askerian: Serious Karkat in a red long-sleeved shirt (Default)
askerian ([personal profile] askerian) wrote2020-08-01 03:56 pm

Monthly word count - July

TOTAL : 9 421 words
huh, i thought it'd be more :(

POSTED: nothing!

WORK IN PROGRESS
-Bleach ABO (922 words)
-Bleach: oxytocin (ichigrimmhime) (845 words)
-Bleach: ichihimegrimmnel modern AU ot4 (3 161 words)
-Naruto: mada/tobi baby bro rescue time fuckery (1 805 words)
-Naruto: ABO (623 words. that's it??? fuck, i better get back to it. ugh.)
-Bleach: daemon AU: harribel & yakuza (1 820 words + 175 words to be discarded)


"You ungrateful bitch," Kurosaki mutters, half-seriously. "I ought to take back my body right now." The body cackles some more, turning aside to rummage through the cupboards.

"As soon as you take your dick back from this arrancar-san, sure."

"... Oh damn, yeah." Groaning, he turns his attention to the back of Grimmjow's head. Grimmjow cranes his head to arch an unimpressed eyebrow. "You'll probably kill me, won't you."

Grimmjow doesn't think Kurosaki has a goddamn clue what that amused, casual disrespect from a subordinate does to the level of tension in the room. Then again he acts like he hadn't noticed it rising in the first place, even if Grimmjow has no idea how. Nobody's pussy is that good.

"I'd totally murder you," he drawls, faking indifference. Even now it still feels right and warm to be full of him, unmoving and sated, to feel the tiny trickles of jizz making it past his tie and know that there is so much more still trapped in. He's starting to feel tiny sparkles of desire and knows his heat is going to rev back up soon, but he still doesn't want Kurosaki out of him before it's time to fuck again.

Even if the asshole is still pressed against his back right in his blind spot, breathing against the back of Grimmjow's fucking neck, which nags at him non-fuckin-stop.

"Might spare you if I get a Kurosaki sandwich in return though. Hey, artificial soul, do you fuck?"

He razzes it first because he knows his fracción are gonna start testing it next and if it's Kurosaki's that would be kinda fucking rude. But they're too tense to be chill about it, either; they'd go too far.

Kurosaki and the body both splutter. Di Roy snickers first, and then Yylfordt smirks, long and toothy, flicks his waterfall of hair over his shoulder with deliberate showiness. 

The body grins back, stiff and flushed. "Haha. Ha. In theory! But I, uuhh. Honestly, you guys kind of terrify me?"

--
-oxytocin-

"It's not comfortable to think about, is it?" she asked softly. His shoulders went tight. One second went by, and a second and a third, before he twitched his head in a 'no'.

"Your brain was fucked with," Kurosaki-kun said brusquely, but not mean. "It's got to be freaky. It's cool if you don't take it well. I don't know who would take it well."

"... Mmmnrgh."

"But we'll fix it. Okay, let's be realistic, Urahara will fix it. It'll be fine."

The man shuddered, lip twisted up. "If you have to leave me alone with him for it I might prefer not getting fixed at all," he said, and it almost sounded like a joke. "Anyway. What did you guys want to know?"

Orihime winced. He'd lifted his chin back there at the end but he still wasn't meeting anyone's eyes for real, staring past their temples at the other wall.

"Before you were with us -- your friend. Do you have any details about him? ... or her?"

Grimmjow-san opened his mouth, staring at the table, then slowly, expression going blank, shook his head no. 

"Was their hair long or short? Did it touch you at any point? Or fall across their face?"

"... Long. Ish." A deeper frown -- sudden certainty. "Not an arrancar. Very... There were hands, but." He opened his own, closed them, scowling down at them.

"Humanoid adjuchas?"

"That fucker," he growled quietly. "Not even a fucking arrancar. The fucking nerve."

--
-ichihime/grimmnel => ot4-

This is how it starts: Ichigo is standing at the school gate, watching his last class of the day pour out past him. Thirteen year old kids are brats, but fun too, and a lot of them wave goodbye at him. It's a contented day, satisfying and warm. A pleasantly mundane peace.

Then there's a snort to the side, derisive, hostile. "Fucking figures."

He turns and past the flow of carelessly happy kids there's a face he saw twice in his life and never managed to forget.

--

This is how it starts. Ichigo, all of sixteen, bleeding, forearms slashed -- defensive wounds. Lip busted, ribs black and blue. Ichigo climbing back to his feet somehow. Before him there's a feral bastard with a butterfly knife that looks more red than steel, with wild furious eyes and bared white teeth.

"Fucking stay down already!" he snarls.

The world is a whirl of pain and danger-threat-move, edges too sharp in his eyes, heartbeat swamping out his voice. 

Ichigo takes a step forward. His legs shake.

"Think I won't slash your fucking neck?!"

Ichigo does think that. Huh. 

The guy could. The guy might, if he gets pushed too far. But he doesn't want to. It's something in the curl of his lip, desperate and sickened.

"Why are you even doing this?!"

Why.

Inoue.

"She's not even your anything."

She's Inoue.

--
-madatobi baby bro rescue time fuckery-

"I"m not asking you to teach me," Madara retorted, so cold and controlled Tobirama's shoulders went tight on instinct, expecting a blade through them. "I'm asking what you need for it."

Tobirama blinked, dizzy. "... A corpse?"

Itama was so still under his hands. The wound was deep enough it might kill him slowly without assistance, though he wasn't going to bleed out anymore, not just yet. The worrisome thing was it had nicked the... Some organ, he couldn't tell right now. 

"A corpse," Madara repeated, so low, so gravelly it made Tobirama's shoulders twitch. It hadn't been the answer the man wanted to hear; he raked his brains to figure out what else, what more he could give. 

"Or a... good reason why there's no corpse. That's what took the longest. If you found a corpse then a corpse must be made. It's a circle, I told you. I don't have any more corpses at hand."

"So not Togakushi, then," the man said, but so quiet it was almost more to himself. The man Hikaku stiffened, eyes opening wide in sudden understanding that Tobirama couldn't match, brain lagging behind. "Hikaku, any of yours?"

Hikaku only stared, wordless. Tobirama... Oh. Oh, Madara wanted him to -- he hadn't prepared for any of it. He hadn't --

Was this the price? For Itama. For going and getting Itama. He could do it.

"I'll need chakra too. I'm all out."

"Not an issue. Hikaku?"

The other Uchiha shook his head no slowly, a strange and complicated expression on his face. "All... All battlefield deaths, Madara-sama."

A brief moment of silence between the Uchihas, somber, a little like an apology. "Hm. You said comet. What's the time frame before it passes?"

Tobirama looked away from his baby brother's pale face to check the sky. "About two to three hours. It'll get harder the farther it goes."

"... Next time it passes?"

"Sixty-seven years."

A brief moment of silence. "Alright. Pack up. Hikaku, give me that brat, then take the injured one back to the compound."

... Shit. Tobirama met Kawarama's eyes, wide with fright and denial as the other Uchiha dragged him standing and marched him up to his clan leader. Shit, fuck, they had two hostages to choose from, of course they'd separate them -- had Kawarama made a hand signal?

... Had Kawarama just signaled him to take Itama and run, that he would hold them back.

He'd die trying and they both knew it. Tobirama knew that he would fail no matter what, too, and it wasn't... It wasn't worth it.

Trying to outrun Uchiha Madara of all people, drained and carrying wounded. No.

--
-madatobiizu ABO-

Izuna sighed dramatically. "It's lucky for you, or else taking responsibility for keeping a Senju chaste would be terribly hard on my psyche." Madara shoved him; Izuna just bounced casually onto the next branch, and then came back for more, hands waving around pompously. "Not that he probably gets a ton of offers, being such an ice-faced asshole, but I'm going to have to ruin every single one anyway on principle. Ah, this is terrible."

"It's going to be the most fun you've had this year," Madara countered, rolling his eyes, and tried not to reward his brat of a brother with a laugh. 

(He failed.)

--

"... It was a joke, Niisan," Izuna mumbled to him out of the corner of his mouth, one week later, as they stood in the Daimyo's great hall watching a set of Sarutobis orbit the White Demon of the Senju with sly smiles on their lips. "It was supposed to be a joke."

The great hall deserved its name -- wide as a rice field, studded with ornamented columns and decorated with... Stuff Madara didn't care about, but which looked expensive and made for good conversation pieces. Ink paintings and tortured-looking bonsai, delicate porcelain. It had enough space and then some for the hundred or so of ninjas waiting for their turn to greet the daimyos not to have to rub elbows with their mortal enemies.

But it sure as hell wasn't big enough to put the Senju contingent too far to see.

Both Hashirama and Tobirama were in long sleeves and wide obi, hair pulled back with soberly elegant combs that Madara had no clue how Tobirama's hair would even be long enough to hold. It had only been a month since that tiny, inch-long ponytail, held in place by a dozen hair pins; surely it couldn't have grown much. Tobirama's haori had a fur collar sewn onto it, though shorter and less ragged than the one he usually wore in battle.

As Madara and Izuna watched, one of the Sarutobis shifted closer, casually-but-not brushing her fingertips against Tobirama's sleeve. Izuna hissed under his breath.

"Well." For a second Madara didn't know whether to continue the joke or not. Whether to encourage his brother, who probably hadn't meant it as a joke deep down, not fully.

Then he remembered that Izuna was a brat, and there was no place safer to indulge his need to thwart the Senju than at court, under a daimyo-imposed truce, and it might even get him to see Hashirama as more than a brother-stealing traitor-to-be if they interacted. And also, he was a brat and probably deserved some public embarrassment when Tobirama would no doubt rebuke him in public.

"Time to fulfill your duties to the clan, then."

"--What."

Madara smiled unctuously. "That's our fifth-of-a-bride there. Time to protect his... Face, was it?" 

--
--bleach daemons : yakuza OCs--

They get to the Urahara shop; park the truck on the stretch of beaten earth before its front door. Step out of the truck. The front steps are home to three men -- two of them massive and well-muscled, the last whipcord-thin and playing with something that shines in the sunlight. Jin does not want to take a single step closer to them. They bother him the same way Kurosaki-san's bodyguard bothers him -- something crazy in the gleam of their grinning teeth. He goes anyway.

He lets Matsuoka-san go first, though. It isn't his place to tell the underboss to be careful of bottom-rung flunkies.

"Tell your boss the Kishiume envoys are here," Matsuoka-san starts with, his falcon mantling her wings pointedly. Rin hisses quietly, winds herself tighter. Queen briefly cowers behind Tora's legs, and then wanders out to swagger awkwardly.

The three men stare back for a long couple of seconds, and then the one with the fat lizard laughs, like they have an inside joke and it's on Matsuoka-san. 

"Be polite," the red-haired one chides mildly, his baboon smiling in a too-human way for fangs that size. "Go get him."

"Yeah, yeah," the scrawny guy goes, standing up, and disappears indoors, daemon wrapped around his shoulders like a yellow-and-black scarf. The sliding door snaps closed behind him as he stomps on wooden boards loud enough to be heard from inside.

The guy who emerges isn't Urahara-dono. It's the crazy panther guy.

The panther slinks out of the door first, casually brushing against the last guy's warthog, and on her heels comes the man, loose-limbed and his eyelids heavy, unimpressed. He scans their trio and says nothing to Matsuoka-san, visibly at the head of it, stares at Jin himself for a second longer. Nods, to him and not to the underboss.

"I remember you."

That is... not something he knows whether to appreciate or not, but he nods back, expressionless. 

The panther sits, licks her paw with casual unconcern. "Thanks for last time. We had fun."

Yamatora blinks dumbly. "Oh, at the p--"  Jin elbows him. The hitman smirks. 

And they've officially reached the end of Matsuoka-san's patience. Daemon fluffing up her feathers in annoyance, he takes a step forward. "I asked to see your boss. Where is he."

An arctic-blue look right back. "No, you asked for their boss. That's me."

... Oh, hell. This is now a pissing contest. Jin knew it.
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[personal profile] krait 2020-08-01 10:17 pm (UTC)(link)
Hey, just remember that IT'S OVER 9000! has great memetic power for a reason! :D You beat the Dragonball guy this month.
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[personal profile] krait 2020-08-05 08:06 pm (UTC)(link)
Hee! I don't know which Dragonball guy it was who was over 9000, but I firmly believe beating him is an achievement. :D