he dropped the chief

Encore (3/5)

Joint patrol,” Ichigo grumbles, shifting an inch-high stack of paperwork away from him, and dragging the next heap closer. “Joint. Logically you’d assume that the paperwork was split, right? Half the usual amount? So why the hell do we have twice as much?”

Across from him, on the other side of the mess hall table they’ve commandeered and drowned in forms that need to be filled out in triplicate, Shuuhei snorts. “Because bureaucracy thrives on killing our souls,” he mutters, tipping his own forms into their completed pile. It’s already impressively high. “Doesn’t help that we encountered Hollows. Or that five squad members got injured.”

Because they’re morons, Ichigo wants to growl, but he’s Shiba Kei and that’s not something he’s going to say about those under his command. He settles for a subtle roll of his eyes and picks up his pen once more. “At least neither of us had to go to shikai,” he says, partly to console himself, and contains a wince at the thought of those forms, which would add another three inches to their respective piles.

Shuuhei winces, too. “Argh. Don’t even speak of that.” Then he looks up, eyes narrowing, and tacks on, “You say that like low-level Hollows could make you use your shikai when even a fight against a captain can’t.”

Ichigo battles the urge to laugh. “Are you offended on your captain’s behalf, because I didn’t draw my sword in our match, Hisagi?”

That gets him an eye-roll. “Please, Shiba. I’ve known him since he was a brat in the Academy. His swelled head needs regular puncturing. You doing it simply means that I don’t have to. I’m just…curious. Has anyone seen your shikai?”

“I don’t even draw my sword often,” Ichigo admits with a shrug, sidestepping the question neatly. For all that he’s living a constructed life, he’s still not all that great at lying. “I can use kido and that’s usually enough, so why bother waking the old man up if I don’t have to?” Zangetsu more than did his duty in the war, after all.

Shuuhei looks faintly sympathetic and nods, going back to his work. It’s one of the things Ichigo appreciates most about Shuuhei, that he knows instinctively when to let a matter drop.

He appreciates a lot of things about Shuuhei, actually. Chief among them is the fact that Kurosaki Ichigo never really knew him, so Shiba Kei has a blank slate as far as friendship goes. It’s been that way with several of the lieutenants, because for all that Ichigo fought with them he was never one of them, at least until now. Kira and Tetsuzaemon, Nanao and Matsumoto—they’re all people he’s not entirely familiar with, and meeting them like this is good, easier than it would be if Renji and Rukia or even Ikkaku were lieutenants.

A sharp clatter of pots dropping makes both Ichigo and Shuuhei look up, startled, and Ichigo manages to catch the tail-end of a glare from one of the cooks. Only then does he realize that it’s close to ten at night, and he shares a faintly sheepish look with Shuuhei as they hurry to gather up their work.

“Might want to eat elsewhere for a while,” Shuuhei murmurs as they all but lunge out the door. “The cooks all seem to carry grudges, and if we’ve held them up…”

Ichigo thinks of what they could do to his food, from simply burning it to all number of creative poisons lifted from the Twelfth, and grimaces. “Good idea.”

They slow to a walk once they’re a safe distance away from the mess, nodding their greetings to a few shinigami hurrying by. Otherwise, they’re the only ones out, because it’s the middle of the week and Yamamoto has been assigning extra patrols lately. There’s something killing people in the Rukongai, massacring groups of travelers and attacking shinigami squads, and it’s pissing off just about every shinigami in the Seireitei. Each division has at least six ten-man squads on active duty right now, and another four on call and in reserve.

Apparently thinking along the same lines, Shuuhei sighs and shifts his stack of papers to his right arm. “More patrols tomorrow,” he says a touch wearily.

Ichigo makes a noise of agreement, fighting another wince. Captains are generally too important to lead patrols, so the task falls to the lieutenants. With their current schedule, it’s only a matter of time before they start dropping like flies from exhaustion, and they’ve yet to even so much as catch sight of the bastards doing this. “At least they keep putting the Sixth and Ninth together,” he offers. If he had to suffer through an entire patrol with Nemu or Yachiru he’d probably end up blowing some inner gasket.

Shuuhei’s again on the same wavelength—and really, Ichigo isn’t used to such a thing, not even with Rukia or Renji or Chad. With them, the understanding always came in the form of a fight, against or beside them. With Shuuhei, it’s more of a shared ease, and only-sane-man mentality when dealing with the other lieutenants. It makes Shuuhei’s soft huff entirely translatable, lets Ichigo read the amusement and weariness and disbelief that they’re surrounded by people like Matsumoto and Yachiru and Omeada as lieutenants.

“At least,” Shuuhei agrees. At the intersection of two streets, he pauses and looks longingly at the brightly lit and clearly raucous bar just a little ways down. “Damn, after this last week, I really want to get drunk.”

Ichigo snorts. “Well, if thought of your captain’s reaction is holding you back,” he says dryly, “I wouldn’t worry. That’s his hair in there, right?”

Shuuhei chuckles, but after one more lingering glance keeps walking. “Yes, well, he doesn’t have a 54th District patrol an hour after dawn tomorrow.”

With a groan at the reminder, Ichigo rubs a hand over his face. They’re close to the Sixth, and when he looks up, there’s a light on in the captain’s office. “I’ll be there,” Ichigo tells his friend. “Entirely conscious or not. Night, Hisagi.”

“Good night, Shiba,” Shuuhei answers, lifting one hand in a halfhearted wave before continuing into the dark. Ichigo stares after him for a long moment, a part of him wondering how all of this happened, how everything changed so much. He’s a lieutenant now, a hardworking and dedicated one. He has dinner with Kukaku and Ganju every weekend that he’s free. He’s a full-fledged superior officer, leading shinigami on patrols and into battle.

It’s a long way from being the hotheaded substitute shinigami dragged into a war he wasn’t ready for, or the powerless drifter he became afterwards.

Byakuya is at his desk when Ichigo enters the office, sorting papers into what Ichigo has privately termed his answer-now, put-off-for-later, and can’t-be-fucked piles. Doubtless the captain has fancier terms for them, but Ichigo’s never asked, and he likes his names.

“Captain,” he says politely. “You should go to bed, sir. It’s getting late.”

Byakuya blinks twice, and then raises his head. He’s too dignified to look weary, but there’s a certain set to his mouth, a collection of new lines between his brows that tell Ichigo he’s been here for far too long already. “Lieutenant Shiba,” he says after a moment. “I believe you have patrol in the morning with the Ninth.”

The ‘who the hell do you think you are, telling me what to do’ is only implied, if strongly so.

Ichigo nods, settling his paperwork in completed and fucking-hell-that’s-a-lot-left-to-do stacks on his desk. The insane patrol schedule also means he’s dealing with roughly five times the normal amount of paperwork, and Ichigo thinks longingly of his bed. He hasn’t seen it in a very, very long time. “Yes, sir. Hisagi and I were just going over some paperwork.”

There’s no answer, which is unusual—Byakuya is generally too polite to leave a conversation, even an inane one, hanging. Ichigo looks up, slightly concerned, because surely the captain isn’t that tired. But instead Byakuya is watching him with sharp grey eyes, which have always seen far too much. He’s the only one to realize that Shiba Kei is actually a thin veneer hiding Kurosaki Ichigo, after all.

There’s a long, full pause, and then Byakuya stands. He takes three steps from his desk to reach the window, turning to present Ichigo with his back. Another pause—not quite a hesitation, though Ichigo would probably call it such with anyone else—and then he asks deliberately, “Are you adjusting well to this life, Shiba-kun?”

The question catches Ichigo off guard, and he blinks, hands stilling on the pen set at the corner of his desk. He looks down at it, tracing the lines and shadows, and considers his answer. Is he adjusting, one full year into being a legitimate shinigami? He’d like to think so, at least. There haven’t been any complaints about his tenure as lieutenant, at least, or his handling of the squads. Moreover, on a personal level, it’s a relief to have a job, to be doing something. Ichigo’s never been fond of idleness. He also remembers Rukia’s stories about the Rukongai, the hollows, the danger. At least this way he can make a difference, more than he ever could on his own. And he has Kukaku and Ganju. They’re not something he would have ever considered a bonus, before, but Kukaku is like some strange mix of Yuzu and his father with a dash of his mother and Tatsuki thrown in for good measure, and Ganju is a solid, dependable friend-slash-brother-figure. Ichigo cares for them.

But…

“Your father,” Byakuya says, with strange care, “is not among the most dignified of the captains—”

It’s very, very hard for Ichigo not to snort loudly at that.

“—but he is still a captain, and trustworthy.” The Kuchiki lord half-turns, looking at his lieutenant, and finishes softly, “I know what it is to hold oneself at a distance from family, Kurosaki Ichigo. I have also become aware of the fact that it is a mistake.”

The use of his real name almost shocks Ichigo more than the meaning of the words, because it’s so close to careless, saying such a thing in what amounts to a public area, and Kuchiki Byakuya is anything, everything but careless. Then he grasps the content and swallows, heart suddenly lodged in his throat, because—

Because Yuzu and Karin and Goat-Face are all alive, are all here, and Ichigo hasn’t been able to keep himself from ghosting by their house in the middle of the city more than once, has had to physically restrain himself from asking Momo how the old man is doing. He’d thought, arriving in Soul Society, that a little bit of distance was good. They hadn’t come to see him, and he wouldn’t have been able to see them even if they had, back when he was human. And then in Soul Society he’d had Kukaku, and then Eiji and the Academy, and then the division, and he’s entirely stopped himself from thinking about his family.

They’re safe here. They’re safe and they don’t need him to protect them anymore. Surely their lives will be better without a reminder of the reason they were killed in the first place.

Apparently Byakuya isn’t waiting for a response, because he turns, picks up a few sheets of paper, and crosses the room to lay them on Ichigo’s desk. “Please see that those are delivered directly to Captain Kurosaki in the Fifth before tomorrow evening,” he says formally, and then inclines his head in an elegant farewell and sweeps out of the office entirely.

A little dazed, Ichigo wonders if Byakuya would consider teaching him to walk like that. It’s definitely impressive, in a fuck-off-I’m-busy-and-you’re-insignificant kind of way.

Almost without conscious thought, his eyes drop to the papers on his desk. They’re nothing urgent—should he chose to embrace his inner coward, he could send them off with a seated officer in the morning and it wouldn’t change anything. Except that it would, because Byakuya just gave Ichigo the best excuse he’ll ever get for facing his mistakes and putting them to right.

Ichigo’s never, ever in his life been a coward, and being in his afterlife now isn’t about to change that.

Taking a careful breath, Ichigo picks up the forms and quickly neatens them, then turns off the office lights and heads out the door. There are no second thoughts, no hesitations—Ichigo’s the type who doesn’t waver once he’s made up his mind. He’s faced down monsters and would-be gods and Kukaku in a snit. This…this won’t be easy, but as Ichigo hurries along darkened streets, the night breeze tugging at his shihakusho, he’s almost…relieved.

Byakuya presented it as a choice, a left-or-right kind of option, and those are the kinds of choices Ichigo’s always been good at. He picks one, sets his feet on the path, and doesn’t waver. Urahara said once that his greatest ability was his growth rate, but Ichigo likes to think that his growth rate is only what it is because of his determination.


He checks the Fifth first, but the captain’s office is dark and the building is empty—to be expected, perhaps, because Goat-Face has Yuzu and Karin waiting for him at home, and he’s not one to ask his officers to work late if he isn’t as well. Without letting himself think about it, Ichigo continues on, heading for the neat little house by the eastern wall, set up as a family residence when Isshin took control of the Fifth.

It’s a pretty house, neat and orderly, and Ichigo can see Yuzu’s hand in the decoration and cheerful hominess of it. He strides up to the door, settling his courage around himself like armor, and glances his fingers over Zangetsu’s hilt for luck. The sword hums at him, approving and supportive, and Ichigo only pauses to check that the lights are all still on before he knocks politely at the door.

The resulting ruckus inside is entirely familiar, and Ichigo is fairly certain he hears Karin kick their father into at least two walls before she calls, “One second,” and there’s the sound of a lock being undone.

“What do you want? It’s late?” she asks as she pulls open the door, and then her breathing stutters ever so faintly and she goes still, staring at him. Ichigo is staring right back, though, because Karin’s always been mature, especially for her age, but now…

Now she’s a teenager, a young woman, and Ichigo has seen her at a distance, teaching the kids around the city to play soccer and generally raising hell, but this—seeing her up close is entirely different.

“Can I come in?” he asks quietly.

Mutely, Karin steps back, opening the door all the way so he can move past her. Ichigo does, even as thundering footsteps sound and a voice cries, “Who is it, my beautiful darling daughter? If it’s a robber, Daddy will save you!”

That seems to jerk Karin out of her shock, and she growls, “Who the hell needs saving?!” as she turns, performing an impressive kick that knocks their father, captain of the Fifth Division, right back into the wall.

“Oh, what a good kick! Daddy is so proud!” Isshin warbles, pulling himself out of the plaster, and Ichigo snorts before he can stop himself. Instantly, Goat-Face shifts his attention to him, and like Karin, he goes still.

Ichigo takes an unobtrusive breath, steeling himself, and then looks at his sister. “Goat-Face still giving you hell?” he asks, mouth tilting up at the corner in the half-smile that Kurosaki Ichigo always reserved for his sisters alone.

“Ichi-nii,” Karin breathes, eyes wide.

The honorific is one she stopped using years ago, and it warms something inside of Ichigo to hear it. He reaches out and ruffles her hair with a faint smile. “Hey, Karin.”

With a sound that could be a growl or a sob, Karin launches herself at him and wraps her arms firmly around his stomach. Ichigo stumbles back a step and then hugs her in return, feeling warm all the way down to his toes. He hadn’t allowed himself to think about their reaction before, hadn’t wanted to consider blame and rejection, but the lack of it is still staggering.

There’s a gasp, a cry, and another small body slamming into his side. Ichigo chuckles and shifts his grip to accommodate Yuzu as well, murmuring, “Hey, Yuzu. You look beautiful. Both of you. Geez, when did you manage to grow up?”

Karin punches him in the ribs. “While you were off playing lieutenant and ignoring your family,” she growls at him, but tellingly doesn’t move away. “I—we didn’t know it was you, Ichi-nii. You acted so different, and… Why didn’t you say something?”

Ichigo looks up to meet his father’s eyes. Isshin is standing in the middle of the hallway, face unnervingly blank and arms crossed over his chest. The last time Ichigo saw him was right before the final confrontation with Aizen, right before Aizen’s high-ranking Hollows converged on the Kurosaki house and Isshin went down fighting, along with Ichigo’s sisters.

“You died because of me,” he says honestly. “Because I chose to fight. How could I come back, after that?”

Isshin closes his eyes as though in pain, but steps forward. He wraps a hand around Ichigo’s shoulder and tugs him fully upright, then holds him at arm’s length and simply looks at him. His gaze lingers on the black hair, the lieutenant’s armband, the white-wrapped hilt of the katana peeking over Ichigo’s shoulder. Then he meets Ichigo’s eyes, and the blank look softens into something warm and proud and unspeakably relieved. He smiles and Ichigo can’t help but smile back.

“Lieutenant, huh?” his father asks lightly.

“I think Kukaku-nee-san would have butchered me and used my corpse for fertilizer if I made anything below fourth seat,” Ichigo admits, fighting back a shiver. With Kukaku, such things are less threats and more inevitable promises to be avoided at all costs.

Isshin laughs, shooing the girls away and dragging Ichigo into a tight, back-slapping hug. “That would be Kukaku,” he says fondly, and grins at his son. “Welcome home, Ichigo.”

“I’m back,” Ichigo answers quietly, and for the first time in a very long while, it’s really true.

He’s home.


“You look like hell,” Shuuhei says promptly when his newest friend rounds the corner. “Did you get any sleep at all, Shiba?”

“Good morning to you, too, Hisagi,” Kei mutters, and really, Shuuhei’s seen him look bad before—they’re all running themselves down to the bone, these days—but this is entirely different. The normally pristine lieutenant is still neat, but there’s a nearly rumpled air to him, and deep, dark circles under his eyes. Still, regardless of that, he looks almost…light, as though some weight has been lifted off of his shoulders.

Still awful, but also happy.

Shuuhei studies his friend critically. The Shiba is usually keyed up before a patrol, but now he’s relaxed. The black ponytail isn’t quite as tight as normal, giving him a more comfortable look, and there’s a red scarf tied like a sash around his waist. That’s definitely new, and by the look of it it’s a woman’s scarf, so the obvious conclusion is…

“You got laid?” Shuuhei demands.

He gets the satisfaction of seeing Shiba Kei, genius and prodigy, flush a dull red from the tips of his ears down to his collarbones and start spluttering. “Wh-what? No! Why the hell would you think that?”

Shuuhei snorts, reaching out to touch a stray piece of black hair that has the audacity to escape its tie and frame Kei’s face. “Because for once it doesn’t look like you used a winch to pull your hair back, you’re wearing the same uniform as yesterday—don’t try to deny it, you spilled tea on the edge of your sleeve and I can see the stain—you’re wearing a sash that would make Rangiku envious, and you look like you got maybe an hour of sleep at the most. Logically…” He trails off meaningfully.

Kei’s face goes about four shades darker. “No! The scarf was a gift from my sister. I spent time with my family last night!”

“What? That’s boring,” Shuuhei complains, disappointed, but he takes a step back. “And here I was hoping to live vicariously through you. But I suppose if you had to endure a night with Shiba Kukaku that’s punishment enough.”

Kei mutters something Shuuhei is probably lucky not to catch, and drops the subject like a ton of bricks—and with about that much subtlety, as well. “We’ve got the 54th District today, right?” he asks, turning away and heading for where their squads are assembled. “Western quadrant?”

Because he’s feeling magnanimous, Shuuhei doesn’t call the other lieutenant on it, simply following the swaying ponytail with a faint, amused smile. “Of course. Akon says they’ve been picking up strange reiatsu readings bouncing around the district, and he wants us to check it out.” Seeing the fairly blank look on Kei’s face, Shuuhei rolls his eyes a little. The man is really terrible at matching names with faces. “You know, that guy I was eating lunch with the other day? Brown hair, horns, shares his skin color with an anemic corpse? Second in command of the Shinigami Research and Development Institute?”

With a matching roll of his eyes, Kei flicks a hand in acknowledgement and calls to his shinigami, “Squad Seven, all accounted for?”

The squad leader, a small woman with dark green hair, salutes as she steps forward. “Yes, Lieutenant Shiba!”

With a faint wince at the volume, Shuuhei takes a look at his own men. “Squad Fifteen, any problems?”

“None, Lieutenant Hisagi,” the young man at the front offers with a grin. “All present and prepared.”

Shuuhei and Kei exchange glances, holding a silent debate, and then Kei inclines his head, ceding control of the mission to the older lieutenant. With a nod of thanks, Shuuhei steps forward. “All right, let’s move out.”


“Something’s weird about this,” Shuuhei murmurs, just loud enough for Ichigo to hear.

Crouched on the ground in front of him, studying the markings in the muddy earth, Ichigo nods in silent understanding. The weird reiatsu signatures keep flitting around the district, pausing for barely a handful of seconds before they move on again, and it’s making Ichigo and Shuuhei both a little twitchy. It doesn’t feel like a Hollow, either, but the bodies of a group of travelers at the last site are more than enough to show it’s just as deadly as one.

“I don’t like it,” Ichigo agrees, looking back at the tracks in the dirt. There are no settlements around here, and the others have already checked the area for wanderers, of whom there are none. They’re not actually that far behind whatever the thing jumping around the district is, but these…

These are, without a doubt, human tracks. From several humans, if Ichigo isn’t mistaken. He can’t feel any reiatsu, either, which is another sign that something’s wrong.

An idea flickers through his thoughts, and he rises to his feet. “Hold on, I’m going to try something.”

Shuuhei steps back, looking wary. “What?”

Closing his eyes, Ichigo focuses on the reiatsu shivering in the air around him, rising in sparks and coils, and concentrates on compressing and visualizing the ribbons of reiraku. “Spirit ribbons,” he says shortly. “Shinigami show up red, Hollows are black, and everyone else is white. Even if we can’t track them like this, it will give us an idea of what we’re facing.”

“Seeing reiraku is a high-level technique,” Shuuhei says, but he sounds interested.

Before Ichigo can answer, the awareness just…snaps into place around him, and he opens his eyes with a faintly satisfied smile. “Got it,” he murmurs, surveying the whirl of red around him. It’s easy enough to pick out the familiar feel of his squad, and Shuuhei’s squad only takes a moment longer. Carefully, he drops into a crouch again, studying the air above the footprints, and consciously blanks his face to keep from scowling and/or swearing.

“Shiba?” Shuuhei asks sharply.

“What’s the body count these guys have racked up?” Ichigo asks tightly, rather than answering. He keeps his eyes fixed on the damning ribbons of power twisting across his vision.

“Over fifty civilians,” Shuuhei says, and he’s beginning to sound grim. Like he can guess what Ichigo found, but doesn’t like it. Ichigo doesn’t blame him; he doesn’t like it at all, either. “And they put two squads in the hospital before we started joint patrols. Six dead, eleven with serious wounds, three with no chance of recovery.”

Ichigo pushes to his feet again, trying his best not to grind his teeth. “Shinigami,” he explains flatly. “Their reiraku is red. Damn it.”

Something I need

Myself and @outside-the-government worked on this! Hope you enjoy babe!!

@youre-on-a-starship

Originally posted by jhnmclghln





If she could slam a door she would. Alex was so mad it was on the edge of pissed. Her boyfriend stood on the hallway side of her quarters. Scotty had no clue what he had done this time to engage her wrath, but would make it better if he could. She just screamed a quick “GET OUT!” and pressed the controls on her side of the door. He knew better than using his Chief override code. He dropped his head and walked down the corridor to the on ship bar. Scotty finally crawled into his own bed around 4 am.

Alex woke up late the next morning. She is entitled to, it being her birthday and all. Lazily going through her day she took a relaxing bath, read a couple of articles on a new settlement’s history, she even made some sushi with what she could out of the replicator. She began to wonder if her standing dinner date with Scotty still stood after the argument they had. She even took out her padd to send him a message more than a couple of times.

Meanwhile down in Engineering, all hell was breaking loose. The warp reactor was offline and the containment field kept malfunctioning. Scotty was ready to pull his hair out. He had already climbed in too many Jefferies tubes to count. He was covered head to toe in grease but kept working. He got an alarm of a fire in Nacelle 2 and he rushed to help his crew. By the time he had finished with that he was more worse for wear. He glanced down at his watch and saw that it was already 1150 at night. “Ach, Alex’s birthday is today! Gotta run chaps I’ll see you in a bit.”

Alex had cried herself to sleep in her fancy clothes for their date. By 10 pm she assumed he had just stood her up. She was curled up around a pillow when Scotty used his override code to come into her room. Seeing her asleep with red puffy cheeks he couldn’t stand it. He moved to her replicator and made quick work of requesting her favorite cupcake. From the cabinet above the sink he found the little yellow candle he had been looking for. He lit it and placed it in the cupcake and sat on the edge of her bed. “Alex love, can you wake up for me please? I wanna do this right and we only have a minute left to today. Come on love do this for me.”

Alex woke slowly hearing her name from the Scot. She opened her eyes and took in his appearance in the dim lighting. “Scotty Oh My Gosh look at you! You look a mess. What happened?” Looking down at his still smoking and partially burnt uniform and his hands he realized he hadn’t cleaned up before coming to see her. “Love don’t worry about me now blow out the candle and make a wish!” He held up the small cupcake with a lit candle. Alex’s heart melted and a smile broke out on her face. Closing her eyes, she made her wish and blew out her candle. “What’d you wish for?” Scotty said with a smirk. She sighed and said “It already came true, you made it here for my birthday. That’s all I wished for.” He leaned over and gave her a quick kiss on the lips and a pat on the head. She laughed and said “Hit the shower hot shot then we can see if we can find you a snack.”

thecirclecontinues  asked:

Ummm is it weird to ask you to explain a little about your culture cause i wanted to learn about it but couldnt find much on it

#same LOL sorry thats just a little ironic to hear. 

there’s not much left, thanks to the missionaries. we’re called the baxoje [bah’KO-jay] (more well known as ioway but that was another tribe naming us to white ppl so i prefer to not use it cause yanno iowa is iowa and not baxoje thanks) and idk we were a rad and sexy hot nation with more style than all of europe combined

this is Great Walker below, he was a fucking legendarily strong badass and he was super close to my ancestor Chief White Cloud, total best buds, and they did all this crazy shit like escape prison and assassins together and scalped tons of white guys but in the end they had a falling out and Great Walker refused to compromise with invaders. i admire him a lot for his courage and loyalty to his people, even turning away from his best friend/Chief for what he believed in. an assassin finally got to him while he was sleeping, he went rogue for a while with a small band of warriors. live by the sword die by the sword kind of thing, he refused to submit and drop his weapons.

this is my direct ancestor Chief White Cloud, he was a good man. he trusted white people too much, he was so optimistic and believed in their humanity too much. he tried to reason with them and discuss things and they ended up tricking him into signing what he thought was peace treaties, but really he was signing away land for chump change- without a translator, might i add.

he went overseas to indulge white folks in their fascination with culture (shocking) and try to raise funds and support for our people, since we were being pushed out of our homelands and into a rez at the time. while he was gone with a group of clan elders, the US Gov decided to finally toss coins in our direction for the ancestral land they stole out from under us (pipestone MN to the missouri river). since he was gone trying to raise money for our starving people, they handed all that money for all our lands to the missionaries who set up shop on our rez. they spent it all on a church and a reform school where they punished children for speaking our language, cut their hair, and erased our culture.

haha :) lol

umm but yeah what else. i always liked our traditional political system. ive never been fond of western ideas of politics but hearing about our own makes the most sense to me. black bear clan, my clan (and white cloud’s) was the ruling clan in the fall and winters. buffalo clan ruled in the spring and summers. buffalo clan were good at agriculture and during the springs and summers our nation formed what was pretty much cities ranging from kansas city to saint louis, especially around the delta region feeding the missouri river in to the mississippi. some other clans had more power/responsibilities at this time, like buffalo clan had their crew of clans and bear clan did, too.

in the fall and winter the bear clan would take over with the wolf clan at their side to hunt and provide for everyone through a more old-fashioned way of tracking down game. our people would head north and find shelter, basically hunker down for the winter while the bear clan got them through the worst of it. i do believe bear clan and wolf clan were the warring clans too, meaning they would jump up first when there was a threat. though the eagle clan ruled during war, they had the bear and wolf right behind them. very old clans, some of the first to manifest in our stories. lots of warriors in the fall/winter ruling clans. 

anyways, if bear clan or buffalo clan abused their power, it got checked in a matter of months. all decisions were made in a counsel of the active chief and the leaders of all 7 clans:  Black Bear, Buffalo, Eagle, Wolf, Elk, Pigeon, Owl. some of them we know next to nothing about anymore, and there’s word that there used to be a Snake and Beaver Clan, too. lots of stuff was lost, it was a cultural genocide.

each clan had their specialities, their skills, their place and their role within the nation. they also had their own clan secrets. every clan has their own story about how all the clans came together to form the baxoje, and generally a bear clan person would never hear the eagle clan’s story. some things were just too private, even within the same people. each clan had their bundles and medicine to offer. 

the elk clan were the fire masters and also brought mihxoge medicine/spirit into our culture, so after a time every clan had elk blood mixed in and mihxoge born to their clan. pigeon clan was a peace making clan. 

each clan was given a gift, a responsibility, and the creator brought us together to complete each other as a people. our creation stories might differ, but thats constant in all of them. our people were given the responsibility to be the guardians of the red pipestone to use for ceremonial pipes. 

bleh idk, look up more if youre interested. also im pretty sure im the only person ever posting in the “baxoje” or “ioway” tags other than like Iowa archeological/academic blogs. 

Reading Kindess in the Tides

For @shae-c-art, who had so many good requests that I had trouble choosing. This is based on the prompt: Sick/Injured with caretaking, and no explicit sex. By @nyagosstar

Summary: Bull’s been visiting Krem in the hospital every day, honestly looking forward to the time when he’s released. Only now, Krem’s got a new roommate, a quiet man who never has any visitors and doesn’t have anywhere to go.

Modern AU, no magic

References to violence and injury, but nothing on screen

Teen audiences and up rating

The scent of industrial cleaner over sickness and people trying too hard to live hits Bull hard as the automatic doors whoosh open. Maybe for most people, the smell wouldn’t be so bad until they were farther into the hospital, but he’s got a good nose, or maybe a bad one, considering all of the gross things he gets to smell. Either way, there’s no mistaking the scent. The Qun and he parted ways a while ago, but there are things he still misses. The way they treated the sick and failing, keeping them comfortable and calm instead of in a too-cold box-like prison.

He shakes off the thoughts and heads for Krem’s room on the third floor. He’s been visiting every day for a week, so some of the staff recognize him, don’t ask him where he’s going or if he needs help, the way they do when they’re not sure if he’s going to cause trouble.

Krem’s awake, propped up a little in bed and watching the television on the far wall. He smiles. “Hey, Chief.”

Bull drops a stack of magazines on the bedside table and sinks into the chair at his side. He looks good, today. Less pale, cheerful smile. Wouldn’t believe looking at him that just five days ago no one knew if he was going to make it another day. That’s the kind of thing that happens when someone ignores abdominal pain until an appendix bursts in the middle of the night. He’d give Krem more shit about it, but honestly, it’s the most scared he’s ever been, hearing Krem’s slurred, panicked voice in the middle of the night, calling him instead of an emergency number. “What’s on the schedule today?”

Krem points with the remote. “Judge shows.”

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