#coinless bulk

In the dark of the roller rink that had been swallowed underground in one of the tremors similar to earthquakes when Rita set her monsters on the Rangers for the last time, they looked for all intents and purpose like the harvest of scurrying goblins, the theatrical pilfering of small dragons, or a small miracle of faerie for Bulk to stumble upon.

But...no. 

Once his eyes got used to the darkness only lightened by a kerosene lamp near the entrance he always came through--the window scraped and empty of glass for years now, covered and blocked by weeds and ivy and what little of nature that was stronger than the decay and rot--that was only lit during these meetings at the new moon, Bulk saw the hunched figure beside the offerings.

While time and training and growing into his role had given Bulk all the trappings and appearance of a slightly more svelte bear on two legs, Skull himself had only grown taller and thicker by degrees of the season. He had strong shoulders for carrying the world, yes, but whenever he was wrapped up around himself in the dark like this, Bulk could not help but think of that little boy he'd found crying alone in a park over a decade ago.

Not that Skull cried anymore. Not that Bulk had seen.

Can't cry when your emotions are frozen under a lake in what the Coinless assumed was a gussied up Hell that passed for a palace. Can't show emotions when you're trying to play a game with rules that only just held still but were always changing to the will of a psychopath.

Loping over to the figure that did not move but absolutely knew he was there, Bulk stood before him a moment to fish around inside his heavy coat's deep pocket, pulling out a threadbare mauve handkerchief wrapped tightly around the gift he'd brought along for this meetup.

It would have been nice to bring, more, with all the spoils Skull brought the Coinless like a magician's magician, but he also didn't want to upset Skull when he knew--like he always knew everything since undertaking...all of this--that they really couldn't afford to give him much of anything. Not in the winter, not in the summer, not even when it seemed as if food was in abundance in their underground hideouts where they had taken up proper farming and could almost seem to get away with the leavings.

There was too much risk; even if he was always hungry in some way.

Even though he would never feel hungry. Not in the way most people did.

Bulk sighed and thumped heavily down to take a seat beside his best friend, unwrapping the food he'd brought to split, and trying to smile like they were kids again instead of young men nearing their thirties that felt older than that by far.

"Hey, I brought a knish some of my girls made for their favorite uncle. It's mushroom, potato, and pork," he singsonged, breaking the filled bun in two and holding the bigger half out to Skull expectantly as he nibbled up a mushroom trying to break free from his own, "And it's still warm buddy, c'mon."

It took a moment, but the other did move from pressing his face to his knees, arms unwrapping and one leg stretching out so he could still perch his chin up without much effort.

He tried to smile as he took up the offering, but it wasn't nearly as convincing as like when the memory of the place they stood in was awake and alive, all light and music and the laughter of a hundred odd teenagers spinning around in circles underneath a mirror ball without a thought to school or parents; only nibbling on the varied fair behind the stalls, sipping soda they weren't allowed to take out onto the court when it had been polished smooth as glass.

Also there was a cluster of bruises and cuts across the brunt of the left side of his face, darker bruising along the side of his neck in the obvious shape of a hand. His bottom lip was split, so the half-hearted smile couldn't stretch and Bulk suddenly doubted adding so much salt to the meal was such a good idea.

World of the Coinless Bulk, whose star has been steadily rising through the years:

As opposed to the world of the Coinless Skull...who is heading in the exact opposite direction...

Like...they say any character development is good character development, and I LOVE THESE BOYS. These two have been my favorites for such a long time, and now they’ve gotten much more than one would expect to see them in; in more ways than one. And I’m so happy for Bulk. Seeing him wear a Ranger suit in a situation that is NOT played as a joke, or an incident where he gets to do some good and gets it taken away from him without so much as a ‘Thank you,’ because Zordon’s being a dick and Alpha can’t FATHOM of defying the big blue head and telling literally ANY of the teenagers that KNOW them--!! OHHHH, I just got goosebumps and even covered my face like I was five years old again!! If this thing goes on like I think it’s going to, then he is going to do SO great, I’m gonna be even more proud of him. 

But...it is looking more and more like, even in different dimensions, there is no scenario where Skull ISN’T going to get fucked over. Two decades in hell under Drakkon; beaten badly and then killed by Drakkon’s by hands; resurrected only to continue his stay in hell--this time under a power grabbing Scorpina--under extremely uncertain conditions. Helping try and rebuild the world after an alien invasion and the loss of the Power in any capacity, probably in a really terrible position with literally everyone on both sides of the war--and now this. What the fuck, canon? Not even the fandom does this to him.