#no room to be overwhelmed or suicidal when you’re yearning you have to put your soul into it
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A Daughter’s Tale
words: 3.6k
pairing: Bruce Banner x desi!daughter!reader
warnings: fluff, angst, swearing, mentions of death, mentions of suicide, people being in love, Valentine’s Day
A/n: HAPPY VALENTINES DAY! I hope everyone enjoys this and has an incredible day. This is part 2 to A Doctor’s Tale
My Masterlist
Dividers by @firefly-graphics
Your hand hits the edge of the pool and you push your head up to gasp for air. The wet hair clings to your head, some droplets of water rolling down your forehead. Your chest moves in time with the heavy breaths you take in, the tight nylon adjusting to your body. The daily morning swims quickly became part of your routine. It wakes you up and helps you relax before your busy schedule sets in.
You’ve come to enjoy living with your father in the tower, but you spend most of the time studying or working next to Bruce in his lab. Tony’s equipment is far superior than your own devices back in Kolkata and yet your father keeps reminding you how impressed he is with you and how proud he is - all the things he couldn’t say in the past decade and a half.
You don’t really interact with the rest of the Avengers. You’ve met them, of course, but they make you feel shy. They’ve saved the world multiple times, it’s intimidating. Most of your days are spent with Tony, Natasha or your father. They worry about you, but you’re mostly fine.
The water sloshes against the tiles when you heave yourself out of the pool. Your feet pad against the warm floor, leaving little trails of liquid on your path. The soft material of your towel feels nice against your skin, a warmth spreading through your limbs. Your stomach rumbles in yearning for breakfast, the cool air flowing over any exposed skin and leaving goosebumps in its way.
The warm water of the shower relaxes your muscles, hot steams rising through the air. Puddles of shampoo land on the floor as you scrub away to get the chlorine off. The smell of flowers and spices fill the space, a gentle reminder of your childhood. You feel calm when you exit the gym, exercise usually makes you feel good. The elevator doors close, “Good morning, Miss Banner. How was your swim?” You smile at the ceiling, “It was just fine, Thank you F.R.I.D.A.Y”
Once you arrive on the floor your father and you are sharing, the smell of pancakes fills your nose. You trudge into the kitchen to find a stack of the food, a small sticky note next to them. ‘Good morning shona! I hope you’re doing well. I am working on a project with Tony, feel free to step by. Love you, daddy’, it reads. “Aww, dad”, you mumble, smiling while you put his memo into your sweatpants pocket.
The pancakes are fluffy and you can’t help but grin. Bruce has been trying really hard to be a good father, making sure you eat and drink enough, that you’re happy and satisfied. His efforts left you with a light heart and a fluttering feeling in your chest. This is exactly what you have craved all for all these years, you just wished your mother was still alive and with you.
Thinking about her still makes your heart ache and you immediately long for a hug. Tears cloud your vision and you take in a shuddering breath. This sudden sadness makes you go back to the elevator, your father did say you should visit him, right?
The door to the lab is closed, the shimmering, milky glass stopping your vision. You step forward, ready to enter, but the door doesn’t budge. You reach out to open it yourself, but no matter how hard you push, you can’t come in. “Uhm, F.R.I.D.A.Y, why can’t I go in?”, you probe the AI, the confusion obvious on your face. “Mr Stark asked me to lock the doors to the lab, Curious Kitty Protocol”
You raise an eyebrow, Tony’s antics never fail to both fascinate and irritate you. “Well, can you ask if I may enter then?”, your voice taking on a teasing tone. “Will do, Miss Banner”. After about half a minute the door bursts open and you take a step back, hand on your heart, “Gee, dad, what’s wrong with you?”. Bruce’s face is red, forehead sweaty and lips pink. He pants heavily, his chest moving and falling rapidly.
“Uhm, are you okay?”, you question, sounding slightly scared. He holds out a hand, the other one resting on his thighs as if to support his weight. “Daddy?”
“I’m okay”, he gasps, “what’s up, Shona?” This moment Tony turns the corner, equally sweaty as Bruce, but a smirk playing on his lips. “Hey, little miss Banner, come on in, the magical den awaits you”, he bows down, throwing a subtle wink in your direction. To his dismay, you hesitate, making him throw an arm over your shoulders and pulling you inside, “We don’t have all day, hurry up”
Tony pushes you into a chair and dramatically walks up to his desk, his hips swinging with every step. “Tony!”, hisses your father and walks over to you, his eyes shining with worry. “Shona, are you alright?”
In your confusion, you can’t form any words, mouth opening and closing helplessly.
The lab is chaotic, empty mugs littered everywhere and the robots are standing with their faces to the wall.The floor-to-ceiling windows are darkened, leaving the room under a shadowy gloom. A weird smell is lingering in the air, a strange note of pineapple the most noticeable.
“What are you working on?”, you ask the men, a suspicious glint in your eyes. “A project”, Bruce answers quickly, averting his gaze. “What exactly?”, you retort warily. “Top secret, sorry not sorry”, Tony chimes in. He is now sitting on the table, legs dangling through the air carelessly, a mischievous smile on his face.
“Okay?”, a confused whisper leaves you. Whatever is going on is highly suspicious. “Now, why did you come up here?”; Bruce’s voice is much calmer now. “I really wanted a hug, but you look really sweaty and I just took a shower”, you state, arms crossed and eyebrow raised. He pouts at you, fluttering his eyelids, “You don’t want to give your old man a hug?” He spreads his arms for you to fall into, to which you comply. Reluctantly. “Gross”, you mumble.
The air smells like lemon, the air perfume keeping it present, a wish you quickly opened up about when you first arrived here. It reminds you of home. A wave of spice reaches your nose from the kitchen where Bruce is cooking. He has been trying hard to recreate the Indian dishes he remembers. They’re not quite your mum’s cooking, but they’re good. Unique, just like your father.
“What are we having, dad?”, you shout. A heavy chemistry book lies in front of you, the pages filled with exercises. Your father insisted that you continue school. “It’s a surprise. It’ll be delicious, Shona, don’t worry. I’ve got this”, he shouts back, “I hope”, he mumbles afterwards. You smile at your father. Aarohi told you about this, how Bruce often doubts himself even though he is doing just fine. You’ve noticed this quite often, sadly.
“I’m sure you’re doing great, Dad”, you yell in hopes of cheering him up, “I love you!” His reply comes immediately, “I love you too, Shona” Your heart flutters, just like whenever he tells you these words. You’ve missed this for so long and now that you can have it, no matter when or where, it makes you feel giddy.
Time flies by and when you’re next called, dinner is set on the table. “You’ve made Aloo gobi! Oh my, dad, you’re the best, I can’t wait for this”, you smile and run to hug your father. He laughs and wraps his arms around you, a warm feeling filling your body.
The food is delicious and you have to force yourself to eat slowly, “Dad this tastes so good”. The man grins at your words, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, “Thank you. I’m glad you like it”. Bruce is twirling around with his fork, not really eating much. “Are you okay?”, you ask, concerned. “I’m fine, don’t worry”, his voice sounds quiet, subdued even, “But we do need to talk after dinner. Nothing bad, don’t worry”.
The rest of the meal is filled with tension, tight and uncomfortable. A flood of worry rummages through your body, fear in your veins. Nothing good ever comes out of a ‘don’t worry’, right? You wipe your hands on your legs, sweat covering the surface, a sign of your nerves that you inherited from your father. Once the food is gone you offer to do the dishes, but Bruce stops you, mentioning he’ll do it later.
The two of you sit on the couch, avoiding eye contact. “So?”, you start in an attempt to overcome the fear, “Are you okay, dad?” He sighs and places a hand on your thigh, “I’m fine, I promise. I just…”, he interrupts himself. His eyes look cloudy. “Promise me that whatever I’m going to tell you, you won’t hate me”. Time seems to still as your fingers twitch anxiously, “What, dad, of course not”
You reach for the hand on your leg and wrap your own around it.”You can tell me anything”, you hope to reassure him. “Okay then, here goes nothing”, he takes a deep breath and looks into your eyes. “You know how Valentine’s Day is tomorrow, right?” You cock your head subconsciously, “Yeah?”
“Well, I have a date”, he says and looks away directly after, his hands really cold. It feels like your head is spinning, his words not registering. You feel your breath quickening and rip your hands away, quickly getting up from the sofa. “What?”, you plead, voice quiet. “Hey, Shona, please calm down, I know this is scary, but-”
“NO!”, you shout, “What about mum? Do you not love her anymore?” Tears are shooting into your eyes as you become more and more upset for every second that goes by. “How could you betray us like that! Don’t you love us?” Bruce gets up as well, his eyes misty too. “Of course I love you and your mother, nothing could ever change that” He reaches for you, but you shy away. “But how can you be with someone when you love mum? That doesn’t make sense!”
A sob wrecks through your body and you hug yourself, turning further away from the man. “Please, don’t say that. I love your mother so much, that will never change. But I can’t control how I feel. You have to understand, please”, his voice sounds pained and it makes your heart ache, but an overwhelming sense of irritation overcomes you and you lose control.
“So you’re just going on a date, huh? Are you trying to forget mum?”, the accusation silences him as the tears continue to flow down your cheeks. You grab a hoodie that lies on the couch and rush to the door. “Please don’t leave”, Bruce whispers and you slow down to a halt.
“I still love you, dad. I just need a minute. I’ll be back soon”, you whisper, not raising your eyes from the floor. Your vision is blurry as you run through the lobby and out the doors. The air is dry and cold, snow piling up on the sidewalk. Its crystal structures are clearly visible, beautiful and unique forms that usually fascinate you leave you feeling blank now.
The freezing temperatures leave you shaking as you mindlessly sprint through the streets. Suddenly you run over a patch of ice and slip. Your arms wave through the air as your body rushes down to the ground. The impact leaves you breathless, pain rushing through your back. You violently close your eyes and curl together into a small ball.
Tears stream down your cheeks as you sob helplessly. The temperature sinks into your flesh and bites at your bones. “Shit”, you whisper, the energy leaving your body as the adrenaline wears off. “Well, what are you doing on the floor, Y/n?”, a voice asks. You turn your head to come face to face with Natasha, her vibrant hair a strong contrast to the snow.
“Nat?”, your voice sounds croaky. “Come on up, I’m bringing you home. Don’t want you to freeze now, huh?”, she speaks softly and begins to heave you up. Her arms are strong and she is warm, so you nuzzle into her chest. “Now, why did you run away into this freezing cold?” You sigh and rub your arms to create some more warmth, “Did you know dad is dating someone?”
“I did”, she replies. You nod and stare at the floor, “It just came as a scare to me, I guess. It hasn’t even been a year since mum died” Her hand glides over your shoulders gently, “I get that. But your father is really struggling too. This hasn’t been easy on him” You shrug, but guilt slowly creeps up on you. “He tried killing himself, you know?”, her voice is careful, but her words shock you, making you stumble.
“What?”, you ask, desperation seeping into your voice. “He felt so guilty for leaving you and your mother, he wasn’t in a good spot. Tony helped him to become better, but Aarohi’s death set him back quite a bit” Tears stream down your face, silent and in agony. “Are you going to talk to him?”, her voice is stern. She seems to care for him a lot. “Yeah”, you mumble, still shocked at her confession.
You spend the rest of the way in silence, words and sentences floating through your head, a repetition of your outburst playing over and over again. You feel shameful at your childish behaviour. You should not have acted that way, that’s not how your mother raised you.
The warmth of the lobby envelopes you and you release a relieved sigh. You didn’t realise just how cold you are. “Nat?”, the woman turns to look at you, her posture as graceful as always. Your voice is raspy, throat hurting slightly, “Do you think mum would be happy for dad?” The woman grins at you and brushes a hand through your hair, “From what I’ve heard? Definitely” Your lips twitch, “Yeah, I think so too”
The woman accompanies you to the elevator and pulls you into a hug, “You’ve got this”, she whispers into your head. You take a deep breath to calm down, a determined glimmer in your eyes. When you enter the floor you find your father hunched over on the couch. Tony sits close next to him, one of his hands rubbing circles over his back.
“Dad?”, you whisper, the nerves crashing back down on you. His head whips around and his eyes find you. They are red like he’s been crying. You figure you look similar. Bruce gets off of the sofa and runs over to you to engulf you in an embrace, “Oh, shona, I was so worried”, he cries, “You’re so cold! Come on, let’s warm you up”
“No, dad, I have to apologise, I totally overreacted.I’m so sorry”, you stutter, voice breaking, “so, so, sorry” Tony coughs in the background, “I’ll fetch you some warm clothes, Y/n”. Your father pulls you even closer, your wet clothes staining his button-down. “It’s fine, Shona. I know this is hard on you” You cry into his chest, tears seeping into his clothes, “That doesn’t give me a reason to yell at you. I’m so sorry”
“I forgive you. I’m just happy you’re back again”, he whimpers. Being in your father’s arms floods you with a comforting calm. “Dad?”, your voice is barely a whisper, “Are you happy? With your date I mean”
Bruce presses a kiss on your head, “I am”, he answers, “I really am”.”That makes me happy too. Do I know them?” A loud sigh leaves his mouth, “You do. And I promise you I would have told you sooner, but I wanted to make sure this works out before I drag you into this”
“You’re scaring me, dad”, you whisper, pulling out of the hug slightly, “Who is it?” Bruce’s big hands grasp your elbows gently, his face swollen from his crying, “It’s Tony” your eyes widen, “You’re dating Tony Stark?” The tone of your voice is unbelieving, as if he told you he is dating Bigfoot. “The one and only, billionaire, genius, playboy, philanthropist”, the voice of the mentioned man rips you out of your trance and you blink.
Taking a step back, you shake your head in disbelief, “This is insane. For how long has this been going on?”, you question, but then stop, “No, you don’t have to tell me. Really. I’m just glad you’re happy dad”
Bruce smiles at you, the skin near his eyes crinkling. Tony takes a step towards you, some warm and thick clothes in his hands, “You should probably change. I asked F.R.I.D.A.Y to heat up the bathroom for you”. You accept the familiar clothing and force a weak smile on your face, “Thank you, Tones. I’m really exhausted, I’ll probably go right to sleep” Your father hugs you once more, “I love you, Shona”.”I love you too, dad”
Tony was right, the ensuite is comfortably warm, just perfect to thaw your body. The jumper is big and soft, just like the thermo leggings you pull over your legs. You use the loo and brush your teeth before you retreat into the bedroom. Your father is already sitting there and once he sees you he lifts your weighted blanket so you can slip right under. The feel of your bed makes you relax immediately, letting your eyes fall close.
“Shona, you know I could never forget your mother, right? She was an incredible woman, so confident and sure of herself. I always admired that about her. Aarohi was my first love, you know?
Once I saw her, dark circles under her eyes, dirty work clothes and all, I knew that she would be the one for me. And she was, for such a long time. She gave me the best gift I could have ever asked for. You, of course.”, his voice sounds far away.
“And even now that she is gone my heart still beats faster when I think of her. But it does so when I think of Tony too. He doesn’t show it that often, but he is very caring. He helped me through hard times, always staying by my side. A real sweet guy. He takes good care of me”, Bruce smiles, but when he looks down at you, you’re already asleep.
He leans down and presses a kiss to your forehead, “Sleep well, Shona. I love you” With a last loving look he stands up and heads for the door quietly, turning off the light on his way.
“No, you have to dress up a little. Come on, it’s Valentine’s Day”, you sit on Bruce’s bed, giggling at your father who is currently in a horrendous pair of underwear, a half opened button-up on his torso. “At least put on some slacks, a pair of nice suit pants” He turns to you, an anxious look on his face, “I don’t know what to do”
You jump up, gracefully landing on your feet, “Don't worry, daddy, I’ve got you” You eye the closet critically, taking out pieces that you deem worthy, “You’ll look good in blue”. The navy slacks with the matching blazer look expensive, perfect for a date with a billionaire. “Button-up, buttercup”, you tease and present your choice to Bruce.
“I guess I’ll try it on, Thank you, Shona, for everything. My hair has never been this pretty”, his deep voice is already less anxious. “Well, duh”, you retort playfully, “Once you stop sweating it stops being greasy. Now, put on the suit” You point into the direction of the mirror and then skip out of the room.
All of a sudden the elevator door opens and Tony walks in. He wears a dark suit, his typical glasses sat right on his nose, “Good afternoon, kiddo”, he grins, one of his hands holding a beautiful bouquet of flowers, “Where’s Daddy-O?” You raise your eyebrows and pretend to widen your collar, “Wardrobe malfunction”, you whisper.
Tony’s mouth takes on an ‘O’-shape and he nods in understanding. He shifts his weight from one foot to another. Is he actually nervous? The sound of footsteps behind you sound through the room and you turn around to see your father come out of the room. The suit hugs his body nicely, almost making him look like he’s glowing with confidence. “Woah, Bruce, you look-”, Tony pauses to gesture at the other man in astonishment, “really handsome”.
“My dad’s a real catch, nothing new”, you chime in, smirking. “Y/n!”, Bruce hisses, but Tony shushes him, smiling, “No she’s right” Bruce walks closer to the man until he holds out the flowers, “For the prettiest man” After saying these words, Tony looks at you, mouthing “You did not see that”, to which you raise your hands in surrender.
Your father takes the bouquet, “I’ll just put them in a vase. Thank you”, But before he can move you snatch the flowers, “I’ll do it, you two head out” Tony smiles at you appreciatively, “You heard the woman, let’s go” Bruce takes the man’s hand with a blush and grins coyly.
“Goodbye, Shona, take care”, he mentions before following his date out the door. “Goodbye, have fun!” Once the lock clicks you put the flowers into some water and smile. This is a weird adjustment, but you’re ready to compromise. Your father has tried everything to make you happy, so you will do the same. And if that means accepting his relationship, you’ll have no problem achieving it.
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#Bruce Banner#Bruce Banner x Reader#bruce banner x desi!reader#bruce banner x daughter!reader#bruce banner x daughter#bruce banner x y/n#bruce banner x you#hulk#hulk x reader#marvel#mark ruffalo#father!bruce banner#father bruce banner#dad!bruce banner
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Another empty seat in the city of ghosts.
Fandom: BLEACH
Characters: Isshin Kurosaki, Kisuke Urahara, Tessai Tsukabishi, Orihime Inoue, Rukia Kuchiki, Ichigo Kurosaki, Karin Kurosaki
Pairings: HitsuKarin, others not mentioned
Words: 1.5k
Summary: Shinigami!Karin AU. Chapter 6/8. WARNINGS- mentions of suicide, dysfunctional families; Karin has taken her life. What follows is a maelstrom of emotion.
AO3
Isshin sat with Kisuke and Tessai, some of his only friends. Confidants.
He missed his daughter and she wasn't yet gone. Oh, but soon she would be. Given away to a boy he once knew well. It wasn't her wedding, though. He wished he got to see that. Karin in a beautiful kimono, glowing with happiness, next to someone she wanted to spend the rest of her life with.
Instead, he got to watch her run away, never to be seen until his expiration.
And in the meantime, his children torn asunder. Hopelessly drifting in rivers of pain and confusion. He wished he was more like Masaki in those times. Empathetic, wise. But he was just a silly old man with nothing to offer but platitudes.
God, it hurt. So much so he couldn't sleep that night. Isshin sought refuge with the Urahara house in the wee hours of the morning. Tessai made tea, and Isshin cried.
"This is a fucking disaster," he said as he rubbed his eyes.
Kisuke said, "They're children. They'll understand down the line."
Isshin wasn't so sure. He leaned his head on his palm and stared at the wall as his thoughts spun. What could he have done to protect them better? To have not isolated them? And Yuzu... sweet Yuzu, blind to her siblings' tribulations until her twin couldn't take it any longer. What should he have told her? What could he do to ease her pain?
He shook his head as he wept. It was so overwhelming. "I don't think Yuzu will speak to me ever again... A fucking disaster."
Isshin blinked when he saw Kisuke pass him smokes. Isshin smoked irregularly. Socially, at Masaki's grave. That was all. He knew better. He was a doctor.
It seemed like an appropriate time to smoke, though. God knew he needed a buzz.
When he felt Karin die, he lost his legs. He wanted to run, run, run until it wasn't true anymore. Until he stopped feeling his lungs clogging with water and the agony of losing a child.
Was Karin lost? It felt like it, but she was only moving onto another world, the world she pined for day and night, year after year.
A world far away from them. From him.
Isshin curled his lips into his mouth. "I'm... I don't know how to fix this." How he was supposed to get his baby girl back.
Tessai said, dripping with only the utmost sympathy and understanding, "We're past fixing. Now... now it's just damage control. Repairing your relationship with Yuzu. Giving Karin your best."
Isshin shook his head. "Will they even hear me out?"
"Maybe. Hopefully."
"I can try talking to Karin," Kisuke said. "I don't have a rapport with Yuzu, however.
"No. No, no. I've done enough damage. Anything I say will only worsen this." Only alienate himself from his babies more.
He remembered when they were still in cribs. Chubby and giggly. How they snuggled against his chest, how their heads smelled like love. How, once upon a time, Karin and Yuzu curled up with each other in their crib.
God, he missed his babies.
"She's a bright girl, that Karin," Tessai said, extinguishing his cigarette in an ashtray. "She knows what she wants. How to get there. This was the avenue she saw most expeditious. I'm sure she still regards you all fondly."
Isshin knew that wasn't it. He shook his head. "That's the thing, she hates us all. They all hate each other now." Isshin wiped his face with his thumb. He hadn't stopped crying for days. "Karin's always hated me. Now Yuzu does too because I kept this secret for so long. Ichigo may come to hate me too for all this... They may never speak to me again." All alone, with all his babies gone.
"It's true. This is a disaster," Tessai agreed, But as was your loss of powers. And you made it through that." He held Isshin's hand, rocking it. "Your children are of the resilient ilk. Green and adaptive. They will mend. Grow. Their roots will rejoin yours."
Isshin nodded. He held Tessai's hand in both of his, nodding, sobbing. How he hoped that was true. How he yearned to hold his babies again.
He glanced at the clock. It was almost five-thirty. "I should go home." He needed to get ready.
He hadn't worn his black suit in years.
"Stay as long as you need," Kisuke reminded him.
"Thank you... but my daughter..." He smiled, thinking of Yuzu.
"We understand. We'll see you in a couple of hours, Isshin. Take care."
Isshin let himself out, feeling dreary, exhausted.
He returned home. None of his children were downstairs. He leaned against his poster of Masaki, petting her face with the back of his hand. "I miss you," he said. "I wish you were here. For our children, for me." If Masaki were still around, could she have saved them? Kept them from falling apart?
Isshin pulled away. He couldn't ruminate too long, he needed to get ready.
A black suit. He hated it. How it was loose in his chest, tight in his gut. He'd let himself go, just like his family.
Yuzu was gone by the time he returned downstairs. Ichigo, with Karin in tow, as well as Rukia and Orhime, accompanied him.
Orihime approached him and squeezed him in a hug. He returned it, squeezing her. She was such a sweet creature. Loving to everything and everyone.
"It's gonna be okay, Dad," she whispered. A precious girl. He was glad Ichigo found someone who loved him so much. Someone unconditionally kind.
"Thank you, dear," Isshin said. He cupped Orihime's cheeks. "We love you so much. You have a loving heart and my unconditional adoration."
She returned his smile. "Thanks. I love you too."
Ichigo clapped his hands. "Let's go. People will start arriving at the wake soon, we best be there before it reaches critical mass."
They all packed into the car. Karin sat in the back, in his rearview mirror. Translucent and unemotional. Ichigo hovered next to her.
It took everything in his power not to cry. Not to scoop her up and tell her how fucking much he loved her.
"We're gonna stay in the back," he grumbled at Karin, "so you can watch all the people you hurt."
Karin snort. "Ironic, coming from you of all people."
"Guys... stop," Rukia sighed. Orihime shifted uncomfortably. "Let's just have a quiet ride."
"No. What Karin did was the epitome of selfishness. We're not gonna tiptoe around that."
Karin stammered, enraged. "The epitome of selfishness?" she screamed. "Me? You're the one who refused to teach me how to protect myself against hollows, Ichigo! You left me to the wolves, all of you!"
"That's not fair to us!"
"Fair? You wanna talk about fair?"
"Enough!" Rukia boomed. "Both of you. You're fighting like children. You're adults. Warriors. This is unbecoming of both of you. If I hear anything above a whisper while we're in the goddamn temple, I'm going to choke both of you out!"
Isshin was grateful Rukia was able to act so quickly, while simultaneously embarrassed he, their father, didn't put his foot down.
He parked behind the temple and they headed in through the front. There were many people already there.
Kisuke met Isshin only minutes after his arrival. They hugged. Isshin was so grateful to have the Urahara there.
He sniffed. "Thanks for coming. Ichigo's been awful to Karin. I don't know what to do about it... he won't listen to me."
Once he gestured to them in the corner, Kisuke nodded. "I'll talk to him."
Once Kisuke left, Isshin took a seat in the front row, lost in thought, in grief, in the din of the room.
His eyes were glued to Karin's altar. Surrounded by lilies and marigolds. Smiling in her picture with her friends. Did Isshin have any of her? Of all them together, smiling and gleeful?
Isshin was not a religious man. Masaki was, though, a devotee of Kannon, goddess of mercy. Was Karin religious like her mother? Would Kannon listen if he prayed for the areligious?
He asked Kannon to watch over his baby girl Karin in the Seireitei, nonetheless.
The ceremony began with the priest stepping to the front of the room. Isshin's breath caught in his throat.
He cried through the entire ceremony. The blessings, the kind words... Utterly overwhelming.
It came to an end. He only wanted to hold Karin more.
Isshin tore himself from his chair and found Karin. Ichigo intercepted them. "We need to go," he said, "handoff is soon."
"I don't care. Karin is my daughter. I'm going to say goodbye," he snapped at Ichigo. They stared off before Ichigo stepped aside.
Karin stared numbly. "I love you," Isshin said. "I always have, and always will. You are my daughter. I will never stop loving you." He hugged her. "Never forget that. Not for a minute."
She separated from him. "Bye, Old Man."
It broke his heart. A farewell so impersonal. Still, he swallowed, cried, and nodded.
There was no fixing this.
#bleach#shinigami karin au#hitsukarin#isshin kurosaki#kisuke urahara#tessai tsukabishi#karin kurosaki#ichigo kurosaki#rukia kuchiki#orihime inoue
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Update: Current Requests!
Hello Loves!
Here’s the list of requests I have currently in the inbox, in the order to be answered:
V (Devil May Cry) - Comfort - You’ve been working out so that you can feel more comfortable with yourself to cosplay as Nico. But you’re body hurts, and you’re afraid you won’t be able to reach your goal.
Hector and Alucard - You wanted to say thank you, for encouragement for Nanowrimo.
Peridot (Steven Universe) - Comfort - You recently got into your first romantic relationship with your closest friend, and you’re confused. There’s drama from meeting up with old friends and you’re overwhelmed.
Fenris (Dragon Age 2) - Comfort - Your motivation this time of year always seems to be almost non-existent, and everything seems exhausting.
Leonard “Bones” McCoy - Comfort - Your bf says to “don’t knock it till you try it” about sex, and part of your brain wants to try sex, part of you doesn’t. Your bf says we’ll know where you stand if you don’t.
Lyon (Fire Emblem 8) - Comfort - You’ve been feeling a bit hopeless, and you feel a lot of pressure on you to do well in school, but its hard because of your mental illness
Hector (Castlevania) - Comfort - Life feels like it’s kicking you in the nuts, and nothing is going your way. You just want a bit of comfort.
Leonard “Bones” McCoy - Comfort - You and your BF broke up, and he said something disrespectful. You just need a bit of reassurance.
Julian Devorak - Comfort - You feel that the church is splitting into two different sections.
Vax’ildan (Critical Role) - Comfort - You’re feeling a bit hopeless about the future, and you wonder if you’re going to be able to handle yourself in the world on your own.
Gladio and Prompto - Comfort - Growing up in a toxic home has made it so when anyone yells, you run away and hide. You wish you had a thicker skin to deal with things. TW: Past Abuse
Young!Eraqus (Kingdom Hearts 3) - Encouragement - You’re doing your best to get your GPA up, and you want just a push forward.
Percy de Rolo - Comfort/Advice - The holidays are adding to your stress, and anxiety is getting in the way.
Garrus Vakarian (Mass Effect) - Comfort - You’re feeling stressed out, your dad is sending you mixed signals on things and your new boss feels like they’re micromanaging you. You’re angry, insulted, and 100% done.
Shota Aizawa (My Hero Academia) - Comfort - You’re having a difficult time due to an upcoming event at school that you know will put you in the same room with your past abusers. TW: Past Abuse
Fergus and Hansel (101 Dalmatians Street) - Comfort/Encouragement - You feel like you can’t enjoy doing anything outside of your comfort zone. You feel like, because you can’t, you’re wasting your life in a way.
Lucky and Mooch (101 Dalmatians: The Series) - Comfort - You’re needing help dealing with seeing disturbing pictures, especially of characters you care about.
Tony (Hotline Miami 2) - Comfort - You just went through a nasty breakup, and you were betrayed by a person you thought was a friend. You’ve got some changes coming up in your life and you just wanna feel safe and protected.
The Phantom of the Opera (Erik) - Comfort - You’re currently in group therapy and you fear lapsing into old habits, especially with an eating disorder. TW: Eating Disorder
Ravio (Legend of Zelda) - Comfort/Advice - You put others first, always, and it has lead people to expect things of you, and make fun of your insecurities. Everyday you think how easy it would be to just end it. TW: Suicide Mention
Loqi and Ravus - Comfort - You keep telling yourself ‘next year will be better’ but it’s almost like instead things got worse. You’ve had to deal with a lot of suicidal thoughts but you want to be better. You need some hope/positivity TW: Suicide Mention
Isaac (Netflix Castlevania) - Comfort - You feel lonely, you want to be happy but at the same time, with what’s going on in your life you wish you didn’t yearn for happiness either.
Date (Ai The Somnium Files) - Comfort - You’re unhappy with your living situation right now as you’re afraid of your sister. You hide in your room all day when she is home on the weekends.
Prompto - Comfort - You tend to hide your insecurities and negative feelings behind a happy exterior. You wonder, how Prompto managed to start trusting others.
Jareth The Goblin King (Labyrinth) - Encouragement - You’re feeling overwhelmed and are trying to be more responsible with your own life.
Piers (Pokemon Sword and Shield) - Comfort - You’ve been having a hard time with looking at your old self harm scars, and others from past abuse. It hurts you to think that your siblings will look up to their big sister and think they should do it too. TW: Self Harm Mention, TW: Past Abuse
Illinois (A Heist with Markiplier) - Comfort - You’ve been struggling with your anxiety because your a gay trans man trying to join the army. You keep thinking your too old, too fat, and unwanted.
Loki (MCU) - Comfort - you and your ex broke up weeks ago, but now he wants to do something that feels platonic but you fear old romantic feelings will get in the way, and you wonder what you should do.
Ignis and Prompto - Comfort/Advice - Ever single crush you’ve had has ended in hostility. They don’t like you back and have publicly humiliated you for it. You like yourself, so why can’t others?
Prompto and Ignis - Comfort - You feel like you don’t belong anywhere, and that hotlines and helplines don’t work. All you know is you feel unhappy and you want to end your life. TW: Suicide Mention
Prompto and Ignis - Comfort/Advice - You fucked up on a university project, and while there’s no actual consequences you’re upset that you failed that task.
Garrus Vakarian (Mass Effect) - Comfort/Advice - You’re going to move in with your brother, and your dad is giving you a hard time about what school you should go to instead of the one you want.
Prompto and Noctis - Comfort - You want a reason as to why you shouldn’t kill yourself. Not because it gets better, not because you have so much to live for, you want an actual fucking reason. TW: Suicide Mention
Admin Manda - Advice/Comfort - You want the admin to answer this one - you feel that you’ve fallen in love with someone that you feel could be the one, and it feels one sided.
Kevin Riley (Star Trek: TOS) - Comfort - You’ve had an upsetting week, you have autism and the gloomy weather is causing you to feel even lower than normal. You feel sick anxious all the time.
I hope to have these done for you soon.
Thank you for your patience, and for letting me write for you!
Reminder: Blog is currently closed [Hiatus] for new requests until 1/31/20
Much Love,
~Admin Manda
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Peace In Time
Martin David Sellers sat in his car with the radio on low, but he wasn’t listening. It was just noise beneath his thoughts. He watched as people exited the gym in groups of two or three. A woman would occasionally leave alone, but she wouldn’t be his type. The solitary men were too big for Martin. It began to get frustrating. It had been almost two years and his urges were becoming unmanageable. His leg began to shake and he instinctively began to pat himself for his pack of smokes. Nothing. He’d quit...almost two years ago.
His mind conjured the stink of smoke, and when he looked at his hand on the steering wheel, yellow-brown rot creeped from his fingernails down to his wrist. He looked to his ashtray yearning; a thin layer of cigarette ash, like bone dust, still clung to the black plastic. Martin pushed out a big sigh and ran his hands down his face, trying to pull himself together. He covered his mouth and let out a loud groan.
Refocusing his attention, he saw him. Medium height, slightly in shape but wearing gym clothes meant for men way more muscular, heavily pomaded hair, neck tattoos…
Fucking douchebag. He’s perfect.
Martin started his car and waited for Douchebag to get in his car and drive away. He noted the details of the car and whispered the plate number to himself a few times as he pulled out and began to follow. He kept the music low, and tried to sing along to appear normal but too soon did the music on the radio devolve into the warped droning in Martin’s ears, goading him to keep his eyes on Douchebag’s car.
It was less than a fifteen minute drive from the gym to his house. Martin noted the time. Douchebag pulled into his driveway. Martin parked his car a few houses down and lightly jogged toward the open garage. He unfolded the knife and barked the same words he’s barked several times before:
“Stop what you’re doing and turn around. If you don’t comply I will cut your throat.”
Douchebag was bent over the trunk of his car, getting his gym bag. His body went rigid. He awkwardly “put his hands up” while still bent over. His voice was muffled as he yelled into his trunk.
“Okay man, okay. I’m gonna turn around. Just don’t do anything okay?”
Martin didn’t respond. Douchebag slowly but steadily backed out of the trunk and turned to face Martin. Martin’s mind filled first with hatred, as he was even more of a dick when up close, then the thrill of knowing he’d picked a perfect one.
“My name is Brent, okay? You can have my wallet, the car, whatever just don’t-”
Martin charged forward with the knife pointed low toward Brent. Brent backed into the garage, his hands still up.
“We are going inside, Brent. You’re going to do as I say, Brent.”
Brent sighed and whimpered as Martin shoved him through the door into the house, being sure to close the garage behind him. The moment they were in the living room, Brent turned and started swinging wildly at Martin. Martin shielded himself and charged forward, tackling Brent to the ground. Martin hated doing it when they were fighting back. He actually lost the desire to do it, but there really was no choice, no going back, once they’d cross that certain threshold. Trespassing, assault, attempted murder. It was all the same so may as well keep going. But he enjoyed it the most when he was able to do it at leisure.
As the two men fought, Martin swore he heard Brent mutter, “Just fucking do it already.”
Martin was struck with an overwhelming sense of familiarity. He stopped holding Brent down and popped up. His hands were covered in smeared ink. Below him, a blonde wig lay torn half off and Brent’s neck tattoo was completely smeared. “Brent” was something Martin always dreaded in the back of his mind every time he did it.
“Larry fucking Coleman. Larry FUCKING Coleman. LARRY FUCKING COLEMAN!!!” Martin screamed. He got up off Larry.
“Hey Marty,” he huffed, out of breath.
Martin was stomping around the living room, screaming gibberish at the top of his lungs. “I’m insane, I’m insane, I’m insane. Of course I’m insane, I’m a fucking sociopath, but no I am honestly full on schizo fucking phrenic.”
Larry began trying to calm Martin, because even though no murder was going to take place anymore, they still did not want to arouse suspicion.
“Marty, calm down. Marty. MARTY!” Larry reached for Martin but Martin shrugged away from his every attempt. “HEY I DON’T FUCKIN’ LIKE IT EITHER OKAY?” Larry shouted.
Martin stopped pacing and looked at Larry, whose breathlessness was becoming sobbing. “I’ve been 37 for 300 years, you know how many wars that is? Do you know how many famines and diseases that is? Do you know how many lovers and wives and children and dead children that is? Do you know how lonely that is? You know, Marty, you’re the only person I’ve met that might have a concept of how lonely that is. The first time you tried this I looked in your eyes and I saw what I see in the mirror. Eyes that have seen more years than they can count.”
Martin stood there, unsure of what to say, or if to even say anything. He folded his knife back up, the bite of frustration receding, the droning beginning to quiet. And now an impossible reality was blinking at him, waiting for his response.
“I’m sorry, Larry. I’m sorry it doesn’t work. I’m sorry it hasn’t worked.”
“No, I’m sorry. Luring you out like this. You were doing really good, weren’t you? It’s been a few years since that couple in Tahoe, eh? Looked like you were done.”
Martin shook his head, dumbfounded but amused. He chuckled. “I was. I was. But work’s been rough. They’ve been promoting people that have been there for way less time than I have, and I’m always explaining shit to them. Real dumb jock types. You can’t escape the hierarchy...”
“Hence,” Larry began but Martin shooed him quiet. “You always hated that type of man,” Larry snuck in.
“The husband in Tahoe was a college football star, actually, fuckin’ dick. But I’m sure you knew that. Man, thank god you’re not the cops.”
“Marty, if the cops had as much time on their hands as I do, there would be no unsolved crime. There might not even be crime.”
“But I stabbed you the first time, in ‘90. Like, a lot.”
“I know, and I’ve bled out before. I just, I dunno, I thought as time went on I became...less immortal? You know, like it would take me longer and longer to wake up again and eventually I’d just stay dead. I needed to test the theory but it’s actually pretty hard to die on your own. Like, without causing an accident that would hurt or kill someone else? And it’s not like I could call you and say ‘Hey wanna come over and murder me?’ I don’t even have your phone number! Plus I figure it would take the fun or pleasure or whatever out of it for you.”
Martin shrugged in admittance. His head was swimming but he began to breathe like they told him to, and he stayed in the moment, taking tenuous grasps on the implications of what he was hearing and seeing.
“What about suicide?”
“I’m still scared of dying, Martin. It can be painful, but I don’t need to tell you that. The closest I’ve come is alcohol poisoning. And jumping into traffic and stuff like that is out too. Even if I don’t get someone killed or injured, they still have to live with whatever they see. That’s pretty traumatic for most people, ya know?”
“Most people. Hence…?” Martin raised an inquisitive hand.
Larry nodded.
“So you just what, go to sleep for a while?”
“Pretty much. Four or five hours. Never six. Never even a minute over five. I’ve timed it.”
“And do you note when it’s five hours and when it’s four?”
“Yes but that’s a weird thing to fixate on. The more violent deaths are usually the five hour cycle. USUALLY. But that’s what got me thinking about you. The only thing I haven’t tried is being dismembered and having my parts separated by great distances but that’s a tall order for one person, and dangerous. I’d rather not try it than have it fail because you got caught along the way.”
“I have my limits too, you know,” Martin stammered. “I’m not a monster.”
“I know, Martin, I know. I know more than you think I know. I understand it, believe me. But I didn’t mean you.”
“Ah. Yeah. It wasn’t so easy this time. You’ll never see 40 but I’m looking down the barrel of 50 these days. I won’t be around forever if you want to keep trying this.”
The men had been standing in the living room face to face, but Larry finally let out a sigh and sat on the couch. He pulled off his wig and tossed it on the floor. He smoothed back jet black hair, he rubbed unwrinkled blue eyes. The older man, all thin blonde hair and scruff, sat beside him.
“I go through phases. Stretches of years, decades even, when life is beautiful. I travel, I drink, I fuck, I go places most people will never see in their lifetime. It’s just, it’s a magnificent time and place to be. Then sometimes I get so low and sick of people that I don’t leave or even get out of bed until I am absolutely unable to tolerate my own filth. Better that than be out in the world. It’s not a fair world though, and it never was. But, again, I think you know what I mean.”
“Yeah. But fairness is a strange thing to be fixated on, I’m told. I don’t see it though. An unfair world is a pointless world.”
“I’ll drink to that. I’ll dedicate a toast to you if I ever see it. To Martin David Sellers, and a world he could have been normal in. A shame it came a few centuries too late.”
The two men burst out laughing, tones of humor and sad irony emanated from both for a few odd moments before they both fell silent, both fixated at the wall in front of them.
“I wasn’t gonna tell you this,” Larry began. “But I’m not the only one.”
“Please shut up. Are you shitting me?”
“No man, I’m not the only one I swear it. I’ve met tons like me. Maybe not tons, but enough, ya know? We just keep away from each other because we’re all intolerable fucks.”
“So it’s luck of the draw then? You don’t know until you know?”
“No...no, Martin. It happens to everybody. It just depends on how long you stay dead. For me and a few other unlucky bastards it’s only a few hours. Other people, it’s longer. Years, decades, millenia. The ones that can time it still remember the details of their lives but the ones that die for more than a couple years, it’s fuzzy. Some are totally different people. But everyone wakes up again...eventually.”
“I’m gonna fucking puke.”
“I did, when I found out.”
“What about people who stay dead for longer? Like eons or whatever?”
“No clue. Humanity has only been around for so long, right? The theory is that humanity exists somewhere else way way down the line, and that’s where those folks wake up. But all that shit makes it hard to sleep so I try not to think about it. The hardest thing for me has been accepting that death is not permanent. I’m stuck being me for eternity. Four hours is not enough time to forget 300 years of bullshit.”
The two men sat alone for another long moment. Martin spoke.
“I need a drink.”
“You want company?”
Martin turned to Larry. “Probably not right now.”
“Yeah you got a lot to think about, probably better you chew on it alone for a bit.”
“Yeah,” Martin sighed. “Someday though.”
“Someday. Hey Martin, are you...gonna try again after this?”
Martin stood up and began walking toward the door. “I don’t know. Probably not, or maybe I will. It doesn’t really matter does it?”
“Sure it does. If they wake up and remember what happened, it fucks them up. For way longer than you think it would. That might not matter to you, but you struck me as more of a fear guy than a suffering guy. Suffering isn’t fair, after all.”
“And what about the others, what about that unfairness?”
“Well, now you know you have time to atone. It won’t be fun either.”
“Oh I’m counting on that. And you, are you gonna stop trying to die?” Martin reached in his pocket and pulled out his knife. The handle was wooden and burnt into the wood was the phrase ‘Time the avenger.’
“No clue. Tomorrow might be a great day or it might not. Only one way to find out though.”
“Yeah, well.” Martin tossed the knife to Larry. “When I get to the bar I’ll drink to Larry, neither alive nor dead, may he find peace in time.” The two men laughed one more time.
And Martin left.
Martin David Sellers sat in his car with the radio on low, but he wasn’t listening. It was just noise beneath his thoughts. He watched as people exited the gym in groups of two or three. A woman would occasionally leave alone, but she wouldn’t be his type. The solitary men were too big for Martin. It began to get frustrating. It had been almost two years and his urges were becoming unmanageable. His leg began to shake and he instinctively began to pat himself for his pack of smokes. Nothing. He’d quit...almost two years ago.
His mind conjured the stink of smoke, and when he looked at his hand on the steering wheel, yellow-brown rot creeped from his fingernails down to his wrist. He looked to his ashtray yearning; a thin layer of cigarette ash, like bone dust, still clung to the black plastic. Martin pushed out a big sigh and ran his hands down his face, trying to pull himself together. He covered his mouth and let out a loud groan.
Refocusing his attention, he saw him. Medium height, slightly in shape but wearing gym clothes meant for men way more muscular, heavily pomaded hair, neck tattoos…
Fucking douchebag. He’s perfect.
Martin started his car and waited for Douchebag to get in his car and drive away. He noted the details of the car and whispered the plate number to himself a few times as he pulled out and began to follow. He kept the music low, and tried to sing along to appear normal but too soon did the music on the radio devolve into the warped droning in Martin’s ears, goading him to keep his eyes on Douchebag’s car.
It was less than a fifteen minute drive from the gym to his house. Martin noted the time. Douchebag pulled into his driveway. Martin parked his car a few houses down and lightly jogged toward the open garage. He unfolded the knife and barked the same words he’s barked several times before:
“Stop what you’re doing and turn around. If you don’t comply I will cut your throat.”
Douchebag was bent over the trunk of his car, getting his gym bag. His body went rigid. He awkwardly “put his hands up” while still bent over. His voice was muffled as he yelled into his trunk.
“Okay man, okay. I’m gonna turn around. Just don’t do anything okay?”
Martin didn’t respond. Douchebag slowly but steadily backed out of the trunk and turned to face Martin. Martin’s mind filled first with hatred, as he was even more of a dick when up close, then the thrill of knowing he’d picked a perfect one.
“My name is Brent, okay? You can have my wallet, the car, whatever just don’t-”
Martin charged forward with the knife pointed low toward Brent. Brent backed into the garage, his hands still up.
“We are going inside, Brent. You’re going to do as I say, Brent.”
Brent sighed and whimpered as Martin shoved him through the door into the house, being sure to close the garage behind him. The moment they were in the living room, Brent turned and started swinging wildly at Martin. Martin shielded himself and charged forward, tackling Brent to the ground. Martin hated doing it when they were fighting back. He actually lost the desire to do it, but there really was no choice, no going back, once they’d cross that certain threshold. Trespassing, assault, attempted murder. It was all the same so may as well keep going. But he enjoyed it the most when he was able to do it at leisure.
As the two men fought, Martin swore he heard Brent mutter, “Just fucking do it already.”
Martin was struck with an overwhelming sense of familiarity. He stopped holding Brent down and popped up. His hands were covered in smeared ink. Below him, a blonde wig lay torn half off and Brent’s neck tattoo was completely smeared. “Brent” was something Martin always dreaded in the back of his mind every time he did it.
“Larry fucking Coleman. Larry FUCKING Coleman. LARRY FUCKING COLEMAN!!!” Martin screamed. He got up off Larry.
“Hey Marty,” he huffed, out of breath.
Martin was stomping around the living room, screaming gibberish at the top of his lungs. “I’m insane, I’m insane, I’m insane. Of course I’m insane, I’m a fucking sociopath, but no I am honestly full on schizo fucking phrenic.”
Larry began trying to calm Martin, because even though no murder was going to take place anymore, they still did not want to arouse suspicion.
“Marty, calm down. Marty. MARTY!” Larry reached for Martin but Martin shrugged away from his every attempt. “HEY I DON’T FUCKIN’ LIKE IT EITHER OKAY?” Larry shouted.
Martin stopped pacing and looked at Larry, whose breathlessness was becoming sobbing. “I’ve been 37 for 300 years, you know how many wars that is? Do you know how many famines and diseases that is? Do you know how many lovers and wives and children and dead children that is? Do you know how lonely that is? You know, Marty, you’re the only person I’ve met that might have a concept of how lonely that is. The first time you tried this I looked in your eyes and I saw what I see in the mirror. Eyes that have seen more years than they can count.”
Martin stood there, unsure of what to say, or if to even say anything. He folded his knife back up, the bite of frustration receding, the droning beginning to quiet. And now an impossible reality was blinking at him, waiting for his response.
“I’m sorry, Larry. I’m sorry it doesn’t work. I’m sorry it hasn’t worked.”
“No, I’m sorry. Luring you out like this. You were doing really good, weren’t you? It’s been a few years since that couple in Tahoe, eh? Looked like you were done.”
Martin shook his head, dumbfounded but amused. He chuckled. “I was. I was. But work’s been rough. They’ve been promoting people that have been there for way less time than I have, and I’m always explaining shit to them. Real dumb jock types. You can’t escape the hierarchy...”
“Hence,” Larry began but Martin shooed him quiet. “You always hated that type of man,” Larry snuck in.
“The husband in Tahoe was a college football star, actually, fuckin’ dick. But I’m sure you knew that. Man, thank god you’re not the cops.”
“Marty, if the cops had as much time on their hands as I do, there would be no unsolved crime. There might not even be crime.”
“But I stabbed you the first time, in ‘90. Like, a lot.”
“I know, and I’ve bled out before. I just, I dunno, I thought as time went on I became...less immortal? You know, like it would take me longer and longer to wake up again and eventually I’d just stay dead. I needed to test the theory but it’s actually pretty hard to die on your own. Like, without causing an accident that would hurt or kill someone else? And it’s not like I could call you and say ‘Hey wanna come over and murder me?’ I don’t even have your phone number! Plus I figure it would take the fun or pleasure or whatever out of it for you.”
Martin shrugged in admittance. His head was swimming but he began to breathe like they told him to, and he stayed in the moment, taking tenuous grasps on the implications of what he was hearing and seeing.
“What about suicide?”
“I’m still scared of dying, Martin. It can be painful, but I don’t need to tell you that. The closest I’ve come is alcohol poisoning. And jumping into traffic and stuff like that is out too. Even if I don’t get someone killed or injured, they still have to live with whatever they see. That’s pretty traumatic for most people, ya know?”
“Most people. Hence…?” Martin raised an inquisitive hand.
Larry nodded.
“So you just what, go to sleep for a while?”
“Pretty much. Four or five hours. Never six. Never even a minute over five. I’ve timed it.”
“And do you note when it’s five hours and when it’s four?”
“Yes but that’s a weird thing to fixate on. The more violent deaths are usually the five hour cycle. USUALLY. But that’s what got me thinking about you. The only thing I haven’t tried is being dismembered and having my parts separated by great distances but that’s a tall order for one person, and dangerous. I’d rather not try it than have it fail because you got caught along the way.”
“I have my limits too, you know,” Martin stammered. “I’m not a monster.”
“I know, Martin, I know. I know more than you think I know. I understand it, believe me. But I didn’t mean you.”
“Ah. Yeah. It wasn’t so easy this time. You’ll never see 40 but I’m looking down the barrel of 50 these days. I won’t be around forever if you want to keep trying this.”
The men had been standing in the living room face to face, but Larry finally let out a sigh and sat on the couch. He pulled off his wig and tossed it on the floor. He smoothed back jet black hair, he rubbed unwrinkled blue eyes. The older man, all thin blonde hair and scruff, sat beside him.
“I go through phases. Stretches of years, decades even, when life is beautiful. I travel, I drink, I fuck, I go places most people will never see in their lifetime. It’s just, it’s a magnificent time and place to be. Then sometimes I get so low and sick of people that I don’t leave or even get out of bed until I am absolutely unable to tolerate my own filth. Better that than be out in the world. It’s not a fair world though, and it never was. But, again, I think you know what I mean.”
“Yeah. But fairness is a strange thing to be fixated on, I’m told. I don’t see it though. An unfair world is a pointless world.”
“I’ll drink to that. I’ll dedicate a toast to you if I ever see it. To Martin David Sellers, and a world he could have been normal in. A shame it came a few centuries too late.”
The two men burst out laughing, tones of humor and sad irony emanated from both for a few odd moments before they both fell silent, both fixated at the wall in front of them.
“I wasn’t gonna tell you this,” Larry began. “But I’m not the only one.”
“Please shut up. Are you shitting me?”
“No man, I’m not the only one I swear it. I’ve met tons like me. Maybe not tons, but enough, ya know? We just keep away from each other because we’re all intolerable fucks.”
“So it’s luck of the draw then? You don’t know until you know?”
“No...no, Martin. It happens to everybody. It just depends on how long you stay dead. For me and a few other unlucky bastards it’s only a few hours. Other people, it’s longer. Years, decades, millenia. The ones that can time it still remember the details of their lives but the ones that die for more than a couple years, it’s fuzzy. Some are totally different people. But everyone wakes up again...eventually.”
“I’m gonna fucking puke.”
“I did, when I found out.”
“What about people who stay dead for longer? Like eons or whatever?”
“No clue. Humanity has only been around for so long, right? The theory is that humanity exists somewhere else way way down the line, and that’s where those folks wake up. But all that shit makes it hard to sleep so I try not to think about it. The hardest thing for me has been accepting that death is not permanent. I’m stuck being me for eternity. Four hours is not enough time to forget 300 years of bullshit.”
The two men sat alone for another long moment. Martin spoke.
“I need a drink.”
“You want company?”
Martin turned to Larry. “Probably not right now.”
“Yeah you got a lot to think about, probably better you chew on it alone for a bit.”
“Yeah,” Martin sighed. “Someday though.”
“Someday. Hey Martin, are you...gonna try again after this?”
Martin stood up and began walking toward the door. “I don’t know. Probably not, or maybe I will. It doesn’t really matter does it?”
“Sure it does. If they wake up and remember what happened, it fucks them up. For way longer than you think it would. That might not matter to you, but you struck me as more of a fear guy than a suffering guy. Suffering isn’t fair, after all.”
“And what about the others, what about that unfairness?”
“Well, now you know you have time to atone. It won’t be fun either.”
“Oh I’m counting on that. And you, are you gonna stop trying to die?” Martin reached in his pocket and pulled out his knife. The handle was wooden and burnt into the wood was the phrase ‘Time the avenger.’
“No clue. Tomorrow might be a great day or it might not. Only one way to find out though.”
“Yeah, well.” Martin tossed the knife to Larry. “When I get to the bar I’ll drink to Larry, neither alive nor dead, may he find peace in time.” The two men laughed one more time.
And Martin left.
Thank you for reading! This story was inspired by the Reddit writing prompt, “You are a murderer. You can't help but notice that you keep killing this one guy over and over and over again. Unbeknownst to you, they're an immortal, constantly checking if they can die yet by deliberately making themselves a target.”
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The S Word
It has become increasingly apparent to me that one of the biggest hurdles for people who want to help loved ones suffering from mental ill-health is empathy. The ability to walk a mile in their shoes. To put themselves in their loved one's position. Only then can they understand their condition, and only then can they even begin to know how to help that person.
I have never broken a bone. You could describe the pain to me, and I can see the affect a broken bone has on a person. But I've never felt that pain myself so if I want to help someone who has a broken leg I have to ask them what they need, listen to what they tell me, and believe what they are saying. Only then can I start to figure out how I can help them.
I have, however, lived with mental health problems for the best part of 30 years, since childhood. I have fought severe pre and postnatal anxiety, major depressive disorder, generalised anxiety disorder, suicidal ideation and PTSD. I have been admitted as an inpatient, I have run my own postnatal support group. I am "high functioning" which basically means that throughout all this I have succeeded at school, socialised, worked, married, had two beautiful sons, and the majority of people I meet would never know I had these illnesses weighing me down the whole time. I am currently in therapy with an NHS mental health team.
Recently a dear friend asked my advice on coming to terms with losing someone to suicide. I realised that a) nobody wants to say the word out loud, and b) for those fortunate enough to have never encountered a suicidal thought there is a real misunderstanding of what it means to be suicidal, and what can be done to prevent it. Now this, I do know about, so I gave my friend the following advice, to help her empathise and therefore understand and come to terms with what had happened... not to excuse it, or romanticise it, but to describe it for someone who has never been to that dark place…
Imagine you are stranded alone in a desert.
No food, no water, no shelter. You’ve been here for as long as you can remember. The nights are bone-shakingly cold, the days are unbearably hot. Your skin is burnt on top of burnt but you can find no way to protect it as it blisters. You’re thirstier than you’ve ever been. You shade your eyes with your hand and slowly turn 360°. You see nothing but unending parched, cracked land stretching to the flat, low horizon in every direction. The sun pierces your eyes even through closed lids. There is nothing around you to help you make sense of where you are, or figure out which way to go. Every step you take seems to lead you away from safety no matter how much logic and energy you apply.
Often, at sunset, you will be devastated as you stumble upon the first footprints you made at sunrise, having battled to make progress all day only to end up where you began. It’s feeling increasingly likely that you are stuck here forever, in the perishingly cold nights and blisteringly hot days, never getting closer to safety despite constant effort and grit, a perpetual horizon, un-changing and un-ending, sunburn on top of sunburn, blinding light, fading hope… this is your eternity. You cannot remember life before this, and you cannot imagine a way out.
And then.
In the far distance.
A glint. A whisper. Movement.
You turn to face it. You start moving towards it.
As you get closer you squint harder as the sun hurts your eyes, and then you hear it again. Breeze through a tall tree. And you see it. There is shade. There is water. There, in the far distance, is an oasis.
Now imagine how you feel about that oasis. Every fibre of your being is pulled towards it. Your body craves it, the cool clean water, the blissful shade. You ache to go to it. To feel at peace. To sit and rest. In fact the only decision you have to make is whether to stay put, suffering, burning, wilting in the desert for eternity, or go towards the oasis. You wouldn’t hesitate to move towards it.
But this desert is depression.
And this oasis is death.
The yearning, the craving, the immense pull from the cool oasis is overwhelming, and so unbelievably hard to fight against. It seems impossible to think about anything else, as the breeze whispers and the water glints, beckoning you.
It’s the craving of nicotine for a cigarette quitter.
It’s the heroin addict’s withdrawal sickness.
It’s the call of the bottle to a recovering alcoholic.
It’s a new mother’s primal urge to rush to her newborn’s cries.
It’s the song that swirls around inside your head, refusing to leave, whether you like it or not.
It is the forbidden food right in front of a hungry dieter. Look. Smell. But don’t touch.
Suicide is not something a person decides to do in response to a situation. It is not a cause and effect scenario. It is a spectrum. For the person who finds themselves at the scariest, most desperate end of the spectrum, who has battled in the desert for so long, fighting the overwhelming urge to go towards the oasis - despite their own dire need for relief - because they know it would devastate the people who love them if they were ever to succumb to it.
But, in the mind of someone with a mental illness, sometimes there is no fight left. Sometimes the lure of the oasis and its cool shady relief is utterly overwhelming, and impossible to resist.
On the outside, it may look like a person has made a conscious choice to end their life and devastate those around them.
Cowardly.
Selfish.
Weak.
What we don’t see, and can never truly know, is what kind of hellish internal reality depression had created for that person, what they were fighting against each day, and for just how long they resisted - with every fibre of their being - the lure of the oasis before they could resist no longer.
Imagine what it must take to succumb to this craving. Only someone in immense and unbearable pain would consider the pain and finality of death as any course of action. And then they are utterly terrified, but do it anyway. Because they are ill. Broken.
Depression is a deadly disease of the brain; the most complex and mysterious organ in our body.
Depression is not ‘stress’.
‘Depressed’ is not a mood or feeling.
It is a disease, as indiscriminate and uncontrollable as cancer. It is a cancer of the mind that nobody would ever choose to suffer and is not cured by being grateful.
Not everyone with depression finds themselves on the suicidal spectrum, thankfully. Some people have been somewhere along it for a long time. Like an alcoholic working hard to manage their craving. Every day. Distracting. Medicating. Fighting. Surviving. Living.
Someone didn’t ‘kill themselves’; depression killed them.
Someone didn’t ‘take the cowardly way out’; they took what depression had them believe was the only course of action left available to them after all their fight was used up.
Someone didn’t ‘give up’; they exhausted every last ounce of fight in them, but depression won the war. Depression is a monster. It lies, it punishes, it sucks the hope out of the poor human soul it’s infecting. It seeps uninvited into every crevice of the mind, body and soul like a poison.
If you’ve been affected by suicide and are left feeling understandably both devastated and furious my advice is to direct that anger fully towards this cancer of an illness, not to the tragic victim of it. Accept your fury, feel it fully as it is real and valid, and then be compassionate towards yourself and to the victim. Forgive your loved one and forgive yourself. Know that if your loved one felt in any way able to physically and mentally resist that oasis of peace and relief any longer, they absolutely would have. And know that they loved you, and their actions are no reflection whatsoever of the love they felt for you.
If you are worried about someone or believe they are on the suicidal spectrum, go to them. Say the scary words out loud - this takes away some of their fear and power: Are you feeling safe? Are you having scary, unwelcome thoughts about life and death? Are you thinking about how you’d want to die? Are you feeling suicidal? Saying the S word out loud will not cause someone to go through with it. In fact, getting the S word out there in the open may well prevent suicidal behaviour, by giving that person a safe space to confront their demons and diminish their power. By giving them the strength and time to see what’s real and what’s depression. To make their mental landscape more lush, less punishing, more comfortable than that hellscape desert so that the lure of the oasis is not so dangerously strong, or even have it disappear entirely.
If there is an elephant in the room, don’t ignore it. Run towards it, not away from it. Say the word out loud: suicidal. It could well be the best thing you could do for someone in crisis when they’ve no reserves left to save themselves.
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Text
Gardens hang from your smile, dear.
Fandom: BLEACH
Characters: Momo Hinamori, Karin Kurosaki
Pairings: platonic KarinHina-centric, familial IchiKarin, minor RenShuuKiraHina, mentioned badship AiHina
Words: 2600+
Summary: canon divergent, post TYBW arc, shinigami!Karin. WARNINGS-- mentions of suicide, dysfunctional family unit, & relationship violence. What is done is done. What is left is healing.
FFN | AO3
It was strange to be in her barracks instead of her office at noon. Seven years after that man’s imprisonment and still her blood chilled as she approached every corner as if he laid in wait just beyond. Five years since the Quincy invasion and she still reached for Tobiume with every audible thump.
On occasion, she liked to think she had come to terms with her haunters. Unpleasant company, unarguably, but she was a grown woman with more important things to attend to. But she had been wrong in the past. Shuuhei always reassured her that grief was a process.
She wondered, as she always did as she observed others, what their haunters were. That girl was no exception.
As pale as Karin was, she imagined that youth’s haunters were as nightmarish as her own. She hoped they were different though, and she hoped that if they were similar that it had nothing to do with that Kurosaki boy. She had already lost so much faith in the respectable, she feared one more betrayal of virtue would have destroyed her trust altogether.
All that misery, and that poor thing must’ve been so overwhelmed by the pace of everything. So much newness in such a short period must have left her breathless.
She was the moral sort. She couldn’t have left that young thing so blind and helpless.
“Karin-chan,” she announced, “it’s hardly productive to sit here and bake in silence. The fifth division has the most beautiful garden. How’d you feel to tour through it with me? Ooh, and there’s this cozy spot by this little pond with koi we could stop and have lunch at. We can even feed the fish, if you like.”
Karin’s starlight gaze turned to her. That youth wasn’t emotive despite the sparkle those ephemeral-colored eyes were capable of, much like their mutually endeared Toushirou, but the bags under Karin’s eyes told her that poor thing was emotionally drained to emptiness. It took ages of hurt and lies, she knew, to have reached such stage of exhaustion.
“A garden?” Karin said finally.
“It’s the most beautiful place in the entire Seireitei-- not that I’m biased or anything. I almost wish Izuru was the more romantic sort and proposed we marry there instead of over breakfast.” Almost.
“A garden.” Karin iterated. “Like a hedge maze? A-are there flowers?
“It’s a little bit like a hedge maze. It’s not really a maze in the traditional sense, since the flora is so low, but there are a number of walkways and too many blossoming flowers to name. It’s most beautiful in June since everything is in full bloom.”
Karin stared at her dainty toes. Aloof as she was, from Toushirou’s past testaments of Karin’s behavior, she seemed… dazed. Not the noisy, quick on her toes street fighter. Shock, most certainly.
“... alright,” Karin answered.
She frowned as that youth stood in that raggedy yukata. Those hardly befit a lunch date in a beautiful garden.
“Let’s get you out of that hideous thing, Karin-chan. I have something cuter you may fit in.” She said, and then paused. “Nay, first we prepare lunch. I’d hate to stain those pretty yukata. Is there anything you’d like? Preferably nothing I’d have to cook, since it’ll go cold, but if you’re dying for some warm comfort food I suppose we could figure out a way to reheat it.”
“... udon,” Karin responded.
“I can make udon.” She replied. “Can you fetch my pager out of my bedroom so I can text everybody about lunch? You can pick a yukata from my closet and set it out too, if you’d like.”
“A-alright,”
She hummed as she pulled rice and egg noodles from her cabinets, much like how her grandmother hummed when she was a child. How old she had grown. But she was a happier old lady, with gentle husbands and good friends and her family was whole once again. She was perfectly fine with old age.
Karin deposited her soul pager beside the sink a minute later. She wiped her hands on her pajama yukata and picked it up. “I’d love some help if you’d like. Cooking has always been a family activity for me-- just ask ‘Shirou-chan. Truthfully, it was how we started speaking again.”
“I-I’m not good at cooking.” Karin uttered shyly.
“So I’ve been told. But you won’t be cooking, darling. Toushirou tells me you’re very talented with a knife. You can cut vegetables.” She smiled. “Those are relatively phallic vegetables. Picture then as your least favorite person’s cock and testicles and just start cutting.”
She turned from Karin’s expression of mild horror to the stove.
“S-so… why did you Toushirou stop talking to each other?” Karin asked.
“My ex husband was… controlling, put simply. I was his plaything. He didn’t want me spending time with my loved ones because it would jeopardize my idolization of him.”
“I-I’m sorry. I don’t mean to drudge up bad memories….”
“It’s quite fine. It’s not something I mind disclosing any longer, it’s others gossiping about my past love life that peeves me.” She explained.
“... my sister,” Karin began moments later, “makes the best udon. I remember that Ichi and I got into this huge fucking fight when he found Jinta and Ururu in my room ‘cause he didn’t want me talking to anybody connected with shinigami. Yuzu made us settle it over udon.”
That was the first Karin had brought up anything about the Kurosaki. Toushirou had asked for that topic to never be touched on due to its sensitive nature. She wasn’t sure what sort of sign it was if Karin brought them up of her own volition. Good, she hoped.
By the way Karin referred to her brother so fondly-- Ichi, with that yearnful croak-- told her so much. That girl had been deeply betrayed time after time but loved too much to hate, and that Karin’s suicide possibly was her best out. A cruel thing to say, but Kurosaki had his powers for almost a decade and if that boy hadn’t told her a single thing in that period, in Karin’s shoes with the sort of potential that possessed, she wouldn’t have seen any other path either.
That made it so much more tragic. She knew how awfully a broken family ached.
She wondered if that was the first Karin and Kurosaki had ever truly spoken. She wondered if it was the last too. By Karin’s sniff, it wouldn’t have come as a surprise.
“W-were you and… and that man married? Like, legally?”
“No, it was part of his game, I guess you could say.” She said. “He told me shinigami weren’t allowed to marry between each other, and that we had to keep our relationships a secret in order to avoid separation. It was a lie, of course, likely designed to make more loyal to him so I wouldn’t rat him out when he lost his temper in the future.”
“What a monster.”
“Undoubtedly,” she smiled some unspecific smile. It was a habit when she was saddened or numb. Izuru told her it was a terrible habit, but Shuuhei said it served her well. Neither told her exactly why. “That’s good for the carrots. You cut those up nicely. ‘Shirou-chan can’t cut so evenly, you know. He’s got some competition.”
“Nonsense….” Karin mumbled bashfully.
“You know I’m right!” She sang. She was glad that youth had finally smiled though, however slight it was. Those cheeks were too round to be so torpid and those eyes too gorgeous to be so doleful.
“Shuuhei took me out on this date a few years back before we were all together, in the exact garden we’ll be in actually. He baked and decorated the most beautiful cake for me. It was this little thing that fit on an appetizer plate, draped in white fondant and rose pink piping with the most precious buttercream azalea flowers on the top. I knew with my first bite that I was in love with Shuuhei, just the same as I was with Renji and Izuru.” She laughed wistfully. “From that time on, I’ve firmly associated flowers and food with love of all sorts. Food has healed my family life, my romantic life, my friendships, and I cannot help but compare the beauty of such love to flowers.”
Karin paused as she diced potatoes, and then resumed. That youth was as intelligent as Toushirou claimed, if she had put two and two together.
She hummed into the wordlessness, like a content old lady. From the corner of her eye, she watched as Karin mouthed the lyrics to that ancient melody. She was glad Toushirou had shared that with Karin. She hoped he bothered to tell her that their grandmother once lulled them to sleep with it.
“We allow those to boil now. Come, we must pretty ourselves up!” She chirped.
“O-okay,”
Karin had draped one of her yukata over her vanity mirror. It was one of her favorites-- pink with dark grey snow-capped mountains. It was a surprise gift from Izuru for her first birthday they were together. It was also his last surprise gift, as it was a tad large on her petite frame, but it suite Karin splendidly. Pastels suited the deathly pale. She hoped some color returned to that youth’s complexion before long. Vibrant color suited vibrant people.
“I’d loan you my undergarments, but I doubt they’d fit you.” She sighed as she folded her yukata over Karin’s front. “Remind Izuru to bring you shopping. I can come with you if you’d like, but he’s the only one with the financial ability to stock an entire wardrobe. Bras are especially expensive in the Soul Society. We’re still so archaic here.”
“I’m… I’m really sorry.” Karin said.
“For what?”
“I come out of nowhere and start mooching off you guys. It’s gotta be a pain.”
“Nonsense, it’s no issue. We’ll take care of you until you can take care of yourself. Soon enough, you’ll be more than capable of financially supporting yourself.” She responded.
Karin was silent as she folded her obi, and still silent as she donned on her own yukata. It made her wonder if that daze was actually a maelstrom of thoughts. The cerebral ones were often the saddest, but those were also the easiest to persuade.
There was a short wait after they finished dressing, and then they packed up lunch in a wicker basket and walked side-by-side to the fifth’s garden.
She was adamant the garden’s air was cleaner. The Seireitei wasn’t polluted by any means, but the garden smelled sweeter and she was certain she was headier when she sat among the plants. That garden was one of the few places Aizen never took her to. A superstitious part of her thought such beauty repelled those hideous of heart. It was like a world of its own, the closest she ever came to Heaven.
She sat the basket on the grass and sat at the edge of the pond so that they may flick pellets at the koi.
“I-it’s really nice here.” Karin said. “Tranquil,”
“It really is.” She sighed pleasantly. “Everybody should be here in about thirty minutes or so. Can you wait that long?”
“Yeah,” Karin replied.
She sighed once again as she gazed upon the flowers. Beautiful things, as beautiful as her loved ones. The perfect spot for lunch, to relive every good moment.
“One time,” Karin began ever-so softly, “when Yuzu and I were nine, we wanted to go to the park. Our dad made Ichi come with us because we were so young. There were a bunch of dandelions all over the place so we picked them and my sister taught us how to make flower crowns. Ichi gave his crown to me. I remember that being the very first time I knew just how much I loved my brother.”
And with firsts came lasts. The in-between ached most in the moment, but the good memories were the worst in hindsight.
“How about you fetch some flowers? Your hair is gorgeous, Karin-chan. I would be delighted if you allowed me to weave it.” She said then.
Karin stared unreadably before she stood. “Can I use the basket?”
“Of course.”
Karin made a bee-line for the roses. It was cute to watch that youth’s gaze examine the blossoms and pluck only the fullest, and then only the largest baby’s breath. And when Karin returned, she set the basket beside her legs and sat on her legs before the pond.
“A splendid combination. Red and white best complement black, in my opinion.” She commended as she combed her fingers through curtains of Karin’s silky, voluminous hair. “There’s something sassy but classy about it. It suits you.”
Karin silently watched the koi as she began to weave. That youth received compliments about as gracefully as Toushirou.
“... he was kinda late to one of my games once. I-Ichi that is.” Karin told her. “It was just, like, ten minutes so I tried not to freak out about it. But the next time he was half an hour late. And then eventually he just… stopped coming. And then we saw each other less and less after he entered pre-med school.” Karin curled her legs to her chest then. “Logically, I know he’s got duties as a substitute shinigami and pre-med takes up a lot of your time, but, like… I feel like he pushed us aside. We got into this huge fucking argument, like, a year and a half ago. I told him I wanted to fucking die because I mean shit to everybody and he literally just told me I wasn’t allowed to die. That was literally it. He didn’t even check up on me afterwards.” Karin sniffed and wiped her face on her sleeve. “And then after I did die, he’s got the gall to fucking cry like he didn’t see it fucking coming.”
She was unsurprised, of course. “The most respectable are often the most flawed. It’s because we expect perfection out of them, so their blunders hurt exponentially more.” She told Karin. “I absolutely understand your perspective, however. I cannot speak for your brother’s intentions, but in hindsight he was certainly unhelpful to your plight.”
Karin was perfectly silent again, a strange contrast to how she trembled. Had she not heard the bamboo flute hit the rock and water splash into the pond, she would’ve wondered if she had lost her hearing.
She hoped Karin’s joy was louder than her misery.
“The Kira family owns this impressive library with books from all corners of the earth. Izuru’s mother was a collector. From what I’ve read from their collection, roses symbolize love in the west, and baby’s breath symbolizes innocence. I like this combination even more knowing that. It means unconditional love.” She confessed. “Karin-chan, we’re family now. We will always be here for you. We’ll work out our problems, and we’ll create the most beautiful memories.
Karin’s starlight gaze turned to her. There was a glimmer of something, hope and doubt, but it was a start. She knew actions proved more than words.
“Momo! Karin-chan!”
They looked to the path that lead to the pond. Renji and Izuru jogged towards them, the former adorned with a handsome grin. Her boys bent and kissed her cheeks, and then Renji kneeled and cheerfully asked about Karin’s-- uneventful-- day. He made a fantastic husband, of course he made a good brother.
Izuru sat on the grass beside them and then passed Karin her bowl of udon. That gaze of Karin’s was less skeptical as she slowly turned from Izuru to her lunch.
They all knew healing was a process. There was a beginning, and the end, for once, wasn’t so bad.
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