been his idea in the first place. Without Kisuke’s aid, they wouldn’t have ever had Kurosaki Ichigo to help them. Aizen would never have been stopped. Yhawch would still be alive, and they would all be dead or acting as prisoners. There wasn’t any real debate to be had other than stubborn old men wanting to keep history as it is. “So, I ask once more: I wish for Urahara Kisuke to be allowed back into the Soul Society and be allowed to take his mantle of Captain of the Twelfth Division and Captain of the S.R.D.I. up once again as well as pardoning Urahara Kisuke, Yoruichi Shihōin and Tessai Tsukabishi of their wrongly accused crimes.” Silence settled across the chamber. A pleased smile curled Shunsui’s lips as he relaxed.
Two Weeks Later
The First Division was peaceful, calm, filled with idle chatter as the Captains and their Lieutenants gathered within the hall of the Captain Commander. There was no surprise written upon their features; they knew what this meeting was about. Even so, they stood, chatting amongst one another, until Shunsui made his way into the hall to settle in at the head of the hall. He used a heavy, cherry wood cane to aid him; it would not be a permanent fixture. Each day he grew stronger, healing from his injuries.
“Well, then,” he murmured, rolling his shoulders before raising his voice. “Would the new Captain of the Twelfth Division enter?”
The great doors opened, and standing within the entryway was none other than Urahara Kisuke, green and white strapped hat nowhere to be seen. He no longer resembled the young, awkward Captain he had been one hundred and thirteen years ago. Now, he stood tall, still, gaze trained forward. He made his way in slowly, geta clad feet making soft ‘clacks’ with every step. Behind him, surprisingly, walked a black feline, trodding to keep up. He turned to the left, and stepped into the place where he’d once stood, where Mayuri had once stood.
“Very well. Now, since we are all here, our first manner of business…”
The meeting did not last long; many were still in frail condition, such as the Third Division. The walk to the Twelfth was quiet, calm. Yoruichi had slipped away, returning to her family for the first time in far too long. She wouldn’t be taking up the mantle of Head of the Shihōin family; that title had passed to her younger brother. Instead, she’d become an aid to him, and split her time between the Soul Society and the World of the Living. Tessai didn’t want to return; he had no desire to come back. He’d handle the shop and keep an eye on Karakura, along with Jinta and Ururu.
Kisuke was pulled from his thoughts at the sound of a throat clearing. Head snapping up, slate gaze hues widening at the sight of his new lieutenant. “The last time I saw you, you were extremely little and didn’t have a nicotine addiction!” Kisuke greeted with a grin as Akon let out a bark of laughter.
“It’s good to see you again, too, Captain,” Akon replied, shaking his head as he fell into step beside Kisuke. “A lot’s changed.”
“I’d be more alarmed if nothing had changed. It has been over a century, after all!” His head tilts back, studying the sky. “It feels strange to be here again.”
“It does.” The sound of a little voice calling had both men pausing, glancing behind them, only to watch as a little black haired girl came bouncing over, nearly stumbling over her sandals. Nemu. Akon knelt down, arms open, allowing the girl to climb up into his arms. “Nemu, meet Urahara Kisuke. He’s taking over as Captain.”
“I remember him. Where’s your hat?” She asked, big dark eyes gazing up at Kisuke.
“Decided that it wouldn’t be appropriate to wear at a meeting,” he winked, and with a wave of his hand, it was as if the hat appeared out of thin air. Nemu’s eyes widened in surprise, mouth dropping open into a little ‘o’. “But I never wander too far without it.” Gaze turning, he took in the sight of the Division, how much it had changed, how large it had become. “Well…”
“Wherever you want to begin, I’ll guide you to it.” A grimace. “Notes? Or did he burn them all again?”
“Surprisingly, he didn’t.” A shrug as Akon began to walk once more, carrying Nemu as if she were his own. Members of the Twelfth stopped where they stood and bowed low, murmurs of welcome echoing through the air. “I don’t think he had the foresight to do that.”
“Good,” Kisuke nodded, clapping his hands together. “Then let's get to work.”
“Aye-aye, Captain.”
That Night
The night air was cool here compared to the warm autumn air of Karakura Town. Geta clopped along the top of the wall idly with no true direction. That is, until the sound of a snicker drew the attention of the shoe’s owner. Head tilting, Kisuke glanced behind himself to find Hirako Shinji standing behind him. “Can’t sleep?”
“Haunted by the past.” Kisuke replied, settling down on the wall. Was he in Shinji’s Division? He hadn’t realized he’d walked that far. “You?”
“Insomnia’s a bitch.” Shinji settled down on the wall, kicking his heels against the sturdy structure idly. “... It feels good to have you back.”
“Does it?” He mused, stepping closer before settling down, shoulder bumping Shinji’s before leaning against the other. “Never thought I’d hear you say that.”
“Fuck off,” Shinji teased, leaning his weight back against Kisuke’s shoulder. Together they sat, silence falling across them like a light dew in the early morning hours. Without speaking, Shinji reached over, taking hold of Kisuke’s hand. Calloused fingers drifted over stitched scars. “She did a number on you.”
“Benihime is a benevolent woman. I respect that,” Kisuke replied softly, watching Shinji’s fingers. “What about you? How’s your head?”
“I’ve had worse.”
“Touche.” A chuckle slipped free from both men. Kisuke sighed, leaning over to rest his head atop Shinji’s own. “This is what you missed?”
“This and more.”
“It doesn’t feel right without Hiyori yelling at us. Or Love laughing. Or Hachi worrying…” Brows furrowing, he sighed. “But they like it in the World of the Living.”
“They’ll never come back.” Shinji’s voice was soft, regretful, full of anger pushed down beneath the surface. “It’ll never be the same.”
“No, it won’t,” his eyes closed, memories of days long passed flashing within his mind. “... But at least some of it will be.”
A smile curled Shinji’s lips as he pulled Kisuke’s hand up to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss to his knuckles. “Some of it will be, Captain.”
“Captain, eh?”
“Shaddup.”
Laughter filled the night air, so light and joyful, it was as if nothing had ever changed.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Words: 16,231
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Jeon Jungkook/Park Jimin
Characters: Jeon Jungkook, Park Jimin (BTS), Kim Mingyu, Kim Taehyung | V, Lee Taemin, Kim Jongin | Kai
Additional Tags: Childhood Friends to Lovers, Friends to Lovers, Childhood Friends, Jeon Jungkook & Park Jimin Are Best Friends, Slow Burn, kinda angst, Angst and Fluff
Summary:
Jeongguk and Jimin have always liked each other, and eventually they both realise they LIKE like each other but how long does it take them to actually confess?
or
AU where Jimin and Jeongguk are dumb enough to not confess for a long time.
[Dovahzul translation can be found at the bottom of the post]
“Ahrk het Zu’u mindol daar hi aal neh daal. Ved vokun lost daal vul lien. Lost hi bo fah do daar?”
They new that voice. The Traitor. The one in the pit, the one that writhes, the one with empty eyes and oily chains. A nightmare they had not missed.
Branches of burnt trees reached up and formed a lattice of otherworldly knotwork, making a mockery of a aviary above them. Stark white light from a unknown source far in the empty void above creeping shadows down onto the dust below, framing the pit of sizzling black acid where the Traitor basked.
The beast turned his mighty head, the multitude of eyes that speckled everywhere but where eyes belonged twitching and turning to watch them all at once, expectant for an answer.
And still, as always, they gave no answer. What answer did they have to give, for a question they could not understand?
The Traitor let out a great sigh, his head falling to the earth below in a cloud of pale particulates.
“Ahrk mulhaan, hi tinvaak nid. Mindoli fiik daal zu’u.” His tone sounded pained, disappointed.
They shifted in discomfort. Why were they irritated? Was it at them? They hesitated, trying to ignore the empty gaze the Traitor gave them. No response. They finally turned. A way out of this nightmare. To anywhere, anything but this.
“Hi haalvut med hi het,” he said wistfully.
They paused in their examination of the cage wall, turning to look back at him again. Tentacles writhed over what they could only assume was his body. He shifted, acid making a sickening slurping noise as he did so.
“Zu’u vahzah daar vod? Lost Zu’u meyz daar krent hahdrimaan daar Zu’u sahvot hi nahlaas?” His chuckle was pitiful. He strained at his bindings, the tendrils and chains that bound him holding fast. He tensed, before giving up and falling back into the pit in a splash of acid that hissed and ate at the things around him.
They made no response. They never had any response to him. Just a struggle to get away. For once, he made no sign of aggression.
The faint glimmer of eyes in his sockets made them tense and hold their ground, pressed against the side of the cage in hopes that it might give away into another dream.
“Rok fen du Lein us daar horvut kren. Nunon ruz aal daar pah meyza oblaana. Nii fen pah kos nahlot ruz.”
The world warped around them. The trees stretched further up, reaching their blackened hands into the empty sky before it turned a bloody, violent red. Fire rained down around them, setting trees ablaze. Their eyes saw the twisted forms of men and horses streaking through the blaze, charred and burning. The remains of buildings like their own skeletons stretched out in the ash. The smell of burnt flesh. A great, black shadow, and smoldering red eyes.
They wanted to wake up. They wanted this to just go away.
The Traitor watched them, the embers reflected in black eyes.
“Hi drey koraav rok.”
Enough of this. Just replaying the things they didn’t want to recall. They were just stressed. It was just a nightmare.
“Ruz hi fen mindok tol tiid maltiid.”
The beat of wings. The sting of ash and smoke in their eyes. The pounding of their heart. A sense of desperation and panic. Hopelessness.
“Mu aal stin us Zu’u koraav hi. Paak.”
The world spun around them. The thunderous sound of fire made their ears ring, and yet the Traitor’s voice still came through loud and clear as the only distinguishable noise above the cacophony.
“Hi lost paar fahdon, orin hi neh tinvaak.”
The rushing sound of something great crashing down. Everything becoming too loud, too inescapable. The shouts and noises of every animal and man they had ever heard. The scalding burn of fire on their face. Too much, too fast.
Zu’u dreh ni laan dira.
Translations:
Ahrk het Zu’u mindol daar hi aal neh daal. Ved vokun lost daal vul lien. Lost hi bo fah do daar? - And here I thought that you would never return. A black shadow has returned to darken the world. Have you come because of that?
Ahrk mulhaan, hi tinvaak nid. Mindoli fiik daal zu’u. - And still, you say nothing. My thoughts reflect and return to me.
Hi haalvut med hi het - You feel like you are here.
Zu’u vahzah daar vod? Lost Zu’u meyz daar krent hahdrimaan daar Zu’u sahvot hi nahlaas? - Am I truly that gone? Have I become so broken minded that I believe you are alive?
Rok fen du Lein us daar horvut kren. Nunon ruz aal daar pah meyza oblaana. Nii fen pah kos nahlot ruz. - He will devour the world before this trap breaks. Only then may this all come to an end. It will all be silent then.
Hi drey koraav rok. - You have seen him.
Ruz hi fen mindok tol tiid maltiid. - Then you must know that time is short
Mu aal stin us Zu’u koraav hi. Paak. - We might be free before I see you. Shame.
Hi lost paar fahdon, orin hi neh tinvaak. - You were a desired companion, even if you never spoke.
