the black sun that rises

A compliment or insult

A story

Why you follow me

If you met me what would you do

A cute message

One thing you want to tell me

                    — { ♦ } The young student hurried himself towards the infirmary of either represented schools. His left extremity latched onto the bloody material of his Spica uniform, whilst teeth gritted in order to endure the pulsating pain..—  A hollow had succeeded into inflicting a severe wound across his chest, down to his abdomen on his last surveillance run. A slight anguish grunt slipped from betwixt quivering ashen buds. ” D-Dammit! ” he hollered in what it seemed to be an emptied field.  ” Isn’t anyone here!?!  “ 

                                 Promptly ceasing his step in mid-motion, Toshiro would fumble to his knees, and abruptly gagged up some crimson shaded substance from his throat. He hadn’t thought of the possibility of the terrains being lifeless at this time of day. Luck, was surely not on his side. Covering his mouth with his free palm, he’d wince and forthwith collapse upon the evergreen grass beneath his form. How far did he even run? Utter shame engulfed him, whilst disappointment suffocated his feeble heart. How could he allow such a mistake to occur?

“Dunno what the hell you did to get fucked up this badly, but I kinda can’t just ignore ya, huh?”

          Murder is the sort of act a person commits knowing it’s going to be one of the last things they do as a free citizen. Incarceration after the fact is just— well, inevitable. Especially considering all the science dramas that plague television these days, nobody in their right mind would think they could pick up the occupation of serial murderer enthusiastically without paying the price at some point. Ah, but being in their right mind was the key, wasn’t it?

          The walls were white, just like the floor and the ceilings and almost every decorative object he could see. In fact after a while that’s how he pinpointed the smell of the place as well. It was: stale, unscented, boring, plain, white. He hated it even though it lacked any substance for such an emotion. The only thing that really stood out in the room was his hair, his hair and eyes. Being a vibrant, blaring shade of blue tended to do that when placed in comparison to the stark outlines of nothingness. 

Boring. How fuckin’ boring.

          A guttural sound emitted from his throat, getting a mouthful of saliva within its confines before ejecting it across the small space. The clear liquid slapped against the far wall with a splat, landing mere centimeters above the previous attempt. How desperate did a guy have to be to make a game out of how high up the wall he could get his spit to land? Don’t answer that. It was better left rhetorical. He leaned back against the cushioned wall, back slightly indenting its chilled surface though he couldn’t feel it through the thick and more than slightly uncomfortable straight jacket he’d been placed in. Solitary confinement was a bitch. 

          Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez was a top priority inmate in an insane asylum hysterically called “Los Noches”. The irony being the place was way too damn bright to be stuck with a name that indicated it was the night. But that was a complaint towards the bottom of his list that got longer by the day with nobody to prattle it off to. Now, why he was there wasn’t so much of a mystery; and in retrospect he really didn’t try very hard to cover up the growing number of bodies that seemed to metaphorically pile up at his feet— then again, he mused, if people got out more and did what they really wanted to do more often, like give in to that little nagging voice in their head that said ‘just rip their fuckin’ throats out’, well you’d have a lot less stress in the world. And he was a prime example of that. Grimmjow didn’t stress about anything, and he didn’t give a shit about anyone. He did whatever the fuck he wanted and never asked questions or thought twice. Life had been just fucking peachy before he’d gotten himself thrown in here. 

          On his two hands he was sure he could count how many years he’d spent in this place, though definitely not only on one. After he got saddled with the sentence of a lifetime— literally, as in, there was no hope of him ever getting out of this hellhole, the orderlies that had him as a charge seemed to start dropping like flies. They were dumb, incompetent assholes anyways. After that he’d been quickly moved up the line from ‘dangerous’, to ‘stand the fuck back’ and everything after that was history. He lost what were loosely referred to as ‘privileges’, got his home in solitary cell #6 and never saw any of the other dumbfucks that he knew must still be running around like chickens with their heads cut off. And even though he had liked it better that way at first, he couldn’t avoid how bored he’d become. Sitting in a quiet room with nothing to look at and nobody to talk to was a punishment that threatened to unhinge a person’s sanity— or, what little amount of sanity they had left. 

          The higher ups at the place were afraid of him, he could see it in the nurses eyes when they had to walk in and bring him food. They were so terrified in fact that at first before one would even enter, two buff guys always came in before her to try and hold onto him, but after a nasty bite to the bicep and a broken nose via headbutt they soon abandoned the notion of forceful restraint. He may be locked up, but nobody fucking held him down. 

          Now, as he sat against the wall tired of reminiscing the scenes that were on perpetual repeat for his boredom, he was about to let himself fall asleep once more before a rather obnoxiously loud buzz and flash of a red bulb in the corner of the room caught his attention.

          His fingers curled in the sleeves of his straight jacket, eyes of cerulean snapping to focus on the speaker. He never got visitors, and announcements were an equally rare occasion. But maybe they had once again found a new guard for him. Maybe this guy would be a bit more interesting and he wouldn’t have to kill him as quickly. The slight static from the room’s loudspeaker could be heard next, followed by a stern voice.

“Jaegerjaquez. You’re being assigned a new caretaker. You’ll do well to behave this time around. Insubordination in your current position will lead to the request for lethal injection. He’ll be coming in shortly. That is all.”

It’d just been… awful. Blood everywhere. So many people screaming things like ‘Oh my god get help, get help!’. His father and sisters crying because they’d lost their most beloved and absolutely most important person. His dad… He… The old man had tried so hard to stay strong, to not cry for his children but… But he just couldn’t. But how could he? He’d just lost his wife—the fucking love of his life, for fuck’s safe so of course they man cried. And Ichigo could still remember the sounds of those deep sobs to this day, even after nearly twelve years.

And Ichigo… He hadn’t cried – well, not at first. Later, it would be said that it was shock from what’d happened and what he’d witnessed. He hadn’t cried then, but once he’d gotten home and was in bed after the whole events of that day, where he was completely alone with nothing—nothing but his thoughts—he would finally cry. He cried so hard even though he tried his hardest not to, trying to keep himself quiet as possible as to not alert the rest of his family that he was crying—especially not his sisters. But… He hadn’t been very successful there. But of course he wouldn’t be. His room was literally just right across the hall from his sister’s room, so it should have been an absolute given that one of the two—or fuck, both—would have heard him and come running.

It just so happened that it was both of them. Yuzu and Karin. They’d started crying again too when they saw him crying and ended up crawling onto his bed where they curled up to him and cried into his shirt, and even though he wanted to stop bawling himself and be stronger for his two little sisters, he couldn’t have stopped himself if his life depended on it. They didn’t know that Ichigo blamed himself for not noticing the car sooner, that if he had then the most wonderful person to ever grace the earth would still be breathing and smiling and everything would have still been… okay. Their family wouldn’t have been broken and no one would be crying. He couldn’t… Couldn’t bring himself to tell them any of that because they’d hate him, and he really didn’t want or need someone else hating him as much as he hated himself.

But… Yeah. That’d been the start of his awful luck. It continued in school, where he’d get bullied relentlessly for his brightly colored hair which even though he tried to insist was absolutely normal and natural, no one believed him. Not even the teachers. The teachers. They always looked at him as a problem child, one that they shouldn’t waste their time on or try teaching because it wasn’t like he’d want to learn anything anyways. This wouldn’t stop until he finally caved in and dyed his fucking hair black so he could avoid the look and the teasing for at least a little while. And it actually had worked for a little while before his dad made him change it back because ‘Don’t let them get to you, Ichigo.’ And so Ichigo’d gone back to his natural hair color.

And of course, the teasing and the look returned. But this time, Ichigo wasn’t having it. If they wanted to look at him like some kind of punk, he would give them a reason to. He started getting into fights with anyone who looked at him strangely, both verbal and physical. Expulsion had been a threat several times and each time, his dad would give him the ultimatum of either cleaning up his act or hitting the road. It wasn’t that his old man didn’t care; more so, it was because the man cared that he threatened Ichigo in this way, because otherwise he probably wouldn’t have straightened himself out enough to finish high school with relative ease, a scuffle here or there.

He’d opted out of going to college—for now at least—and focused on getting a job. A close family friend, Urahara, had set him up at a place he declared a perfect fit for Ichigo and he shouldn’t worry about a thing because the spot was guaranteed. Really, Ichigo should have known that in Urahara language, it meant that this would be the worst possible thing that could possibly happen to him in this life time. Urahara got him a job at Los Noches. A freakin’ insane asylum, where some of the most notoriously dangerous criminals in all of Japan were housed and as the name suggested, fucking insane. Urahara said the place was perfect for him, and Ichigo got the overwhelming urge to punch that fucking face when he saw it after coming to the realization that he was being forced into working in an insane asylum. Why not refuse, one might wonder?

Well… For one, he needed the money. And second, he couldn’t find much else. So, with money being the primary reason for why he wasn’t refusing and walking the fuck away from the asylum at lightning speed, he unlocked the room which would lead him to his primary patient—a man called Jaegerjaquez. A man that Ichigo had heard of on the news before and was convinced that he was walking to his death the moment he pushed the door open and moved inside, bringing along with him a cart of food (Which, in his opinion, didn’t even look edible) and the standard medication for all of the patients. He was nervous, that much was certain, but he tried his damn hardest to not let it show because the last thing he needed was to show weakness to this man who was very capable of killing him, and..

And fucking beautiful.

Fuck.

Dear person I hate,

Dear person I like,

Dear ex boyfriend,

Dear ex girlfriend,

Dear ex bestfriend,

Dear bestfriend,

Dear *anyone*,

Dear Santa,

Dear mom,

Dear dad,

Dear future me,

Dear past me,

Dear person I’m jealous of,

Dear person I had a crush on,

Dear girlfriend,

Despite her small worries and minor insecurities regarding her place among the students of Ouran and as a “new local”, Orihime actually found that she was very much enjoying herself. Not only was her new school really quite beautiful, the classes were not horribly difficult and the people seemed to be very welcoming!  Although she hadn’t met many of her new classmates, the ones that she had already run into seemed to be really pleasant, which was a great relief. 

Another thing that was somewhat comforting was the little fact that Bunkyo seemed to be relatively normal, despite all the unique and interesting people that roamed the streets. While Orihime loved her hometown with every fiber of her being, it was nice not to have that tiny voice in the back of her head warning her to be on guard for any stray Hollows. 

"Just now…Could it be…?"

Of course, the moment the thought occurred to her, she suddenly became uncomfortably aware that maybe she had more to worry about than she had suspected. She’d wondered quite a ways from the Ouran campus, so she wasn’t entirely sure of her location, but that wasn’t what had caught her attention. A painfully familiar sensation was pressing in on her from nearby, and Orihime knew exactly what it meant. ‘A Hollow.' How on earth could there be a Hollow in Bunkyo? It had never occurred to her that there might be any here, which was probably silly of her. They did as they pleased.

She moved quickly, jogging in the direction in which the sensation had originated. While she might not have been as competent as someone else when it came to the extermination of Hollows, she hadn’t trained so hard in the past months for nothing, and she was determined not to let anything unfortunate occur in her new town. Orihime soon arrived at what appeared to be a park, and as she did so, she became aware of another presence that she thought she’d not have the chance to accompany for a very long time. 

"Kurosaki-kun…!" 

There was no doubt in her mind as to the identity of the figure that the few passersby heading around the street corner hadn’t noticed, simply because they couldn’t see him. Kurosaki Ichigo was in Bunkyo, and she hadn’t had the faintest idea. Although she was very happy to see him, she knew that there were more important things to take care of before they could catch-up.

"Kurosaki-kun, there is a Hollow nearby, isn’t there? It somehow didn’t occur to me that there would be any around here. Is…Where is it..?" Orihime questioned, brows knitting together as she looked around in confusion.

The people in the park didn’t realize that there was a creature lurking around them that could take their life in seconds, without them ever seeing it coming. It was… honestly, the worst way to die that Ichigo could imagine. Having no idea that your life could end in seconds and being unable to say goodbye to anyone—yeah, he didn’t want to imagine anything like that. And that was exactly why he needed to find the damn hollow, kill it, and make sure no one got hurt because… Because he had a very good idea of what it felt like to have a loved one taken by a hollow and it was the last thing he’d ever want to wish onto someone else.

It was with a sense of urgency that he searched for the hollow; though, it wouldn’t have been such a hassle had he been able to detect and pinpoint spiritual energy as well as say, an actual shinigami or—cringe—Ishida. Bottom line, he couldn’t exactly do that, so he was stuck, more or less. His impatience certainly didn’t provide much help when it came to attempting to locate something that was clearly intent on staying hidden, and it also put him a little on edge—sneak attacks weren’t entirely out of the question with these damn things. And just as he prepared to call out to the hollow, as he was certain it could hear him, he heard his name called by a starkly familiar voice.

"Kurosaki-kun…!" 

Jolting slightly out of surprise, he twisted himself around until the source was identified, confirming what he already knew—it was Inoue. But… What on earth was Inoue doing here? He could’ve sworn he never heard anything from her about also coming to Bunkyo, so this… was indeed a surprise. Ichigo certainly had questions, but in that situation they were unwarranted and there was a more pressing matter to deal with.

"Kurosaki-kun, there is a Hollow nearby, isn’t there? It somehow didn’t occur to me that there would be any around here. Is…Where is it..?"

“You’d be surprised,” he muttered, almost snorting; it’d surprised him the first time he encountered a hollow here too, but by now they’d become old news and realized he would never get a break from his unofficial occupation as a Substitute Shinigami—one that, unlike those in the Soul Society, did not get paid for a thing he did. “Hell if I know where the thing is. It won’t show its ugly face.” With a tone sounding both annoyed and exasperated, he could only shrug his shoulders. “Probably too sc—”

Before he could finish his sentence, a loud and unmistakable wail interrupted him.

So you all know how these go, below the cut is a list of 42  RP prompts that came to me. If you’re feeling extra brave, reblog without looking! This list has a nice mix of shippy, non-shippy, fluffy, cracky, angsty, nsfw, and sfw and such forth. Who knows what you’ll get?  *Also gender and sexuality neutral!

       There it was, the trademark feral growling that reverberated from his chest in most any situation where he was thoroughly annoyed and now, he was definitely annoyed. Granted, he didn’t expect anything else from the situation but hey, you can’t blame a guy for trying. 

Intimation ain’t gonna work on ya, huh? Heh.

       Moving forward, the Sexta’s back hunched in a predatory manner, oceanic blue eyes setting on the man before him in a hard glare. He wasn’t going to get stuck in this disgusting excuse for a body for the rest of his existence. The male’s arm lunged forward, gripping Ichigo by his throat and effectively pushing him against the wall. It was different, such a foreign feeling to not be able to effortlessly hoist him off the ground but this, this could work for now.

And when the notably taller male stalked forward, Ichigo moved back instinctively - not because of intimidation. He'd taken on bullies bigger, as well as monsters more powerful; Grimmjow would most certainly not scare him into handing over the Substitute badge which, if in the wrong hands--and Grimmjow's hands were the worst--could spell for a potential disaster and there was no way he wouldn't have the Soul Society on his tail for doing something so dangerous--so idiotic.

Who cooks:

Who does the laundry and other chores: 

How many children do they have:

Who’s more dominate:

Favorite nonsexual activity:

Their favorite place to be together:

Any traditions:

Their “song”:

What they do for each other on holidays:

Where did they go for their honeymoon:

Where did they first meet:

Any pets:

What do they fight over: