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Entry tags:
Monthly word count - July
TOTAL: 9 415
not bad! i thought it'd be even more because i unblocked a lot of fics but it was mostly difficult to write instead of long, which is also a good thing.
POSTED
-Howling Outside Your Door (2 346 words) (Ichigo/Grimmjow/his fraccion ABO)
IN PROGRESS
-Bleach: suburban ot4 (1 252 words)
-Naruto: unposted abo madatobi baby fic (571 words)
-Naruto: The Thirteenth Hour, chapter 2 (1 694 words) (tobirama fucks with Time to get his brothers back, eventual madatobi)
-Naruto: Days on a wire chapter 5 (2204 words) (madatobiizu ABO)
-Bleach: bloodsport chapter 4 (1 348 words) (GASP IT LIVES)
- (words)
Also posted :
The Thirteenth Hour chapter 1.
Days on a wire chapter 3
--
teasers!
--
suburban ot4
--
He looks so nerdy with his reading glasses on.
Grimmjow can't help it; he gets annoyed.
"You tryin' to make me break your fingers there? Don't put them on top of the fucking nail!"
"They're not on top of the nails! You want me to hold it steadier or not?"
"I want you to hold it half as well as you hold your dick when you diddle yourself, Kurosaki!"
"Hey, fuck off. You want my help or not?"
He looks more baffled and hurt than fighting-angry, and it just pisses Grimmjow off. "You fucking kidding? I'd get a better grip with my asshole."
All flushed now, and still not any closer to raising his hands. "Well, maybe you should, then! God, if you wanted me to leave you alone you could just say so!"
He throws his hands in the air and stands. Grimmjow can't handle staying on the floor if he's not (because that's how you get kicked in the throat) and stands, too, and Kurosaki turns to him just a little too fast; and he hopes, then, bright and harsh, for a fist thrown his way or a shove or at least an attempt to grab the collar of his borrowed tank top.
No more Saint Kurosaki roleplay. Such a fucking relief.
But Kurosaki just pauses and takes a big deep breath, and his shoulders go down.
"Seriously, if you don't want to do it, you don't have to."
Every single muscle in Grimmjow's body tightens like a fist.
--
unposted madatobi baby abo fic
--
He drags his sandal on the rocks. In the next blink Tobirama is up, looking -- unaffected, from afar, for someone with really bad eyes who would miss the puffy eyelids and the wet sheen on his cheeks.
That is not an expression Madara ever imagined on his face.
"... Taking it hard, I see."
The Senju's eyelids hang half-lidded in cold contempt; he shifts his weight slowly, making a show of his lack of fear. His feet are bloody in the dust; his chakra courses faster, gathering in his throat, his battered hands.
"Putting down clanmates I knew all my life and thought could be trusted should be an easy thing?"
Madara tilts his head, just barely, to uncover his other eye.
He knows this man as a pitiless enemy and as a beta, as his old friend's possibly un-filial brother and as his own brother's would-be assassin.
He knows the curves of this mouth.
Maybe there's a secret kunoichi cousin out there, a half-sister, somebody close enough in blood to share that mouth -- share that secret, because Tobirama knows. (His mad, uncautious rush, the tear trails barring his cheeks. Hashirama's total absence.) Knows, and feels responsible for.
He knows more than Madara does and that is not acceptable.
"You have my apologies for the disturbance," Tobirama says, and makes as if to turn his back and leave, as if they have a truce, trying to brazen it out.
"Where are your shoes, Senju?" Madara asks.
He attacks without waiting for a response.
--
The Thirteenth Hour (tobirama fucks with Time)
--
The child looked up and suddenly stopped being silent, a great gasping wail rising, driving ice picks of pure pain in Tobirama's brain.
"Maaamaaa! Mama--"
The toddler howled, as if all the terror he'd stuffed down to keep quiet since his kidnapping had to come out all at once, fighting Tobirama's grip to stand, to --
Reach for Izuna.
Huh.
Izuna looked as nonplussed as he was.
The child kept waving little pudgy hands, snot and tears a mess on his face. Madara approached; got greeted by a screech of terror and the child's redoubled efforts to throw himself through the mud and at Izuna. Bewildered and wincing, Tobirama shifted onto his knees, lifting him by the armpits.
Izuna didn't reach back, staring in shock.
"Izuna-sama," Hikaku said eventually, sounding vaguely reproving, as something hard and cold pressed against Tobirama's throat. "Take the child, please. I have Senju-san."
"... I'd forgotten you looked so much like Mother," Madara said quietly, letting Kawarama slide down until his feet were on the ground. Izuna growled, face flushing, and snatched the child out of Tobirama's hands.
"Fucking -- what do I know about kids?! How do I--"
"One hand under his ass, one pressing on his back to keep him tight and secure against your chest, rock your weight in sharp, short movements," Tobirama said curtly. "Up and down or side to side doesn't matter, alternate every ten if you must. It's not hard."
--
madatobiizu ABO
--
"Someone thought themself so righteous and wronged that Mimaki-sama himself would surely nod wisely and agree that calling his personal guest a whore to both of their faces was fair enough."
The scariest thing about Madara's voice was that it was perfectly even. Reading a report on field yield. Checking the office supplies room log-book.
"Ah."
"In the middle of a full room."
"Ah." Izuna breathed in deep. It didn't help. "I see."
He did see. Oh, he did.
He saw that Yoritomo was incandescently furious, and Naohime's sneaking glances at him were betrayed. He saw that Daichi amidst his fretting over his grand-uncle's hand was also throwing looks like he was unsure of his footing, like he wasn't sure who was in the wrong -- like he'd expected Yoritomo to act otherwise. To be on her side.
He wondered idly how many times the old man had nodded sympathetically as the two of them raged over the white demon escaping his surely well-deserved, ignominous death by gang rape. How dare he, etc etc -- how dare he exist, and compound that by hiding his being an omega, and making them want him, and refusing himself to them, and then going and letting others have him. How many times Yoritomo had agreed that their punishment for the sortie he himself had encouraged was unfair and ridiculous, that they deserved wives (or at the very least to get laid) and it was unjust and wrong for them not to have some given to them. How many times he had proved that they could feel safe to question Madara's leadership in his ear as much as they damn wanted.
Naohime looked up at Izuna, still looking oddly bewildered that this could have backfired so spectacularly. She didn't commit the mistake of trying to stand, but then again she wasn't in full prostration either and Izuna could not imagine why the fuck not.
"Izuna-sama, I--"
"I'm starting to think the only worth you have is the eyes in your head," he remarked, smiling his mission smile as he wandered farther inside the room. "Were you told you could speak?"
--
bloodsport (grimmichi... IN SPACE!)
--
"We of course have a lot of people who are not going to be friendly to our Quincy guests, no matter that this is the side that nominally doesn't want to erase us off the universe. Politicians are going to be shitty, reporters will be nosy to the point of suicide, some idiot off the street is guaranteed to try something during one of the unavoidable playing-tourist moments..."
"And we need Espada for that?"
"And we need Espada for that. For one thing, our ambassador's related to Yhwach. By which I mean actually in the top ten pretenders to the throne."
Nelliel sucked in her teeth. "Ooh, that's going to piss off a lot of loyalists."
"That too." Barragan reclined in his chair, humming quietly, and tapped his screen gently. "For a second thing, according to our agents monitoring their flight, this is the real identity of the daughters' mystery so-called attendant."
Grimmjow looked down at his own screen.
The black-haired, blue-eyed face staring down at him from it was one he knew personally.
"... Shiiit," Gantenbainne went, "isn't that the actual successor? I mean, the one Yhwach chose?"
"Well-spotted."
... Kurosaki's little friend the Imperial Heir. Uryuu Ishida. Huh. He hadn't died, then.
Huh.
"Well, that puts the octocat amongst the pigeons."
"Mm-hm. You have to admit it's pretty ballsy of them," Barragan added with a look on his face that did not look all that appreciative. "Every single faction out there is looking for him, so they're just going to hide him amongst us, where most of them would never dare or deign to go." A short huff, eyes narrow and moustache bristling, and then a dry 'never mind' twitch of his chin. "I'm going to need surveillance on threats and known spies, probably cleanup on the inevitable hitmen, and reinforcements for Ambassador Kurosaki's security detail -- Jaegerjaquez."
... Well. Would you look at that, he'd popped all his claws and his knuckle spines through his bottle.
not bad! i thought it'd be even more because i unblocked a lot of fics but it was mostly difficult to write instead of long, which is also a good thing.
POSTED
-Howling Outside Your Door (2 346 words) (Ichigo/Grimmjow/his fraccion ABO)
IN PROGRESS
-Bleach: suburban ot4 (1 252 words)
-Naruto: unposted abo madatobi baby fic (571 words)
-Naruto: The Thirteenth Hour, chapter 2 (1 694 words) (tobirama fucks with Time to get his brothers back, eventual madatobi)
-Naruto: Days on a wire chapter 5 (2204 words) (madatobiizu ABO)
-Bleach: bloodsport chapter 4 (1 348 words) (GASP IT LIVES)
- (words)
Also posted :
The Thirteenth Hour chapter 1.
Days on a wire chapter 3
--
teasers!
--
suburban ot4
--
He looks so nerdy with his reading glasses on.
Grimmjow can't help it; he gets annoyed.
"You tryin' to make me break your fingers there? Don't put them on top of the fucking nail!"
"They're not on top of the nails! You want me to hold it steadier or not?"
"I want you to hold it half as well as you hold your dick when you diddle yourself, Kurosaki!"
"Hey, fuck off. You want my help or not?"
He looks more baffled and hurt than fighting-angry, and it just pisses Grimmjow off. "You fucking kidding? I'd get a better grip with my asshole."
All flushed now, and still not any closer to raising his hands. "Well, maybe you should, then! God, if you wanted me to leave you alone you could just say so!"
He throws his hands in the air and stands. Grimmjow can't handle staying on the floor if he's not (because that's how you get kicked in the throat) and stands, too, and Kurosaki turns to him just a little too fast; and he hopes, then, bright and harsh, for a fist thrown his way or a shove or at least an attempt to grab the collar of his borrowed tank top.
No more Saint Kurosaki roleplay. Such a fucking relief.
But Kurosaki just pauses and takes a big deep breath, and his shoulders go down.
"Seriously, if you don't want to do it, you don't have to."
Every single muscle in Grimmjow's body tightens like a fist.
--
unposted madatobi baby abo fic
--
He drags his sandal on the rocks. In the next blink Tobirama is up, looking -- unaffected, from afar, for someone with really bad eyes who would miss the puffy eyelids and the wet sheen on his cheeks.
That is not an expression Madara ever imagined on his face.
"... Taking it hard, I see."
The Senju's eyelids hang half-lidded in cold contempt; he shifts his weight slowly, making a show of his lack of fear. His feet are bloody in the dust; his chakra courses faster, gathering in his throat, his battered hands.
"Putting down clanmates I knew all my life and thought could be trusted should be an easy thing?"
Madara tilts his head, just barely, to uncover his other eye.
He knows this man as a pitiless enemy and as a beta, as his old friend's possibly un-filial brother and as his own brother's would-be assassin.
He knows the curves of this mouth.
Maybe there's a secret kunoichi cousin out there, a half-sister, somebody close enough in blood to share that mouth -- share that secret, because Tobirama knows. (His mad, uncautious rush, the tear trails barring his cheeks. Hashirama's total absence.) Knows, and feels responsible for.
He knows more than Madara does and that is not acceptable.
"You have my apologies for the disturbance," Tobirama says, and makes as if to turn his back and leave, as if they have a truce, trying to brazen it out.
"Where are your shoes, Senju?" Madara asks.
He attacks without waiting for a response.
--
The Thirteenth Hour (tobirama fucks with Time)
--
The child looked up and suddenly stopped being silent, a great gasping wail rising, driving ice picks of pure pain in Tobirama's brain.
"Maaamaaa! Mama--"
The toddler howled, as if all the terror he'd stuffed down to keep quiet since his kidnapping had to come out all at once, fighting Tobirama's grip to stand, to --
Reach for Izuna.
Huh.
Izuna looked as nonplussed as he was.
The child kept waving little pudgy hands, snot and tears a mess on his face. Madara approached; got greeted by a screech of terror and the child's redoubled efforts to throw himself through the mud and at Izuna. Bewildered and wincing, Tobirama shifted onto his knees, lifting him by the armpits.
Izuna didn't reach back, staring in shock.
"Izuna-sama," Hikaku said eventually, sounding vaguely reproving, as something hard and cold pressed against Tobirama's throat. "Take the child, please. I have Senju-san."
"... I'd forgotten you looked so much like Mother," Madara said quietly, letting Kawarama slide down until his feet were on the ground. Izuna growled, face flushing, and snatched the child out of Tobirama's hands.
"Fucking -- what do I know about kids?! How do I--"
"One hand under his ass, one pressing on his back to keep him tight and secure against your chest, rock your weight in sharp, short movements," Tobirama said curtly. "Up and down or side to side doesn't matter, alternate every ten if you must. It's not hard."
--
madatobiizu ABO
--
"Someone thought themself so righteous and wronged that Mimaki-sama himself would surely nod wisely and agree that calling his personal guest a whore to both of their faces was fair enough."
The scariest thing about Madara's voice was that it was perfectly even. Reading a report on field yield. Checking the office supplies room log-book.
"Ah."
"In the middle of a full room."
"Ah." Izuna breathed in deep. It didn't help. "I see."
He did see. Oh, he did.
He saw that Yoritomo was incandescently furious, and Naohime's sneaking glances at him were betrayed. He saw that Daichi amidst his fretting over his grand-uncle's hand was also throwing looks like he was unsure of his footing, like he wasn't sure who was in the wrong -- like he'd expected Yoritomo to act otherwise. To be on her side.
He wondered idly how many times the old man had nodded sympathetically as the two of them raged over the white demon escaping his surely well-deserved, ignominous death by gang rape. How dare he, etc etc -- how dare he exist, and compound that by hiding his being an omega, and making them want him, and refusing himself to them, and then going and letting others have him. How many times Yoritomo had agreed that their punishment for the sortie he himself had encouraged was unfair and ridiculous, that they deserved wives (or at the very least to get laid) and it was unjust and wrong for them not to have some given to them. How many times he had proved that they could feel safe to question Madara's leadership in his ear as much as they damn wanted.
Naohime looked up at Izuna, still looking oddly bewildered that this could have backfired so spectacularly. She didn't commit the mistake of trying to stand, but then again she wasn't in full prostration either and Izuna could not imagine why the fuck not.
"Izuna-sama, I--"
"I'm starting to think the only worth you have is the eyes in your head," he remarked, smiling his mission smile as he wandered farther inside the room. "Were you told you could speak?"
--
bloodsport (grimmichi... IN SPACE!)
--
"We of course have a lot of people who are not going to be friendly to our Quincy guests, no matter that this is the side that nominally doesn't want to erase us off the universe. Politicians are going to be shitty, reporters will be nosy to the point of suicide, some idiot off the street is guaranteed to try something during one of the unavoidable playing-tourist moments..."
"And we need Espada for that?"
"And we need Espada for that. For one thing, our ambassador's related to Yhwach. By which I mean actually in the top ten pretenders to the throne."
Nelliel sucked in her teeth. "Ooh, that's going to piss off a lot of loyalists."
"That too." Barragan reclined in his chair, humming quietly, and tapped his screen gently. "For a second thing, according to our agents monitoring their flight, this is the real identity of the daughters' mystery so-called attendant."
Grimmjow looked down at his own screen.
The black-haired, blue-eyed face staring down at him from it was one he knew personally.
"... Shiiit," Gantenbainne went, "isn't that the actual successor? I mean, the one Yhwach chose?"
"Well-spotted."
... Kurosaki's little friend the Imperial Heir. Uryuu Ishida. Huh. He hadn't died, then.
Huh.
"Well, that puts the octocat amongst the pigeons."
"Mm-hm. You have to admit it's pretty ballsy of them," Barragan added with a look on his face that did not look all that appreciative. "Every single faction out there is looking for him, so they're just going to hide him amongst us, where most of them would never dare or deign to go." A short huff, eyes narrow and moustache bristling, and then a dry 'never mind' twitch of his chin. "I'm going to need surveillance on threats and known spies, probably cleanup on the inevitable hitmen, and reinforcements for Ambassador Kurosaki's security detail -- Jaegerjaquez."
... Well. Would you look at that, he'd popped all his claws and his knuckle spines through his bottle.