It was obvious, his destiny. He was the hero, brave, handsome and strong. And there was the princess, breathtakingly beautiful, sensitive, nice and quiet, with the right thing to say always on her lips. They were from the same world, and she knew, without a shadow of a doubt, exactly what would have happened to Ichigo Kurosaki if he hadn't been able to see ghosts. If he had been normal. Shy asking out. Awkward first date. Even more awkward first kiss. Boyfriend and girlfriend. Proposal, marriage, babies, textbook. They'd have lived together, died together, and spent their time in Soul Society together and neither of them would have had any regrets. She had said she'd have felt the same if she had lived five lifetimes. If he'd been normal. If that madman hadn't set everything up, if she hadn't sat and explained to the human with an odd amount of spiritual pressure for a whole twenty minutes the real concept of death and been looking for the hollow, if she had just released her sword and stopped the hollow in its tracks instead of running at it and getting a bite taken out of her shoulder. If she'd returned to Soul Society after her mission, stayed unseated, stayed a Kuchiki until her brother married her off.

Because that's how it should have been. Destiny, fate, whatever. The two worlds separated as they should be. The hero and the heroine of their story. And then the odd one out no matter where she went, how she lived, everyone she felt a connection with dying around her.

These were the thoughts of the Thirteenth Squad's lieutenant, Rukia Kuchiki, the night Ichigo Kurosaki had beaten the absolute shit out of Yhwach, leader of the Wandenreich, at points with his bare hands. But it hadn't been like the final battle with Aizen, and she thinks that that might have been why his raw rage had been more evident this time. Ichigo Kurosaki had seen Rukia Kuchiki's Bankai for the first time as the enemy, with her brother proudly smirking at his shocked face whilst she had flash stepped up to the opponent and released practically in his face, such a powerful release that he could barely breath through the ice. He'd stayed stock still whilst, with ease and grace, she had systematically and blindingly quickly began destroying Yhwach, her white hair and icy crown barely flowing around her. It was when she hadn't quite anticipated a counter-attack, her ice-covered shoulder pads being the only thing between full-bodied Rukia and decapitated Rukia that he had sprang into action, his two Bankai swords moving so quickly Byakuya couldn't comprehend them, his bare chest unprotected, his eyes blaring with anger as his hollow screamed in his head to let him out, let him kill, let him rip-

And, after a fashion, once he'd realised that his anger towards this man for nearly decapitating this girl would never, ever subside – just like after Grimmjow shoved his hand through her stomach, or when Aizen had taken the Hogyoku straight out of her chest – he let his hollow out. He dropped his swords, and used his hands, ripped off an arm, crushing a cheekbone under a punch so powerful, kept going until the Wandenreich leader didn't move anymore, and he knew would never move again.

He'd turned to the invader, the one who had interrupted his human destiny, with hollow eyes blending back to brown, the tiny sliver of hollow mask dropping like dust off his jaw. She was still in Bankai, looking more than a little shocked at the violence she had just seen the human teenager inflict before her, not one drop of blood staining her white dress or hair. She looked like he had never seen before, immensely beautiful, stunningly out of place among the blood and warriors of the room. Such beauty shouldn't have been in this place.

But it was only her second release of Bankai, and, again she began to crack; before her brother could even make a move, the younger man was before her, hands in her hair, eyes staring into hers, telling her to breathe, just breathe and let it go slowly. The black of her hair re-emerged in a terrifyingly similar display to when they had said goodbye almost two years ago, and her eyes glittered a deeper purple-blue to the violet of her Bankai. They had won, and they were safe.

So here she sat now, mentally and physically exhausted, but still keeping her eyes open. She sat on a bed in the Eighth Squad's barracks, one of the only ones still standing, her eyes slightly glazed as she watched Ichigo move about the room, doing his best with limited resources to make himself ready for bed, the dirt and grime removed from his face and wet hair pushed back betraying just how tired his face told her he was. And, for once, she felt no regret for what she had done to him.

In this world, there are Orhime Inoues, and there are Rukia Kuchikis. More often than not, the Orihimes, beautiful and confident, will win at life. They are the heroines, and they will have their heroes. It was how destiny and fate intended it, life and film alike depicted it, children imagined it. But that wasn't how this story had gone. The one painted by Ichigo Kurosaki's side alone had never been Orihime Inoue. It had always been her.

Because he had always needed a moon by his side, someone his polar opposite, even being from a different world, to help him shine brighter. When he was tired, the moon was there to watch over the world, to support him, even when he didn't know he needed supporting, so that when he did shine, it was as brightly as he could. And she needed him; without the sun, the moon would be born, live and die in darkness. He was her light.

And now he was stuck here. He could never go home, not to visit, not to watch his sisters graduate, attend his friends' weddings, be a godfather at a christening. But the way he smiled, the sun peeking through, his tired, shattered eyes, as he quietly, jokingly talked of what position he should ask for in the Gotei 13 when he talked to the High Commander tomorrow, asked her if he wanted to help her train her Bankai, spearing a piece of chicken from her bowl with her fork and talking with it still in his mouth whilst she half-heartedly kicked him for bad manners. The way he smiled let her know that she had nothing to be sorry for, and the way she felt, she couldn't have been sorry even if she'd tried.

She told him she hoped they'd never be so short of beds that they'd have to share again cheekily as he climbed under the covers beside her and she arranged herself the same way, even though both knew they would never sleep alone again, and she pretended to have dozed off by the time he rolled over, put his nose in her hair, and thanked God that she hadn't been hurt ("for once"). She kicked him out of her personal space in the morning, dressed in the bathroom, and nothing changed.

She couldn't care if they didn't even kiss for another 10 years (though, obviously, it didn't take that long. Neither of them were that oblivious).

Because Rukia Kuchiki was no princess. She was no Orihime Inoue. She wasn't beautiful, face and body, quiet and not violent, with a peaceful disposition and slightly impatient for her knight in shining armour. She would never tell Ichigo she would love him five lifetimes over because she didn't need to. She was stronger. And if their paths hadn't intertwined, no one would ever have imagined that she and Ichigo could ever have been anything to each other.

But that was okay. Rukia Kuchiki was no princess. Why would she ever want to be? She'd been the underdog, she'd come up the rear, completely unpredicted. She'd burst in, stopped the rain, stopped his life and started his life in one fell swoop. She'd been glorious when he'd been there, and kept going strong when he'd been gone. He was the sun and she was the moon, and if he was the King, she couldn't be the princess.

She was the Queen.

I've always kept up with the Bleach manga, but I'd completely lost inspiration for writing. Rukia's Bankai and personally making some decisions about how I felt about myself kinda edged me to writing this - which I did in a little over half an hour. Hopefully knowing this will spur me on to writing two essays due in in the next few weeks, haha!
Let me know if there's any grammatical mistakes, as these send me crazy, and any constructive criticism would be so helpful - my essay feedbacks have been very vague as of late, just saying I have issues with style, so if you review you're helping me with my degree if we're honest.

Finally, if you haven't checked out the last few manga chapters of Bleach, definitely do so. Rukia in Bankai is what I think to be the best art Tite Kubo has ever produced, and a few chapters previous to that, girl looks HOT as Snow White.

Stay safe.