Never underestimate

Title: Didactic
Torture: Bondage - July 15th
Author: Machinatio
Word count: 691
Warnings: Minor spoilers for recent chapters

He always believed that no matter how tough the situation was, goodness will always prevail, and evil would dissipate and disappear in the light of justice. It started from those fairytales he mother would read to him every night. The knight in shining armour would always slay a monstrous dragon or the deceitful wizard or witch, and save the helpless perfectly portrayed princess.

Even when his mother got murdered by Grand Fisher, his faith only wavered for a second or two before becoming more committed than ever. For many years, he would always suffer the guilt of not being able to be his dearest kin’s brave knight.

When he first took responsibility for his Shinigami powers, he was unsure of the opportunity that presented itself right before him. Here it was, the strength to help save other souls, to make up for the soul he couldn’t save. He rejected the thought, fearing failure of not being up to that responsibility, but changed his mind as he saw that he had the power to help the other souls.

He was furious when Rukia was punished for something that seemed so trivial a matter to him. He decided that he would not let this past, for he could not will himself to abandon the person, who in a way, granted him powers to save souls. He fought all the way through soul society with this faith in mind, knocking down any obstacle, bashing through every door, slicing through any opponent who dared stand in his path.

The will for him to take personal action washed over him again when Orihime was taken to Hueco Mundo. Whether or not she choose to go there on her own free will or was forced there, it didn’t matter to him. What mattered that she was a Human, not a Hollow nor Arrancar, and Humans belonged to the Human world till their deaths.

For that, he once again recklessly entered and fought his way through Hueco Mundo with his battle companions. At first, with every enemy falling to the ground, it seemed that juctice would be served fairly and squarely.

However, things were different this time.

One by one, as they each encountered the Espadas, the Arrancar’s strength proved too overpowering. His faith was shaken when he lost sight of their reiatsu ribbons. First Chad, then Rukia. As he delivered the final blow to Grimmjow, Ishida’s and Renji’s ribbons both disappeared at once.

Even as he exchanged fists, kicks and ceros with Ulquiorra, he fought with the will to avenge his companions, to end Aizen’s activities, which would destroy everything he knew and held dear.

As Ulquiorra blasted Zangetsu, Shirosaki and himself out of existence, his first thought was that maybe it was his time, and was another protagonist’s turn to save the day.

But as he watched from above, a place right at the top, above all worlds, Aizen was succeeding in destroying the waves of Shinigami sent into Heuco Mundo. The process of creating the Royal Key was in process as the town starting being obliterated into nothingness.

If it were true that the place he was at now was really the top of everything, a place that was not complicated Soul Society, a place where he was reunited with his smiling mother, with his wacky and weird companions, with the-sweet-in-her-own-way Rukia, a place where the bonds between them were renewed and stronger than ever, then with or without Zangetsu at his side, with or without permission to create chaos in this peaceful dimension, he would be sure to be everyone’s knight, and stand in the way of the evil.

.

“And that’s the end of the story. Now off to bed you little punk.” Ichigo told his daughter lovingly, as she giggled in his hold when he swiped her off the sofa and put her down gently on her bed.

As he turned off the lights that luminated the Chappy wallpapered room, he wondered what might have happened if good had not prevailed, but dismissed the thought immediately as he saw his wife wagging a cheeky finger at him from behind their bedroom door. 

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I'm sorry for the crappy "story". It seemed pretty fun to write about at first ._. I was at a total loss for the title. Never been good at titles.

This concludes the 12 tortures Challenge for me! =D I'm kind of sad its over, but more relieved since my brain cells are really drained at this point. Never underestimate the torture of drabble/fic mini marathons -_- Anyway, hope you enjoyed reading! I really enjoyed reading through all the fics, drabbles, comics and looking at the fanarts. =D

Not to forget, HAPPY BIRTHDAY ICHIGO! =D

 Comment on my other 12 torture fics?

Title: Calculable
Torture: Brainwashing - July 11th
Author: Machinatio
Word count: 115
Warnings: Minor sort-of hints at what happened in recent chapters.

Hate.

It filled him every time someone he cared about got hurt.

Hate.

Consumed him when his mother was murdered, and when his sisters were attacked.

Hate.

Filled him when his ghost friends got eaten, and when his classmates got injured.

Hate.

Devoured him when Rukia was treated like trash, and when Orihime was treated like a thing.

Hate.

Immersed him when a certain arrancar just refused to get out of his way and let him save his dying partner.

Hate.

It overwhelmed his mind, corrupted his thoughts, clouded his judgement.

.

Aizen chuckled. For simpletons like Kurosaki Ichigo, who were so easily predictable, Kyōka Suigetsu and its near perfect illusions would never be required. 

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I just needed to get the hate out of my mind ._. It's a horrible incorrigible evil feeling =(.

I know its not very descriptive. But still..ENJOY! =)

Comments & Critics are <3!

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Walking along the street
feet dragging at the pavement
hands clutching bread and meat
face burnt

Walking under the lamp
carrying broken bag
clothed in tattered rags
socks damp

She walked along the street aimlessly.
No goal in sight.
She caused fritction between her feet and the pavement
Reluctantly moving forward in life.
She held stale bread and spoiled meat.
Trying to make what she had left last as long as she could
She had scars on her burnt face
Nightmares of her past from wrong choices.
She walked from darkness into light.
Finding hope in the new path she embarked on.
She gripped the weather beaten weather strap.
Proving she suvived whatever was thrown at her.
She wore lice and hole ridden sweater and pants.
Got them from people who wanted her away.
She had sewage and rain soaked once-silk stockings.
A reminder of what she had sacificed.

Panda eyebacks
Acne skin
Why did she even have to put up with this.

Frost bitten nails
Blistered feet.
It hurt her that her appearance changed.

Her food ran out.
Her bag got ripped apart.
The only things she had left.

With paper thin cotton on her
With the endless path full of possibilities
She pushed on.

The lamps died.
The cotton disintegrated.
Nothing was left.

But with that few strands of silk still left on her feet.
She pushed herself on.
Someone still believed in her.
For that, even if she couldnt do it for herself,
She had to do it for that person,
who gave her hope and courage.

It turned to day.
With only one strand of thread left on her left feet,
she walked into a new world.
people embraced her new ways
they looked after her
they accepted her.

No more worries about meeting other's expectations.
No more worries about people overtaking her.
No more worries about not having enough.
No more worries about betrayal.
No more worries about quarrals.
No more worries about goodbyes.
No more worries about being alone in the world.

In the childhood days,
we dashed across the rich meadows,
poked fun at cows and chased chickens,
swam in the stream and climbed trees.

After admission to school,
we were enthusiastic little learners,
attentive, interactive in all lessons,
completing homework neatly in scrawls.

The levels of education rose,
we grew rebellious, unwilling to absorb,
dreamt an stoned at the teacher's lullaby,
half heartedly handed up illegible scribbles.

It was time to enter the world of adults,
take up a preferred occupation,
housewives, farmers, teachers, smiths,
doctors, lawyers, judges, council.

We toiled labouriously in our specialties,
feeling satisfied with our accomplishments,
disappointment and resent at failures,
nothing in ordinary tasks.

The little angels or princes and princesses came along,
chubby, skinny, dark, fair, loud, soft,
all different all unique all special
in their own little ways.

They grew up just like we did, 
only starting school faster,
getting jobs faster,
having kids later.

We watched as farmers gathered in villages,
which merged to become towns,
which with technology became cities,
which grew bigger to become a metrapolis

Times change,
people grow impatient at problems,
oblivious to the solutions around them,
overlooking the small matters.
 
The innocence that covered everyone of us as a child, 
was beautiful necessity to shield ourselves from evil,
but it was thin, fragile, easily blown away by wind,
or easily abandoned by youngsters today.

They grow corrupt, sly, malicious.
The words truth, honour, dignity  no longer exist in their dictionary.
They plot, execute, murder another phyically, emotionally, mentally.
The people die one by one from deceit, fraud, pretence.
They hide behind facades of honest and trusting beings.
The hypocrites then impose or backstab others.

Why are the new generations so complicated?
Are they not tired of the masquerade balls they keep attending?
Dosen't their imagination and creativity to make new masks all the time
just run out of ideas sometimes?

In the past we fear
hunger, dieases, war.
Now they fear
enemies, coinless, outcast.

It's amazing how the world can change so much.
How people can think so drastically far apart,
while others can be just scarily, oddly, ballantly honourable.

Title: Haunted raindrops
Torture: Guilt trip - July 4th
Author: machinatio 
Word count: 282
Warnings: Erm, any possible spoilers regaining rain?

The air seemed to get heavier as each moment passed by. It was surrounding him, weighing down on him, caging him. He fought a losing battle as the overcast skies seemed to pour any moment. For a second, he wanted to use the remaining of his fleeting strength and rush under the nearest tree and cover under the safety of the branches…

She noticed the weather getting more humid, and how he fought gallantly to stay calm as the dark skies forecasted an upcoming downpour. She herself held bad memories of the stinging pricks of rain against her ivory fair skin, the tiny droplets of guilt encasing her in her nightmares. She saw his stride falter, and entwined his hand with hers.

He felt her icy cold hands in his grip, and caught scraps of fear hidden behind the piercing violet-black eyes normally so full of strength, confidence and arrogance, that helped her through her split personalities. 

She saw relief flooding back into his shaken expression, which commonly displayed a “pissed-off” look, which with his striking spiky orange hair, got him labeled as the punk

Even as the raindrops suddenly poured on them, creating invisible cuts in their exterior facades, they gave hope by just squeezing and holding tight to the other’s hand

They will suffer the guilt of murdering someone for the rest of their lives, never forgiving the rain for being an accomplice in the deaths.

But with the shinigami freezing the haunted raindrops into beautiful snowflakes, the vizard heating and evaporating the remains of rain gathered in puddles, they will find courage through the partner’s determination and endure through the tormenting ordeals together, side by side, hand in hand.

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This is my first time posting something in public, and I apologise if this is a very bad piece. But please critic me as harshly as possible to allow me to improve my work. Thank you for reading it till the end and I hope you enjoyed the short fic which I really wanted to remain only a drabble of 100 words. 

Also, being a newbie at rating stuff, I would appreciate it if someone gave me a heads up on the different kinds of warnings existing. =\ Thanks again! =D

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