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Entry tags:
monthly word count - may
TOTAL: 11 651
... that's ALL?
fukken space fic stalling so hard and blocking everything else. UGH.
POSTED
-bleach: grimmichi soulmates: The one where you get songs stuck in your head (1 683 words)
-bleach: daemon AU: Better Than TV (1 791 words, keigo pov on grimmjow/ichigo)
also posted but written earlier: Bloodsport chapters 1&2 (psionics in space, grimmjow/ichigo, enemies to lovers, unethical experimentation, cannibalism mentions, etc)
WIP
-bleach: grimmichi soulmates: sharing dreams (108 words)
-bleach: daemon AU: ... probably first kiss fic? (306 words)
-bleach: daemon AU: outside pov on first date (3 825 words)
-girl genius: psychic wolves (22 words) (= _____= At Least The Scene Is Complete haaaaaa ha ha.)
-ofic: dhalion & immanuel (672 words) (mother of DICK i was supposed to have this published in MARCH aaaaaaaaazlmjbg sldgntnb rrygyh)
-bleach: bloodsport chapter 3 - grimmichi (3 244 words, of which i probably have to throw away upwards of 2700, some of which are VERY GOOD but DO NOT FIT i am so ughsdmbjsm. so much hate. hate and false starts. hate and false starts and cockblocking. hate.)
--
"--no, twist your wrist more, like so, niño--"
"Oh, I see! Thanks, Donbori."
"It's Dordoni," Dordoni Alessandro del Soccacio, arrancar cientecimo tercero, Ex-Espada, huffs back without breaking his stance.
Grimmjow leans against the doorway to watch, arms crossed. Dordoni and Kurosaki are facing off on the stretch of dead earth in front of Waki and Kisuke's shop with thin strips of wood in hand like swords, a black lioness orbiting a just-as-black cow.
It's apparently a camarguaise cow used in bullfighting, all lean and mean and well-horned, and not at all some kind of dairy cattle. It's an insult to even mention the two might be related.
"My bad, Dormancy," Kurosaki says, apparently entirely earnest, as he lunges with his little bit of wood held like a fencing foil to try to poke Dordoni in the guts; but Dordoni's eyes flick to the door and he steps back, lifting up the tip of his improvised sword.
Grimmjow isn't too sure what his face is doing but apparently it's giving the guy a reason to look cautious. Whatever.
"Someone's there? Hey," Kurosaki says carelessly, waving his wood-holding hand and barely glancing back at the door. Because he can't see shit, and he doesn't wanna look like he's trying anyway. Rikuto betrays him, squinting past the cow's legs. "You wanna spar too, just get in a gigai and we can have a three way."
That's pretty fucking kinky, Grimmjow wants to say. Grimmjow wants Leucanthe to have said.
Or maybe something about how he thought Kurosaki didn't wanna have to share.
It does things to him, watching Kurosaki play at swords, and none of them are good, joke-inducing things.
"Did you just come back, Don Grimmjow?"
It's... a little gratifying when both Kurosakis immediately turn to the door, sword and cow forgotten. "Grimmjow? Oh thank fuck."
------------
They've become regulars in the last few months, though they never get on or off at the same station. They keep sitting in the very middle of the car, facing the doors, no matter if Gorō and Hanako are already there or not. Goro's been having an interesting time trying to map their roaming area. He has their home base pegged as Naruki City, or maybe Karakura, but they range wide.
Anyway the point is, he likes to people-watch, and he likes to try to guess things about people, and so far he is not guessing great things. The man has never bothered a passenger save by existing around them but he is trouble from the end of his daemon's tail to the tips of his hair. Dyed hair can be tolerated -- barely -- in teenagers, but this man is in his twenties. What kind of respectable job would accept it?
It's a Sunday morning and Blue steps into the car, but he isn't alone.
Orange-dyed hair, loose gait, watchful eyes but relaxed shoulders, very fit, only half a hand shorter or thereabout. Blue's a tall one, so that's not dainty, but Orange is built more Japanese, not half-whatever heavier stock Blue must be coming from based on those cheekbones -- or based on the matching eyes.
... And then Hanako's ears twitch, and he looks at the door again in time to see two panthers slink in shoulder to shoulder. One of them sprawls out in her accustomed spot; the other, taller one sits prim and proper beside her, and snorts. "You know you're not supposed to block half the aisle, right?"
The shorter one curls up her lip to flash fangs. "I'm not?"
"Sometimes I'd almost think you were raised by wild beasts."
The orange-haired man snorts, lips curved up just a bit at the corners, and he sits besides Blue with his elbow sticking out for a solid nudge. Blue sneers, upper lip curling up with more tired annoyance than active hostility, and dang if it doesn't feel like he should flash fangs too. "Don't you start in on me, Kurosaki. I'll chuck you out on the rails, see if I don't."
Both apparently-Kurosakis laugh, low and unexpectedly politely quiet. Gorō notes the name in a corner of his mind by pure professional habit.
"Of course I was raised by wild beasts," Blue finishes, entirely deadpan. Both Kurosakis snort. "I am a wild beast."
The Kurosakis turn to stare with pointed pity, though their eyes are light, dancing with laughter. Gorō tries not to look like he's paying attention, but this is fascinating. This wry, self-directed sarcasm is not something he expected. Not from such a confrontational, fringe-looking man.
"Buddy," the human Kurosaki says with heavy incredulity. "You have a favorite seat on the train. You have a favorite train, you have a commute. I'm still feeling cheated I don't get to see you in salaryman duds after all. You have literally never been less wild in your lives."
"I can get a briefcase and beat you to death with it," Blue growls, sinking just barely into his seat.
------------
"There is a town ahead, you're aware."
"Uh huh." Zekh's ears flicked; he breathed in the wind carefully. Nothing approaching yet.
"The closer you are to contested territory and the farther from the capitol and the less likely they are to let a lone Casterian through without making it an issue. Papers or not."
Well, of course. It was easy to be civil with a former enemy when you'd never been directly menaced, and quite another thing when you still remembered waking up to cannonade and hosting wounded too badly hurt to even send them home. "Is that so?"
Miss Sirin clicked her tongue; didn't bother hiding her expression then, her annoyance.
"You know it is. Are you going through Antrifalvie?"
Immanuel hummed, gazing at the road ahead absently, though Zekh's eyes stayed on her. His familiar was lying down along the second horse's back, and in his sight the red of the doe's pelt seemed oddly green.
"Let me guess," she said dryly. "If they stop you, you'll go through them."
Immanuel, pettily, gave her a pleasant smile.
------------
No, he thought with a sudden burst of -- unpleasant -- fear -- he couldn't leave, Ichigo had him caught, so why should Ichigo be--
"-- Ah. You got a little craving, huh?"
His prey was staring into his eyes, knife-narrow but not... Not aggressive, not mean.
"I look tasty right now?"
Ichigo growled, irritated and tense with feelings he couldn't get a grip on.
"It happens," his prey said, really casually from someone who was pinned with horns and teeth inches from hot pulsing arteries. He felt less calm than he sounded, but -- knife's edge, danger-all-around-but-I-can-do-this. Battle-calm.
Like their sharpshooter before another impossible kill. Like (cousin, friend, mine) Ishida when he brought up a hail of arrows and controlled every single one to perfection. Like Candice when--
"It's a thing for arrancars in resurreccion."
"I'm not an arrancar!" shot out of Ichigo's mouth before he could even think, immediate and offended.
Pure astonishment sparked bright and sudden in his prey's heart, and then right on its heels came a burst of pleasure-approval-pride. Ichigo felt an odd rising heat in return in his still-masked face, his throat. "Holy shit, you speak."
"You speak," Ichigo growled back, still off-balance. Pointless and slow as words were, it was a battlefield on which he sure as hell wasn't yielding.
His prey seemed nothing but happy about it. It was... Odd. Disorienting. He tightened his tail's grip a little bit, and then loosened it fast when a little hiss of pain made it out of the man's mouth.
"I'm a mouthy bastard in general. You are a primal arrancar who's at best three weeks old."
... that's ALL?
fukken space fic stalling so hard and blocking everything else. UGH.
POSTED
-bleach: grimmichi soulmates: The one where you get songs stuck in your head (1 683 words)
-bleach: daemon AU: Better Than TV (1 791 words, keigo pov on grimmjow/ichigo)
also posted but written earlier: Bloodsport chapters 1&2 (psionics in space, grimmjow/ichigo, enemies to lovers, unethical experimentation, cannibalism mentions, etc)
WIP
-bleach: grimmichi soulmates: sharing dreams (108 words)
-bleach: daemon AU: ... probably first kiss fic? (306 words)
-bleach: daemon AU: outside pov on first date (3 825 words)
-girl genius: psychic wolves (22 words) (= _____= At Least The Scene Is Complete haaaaaa ha ha.)
-ofic: dhalion & immanuel (672 words) (mother of DICK i was supposed to have this published in MARCH aaaaaaaaazlmjbg sldgntnb rrygyh)
-bleach: bloodsport chapter 3 - grimmichi (3 244 words, of which i probably have to throw away upwards of 2700, some of which are VERY GOOD but DO NOT FIT i am so ughsdmbjsm. so much hate. hate and false starts. hate and false starts and cockblocking. hate.)
--
"--no, twist your wrist more, like so, niño--"
"Oh, I see! Thanks, Donbori."
"It's Dordoni," Dordoni Alessandro del Soccacio, arrancar cientecimo tercero, Ex-Espada, huffs back without breaking his stance.
Grimmjow leans against the doorway to watch, arms crossed. Dordoni and Kurosaki are facing off on the stretch of dead earth in front of Waki and Kisuke's shop with thin strips of wood in hand like swords, a black lioness orbiting a just-as-black cow.
It's apparently a camarguaise cow used in bullfighting, all lean and mean and well-horned, and not at all some kind of dairy cattle. It's an insult to even mention the two might be related.
"My bad, Dormancy," Kurosaki says, apparently entirely earnest, as he lunges with his little bit of wood held like a fencing foil to try to poke Dordoni in the guts; but Dordoni's eyes flick to the door and he steps back, lifting up the tip of his improvised sword.
Grimmjow isn't too sure what his face is doing but apparently it's giving the guy a reason to look cautious. Whatever.
"Someone's there? Hey," Kurosaki says carelessly, waving his wood-holding hand and barely glancing back at the door. Because he can't see shit, and he doesn't wanna look like he's trying anyway. Rikuto betrays him, squinting past the cow's legs. "You wanna spar too, just get in a gigai and we can have a three way."
That's pretty fucking kinky, Grimmjow wants to say. Grimmjow wants Leucanthe to have said.
Or maybe something about how he thought Kurosaki didn't wanna have to share.
It does things to him, watching Kurosaki play at swords, and none of them are good, joke-inducing things.
"Did you just come back, Don Grimmjow?"
It's... a little gratifying when both Kurosakis immediately turn to the door, sword and cow forgotten. "Grimmjow? Oh thank fuck."
------------
They've become regulars in the last few months, though they never get on or off at the same station. They keep sitting in the very middle of the car, facing the doors, no matter if Gorō and Hanako are already there or not. Goro's been having an interesting time trying to map their roaming area. He has their home base pegged as Naruki City, or maybe Karakura, but they range wide.
Anyway the point is, he likes to people-watch, and he likes to try to guess things about people, and so far he is not guessing great things. The man has never bothered a passenger save by existing around them but he is trouble from the end of his daemon's tail to the tips of his hair. Dyed hair can be tolerated -- barely -- in teenagers, but this man is in his twenties. What kind of respectable job would accept it?
It's a Sunday morning and Blue steps into the car, but he isn't alone.
Orange-dyed hair, loose gait, watchful eyes but relaxed shoulders, very fit, only half a hand shorter or thereabout. Blue's a tall one, so that's not dainty, but Orange is built more Japanese, not half-whatever heavier stock Blue must be coming from based on those cheekbones -- or based on the matching eyes.
... And then Hanako's ears twitch, and he looks at the door again in time to see two panthers slink in shoulder to shoulder. One of them sprawls out in her accustomed spot; the other, taller one sits prim and proper beside her, and snorts. "You know you're not supposed to block half the aisle, right?"
The shorter one curls up her lip to flash fangs. "I'm not?"
"Sometimes I'd almost think you were raised by wild beasts."
The orange-haired man snorts, lips curved up just a bit at the corners, and he sits besides Blue with his elbow sticking out for a solid nudge. Blue sneers, upper lip curling up with more tired annoyance than active hostility, and dang if it doesn't feel like he should flash fangs too. "Don't you start in on me, Kurosaki. I'll chuck you out on the rails, see if I don't."
Both apparently-Kurosakis laugh, low and unexpectedly politely quiet. Gorō notes the name in a corner of his mind by pure professional habit.
"Of course I was raised by wild beasts," Blue finishes, entirely deadpan. Both Kurosakis snort. "I am a wild beast."
The Kurosakis turn to stare with pointed pity, though their eyes are light, dancing with laughter. Gorō tries not to look like he's paying attention, but this is fascinating. This wry, self-directed sarcasm is not something he expected. Not from such a confrontational, fringe-looking man.
"Buddy," the human Kurosaki says with heavy incredulity. "You have a favorite seat on the train. You have a favorite train, you have a commute. I'm still feeling cheated I don't get to see you in salaryman duds after all. You have literally never been less wild in your lives."
"I can get a briefcase and beat you to death with it," Blue growls, sinking just barely into his seat.
------------
"There is a town ahead, you're aware."
"Uh huh." Zekh's ears flicked; he breathed in the wind carefully. Nothing approaching yet.
"The closer you are to contested territory and the farther from the capitol and the less likely they are to let a lone Casterian through without making it an issue. Papers or not."
Well, of course. It was easy to be civil with a former enemy when you'd never been directly menaced, and quite another thing when you still remembered waking up to cannonade and hosting wounded too badly hurt to even send them home. "Is that so?"
Miss Sirin clicked her tongue; didn't bother hiding her expression then, her annoyance.
"You know it is. Are you going through Antrifalvie?"
Immanuel hummed, gazing at the road ahead absently, though Zekh's eyes stayed on her. His familiar was lying down along the second horse's back, and in his sight the red of the doe's pelt seemed oddly green.
"Let me guess," she said dryly. "If they stop you, you'll go through them."
Immanuel, pettily, gave her a pleasant smile.
------------
No, he thought with a sudden burst of -- unpleasant -- fear -- he couldn't leave, Ichigo had him caught, so why should Ichigo be--
"-- Ah. You got a little craving, huh?"
His prey was staring into his eyes, knife-narrow but not... Not aggressive, not mean.
"I look tasty right now?"
Ichigo growled, irritated and tense with feelings he couldn't get a grip on.
"It happens," his prey said, really casually from someone who was pinned with horns and teeth inches from hot pulsing arteries. He felt less calm than he sounded, but -- knife's edge, danger-all-around-but-I-can-do-this. Battle-calm.
Like their sharpshooter before another impossible kill. Like (cousin, friend, mine) Ishida when he brought up a hail of arrows and controlled every single one to perfection. Like Candice when--
"It's a thing for arrancars in resurreccion."
"I'm not an arrancar!" shot out of Ichigo's mouth before he could even think, immediate and offended.
Pure astonishment sparked bright and sudden in his prey's heart, and then right on its heels came a burst of pleasure-approval-pride. Ichigo felt an odd rising heat in return in his still-masked face, his throat. "Holy shit, you speak."
"You speak," Ichigo growled back, still off-balance. Pointless and slow as words were, it was a battlefield on which he sure as hell wasn't yielding.
His prey seemed nothing but happy about it. It was... Odd. Disorienting. He tightened his tail's grip a little bit, and then loosened it fast when a little hiss of pain made it out of the man's mouth.
"I'm a mouthy bastard in general. You are a primal arrancar who's at best three weeks old."