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monthly word count - April
TOTAL: 4 889 words
i had really good progress for two weeks and then fell assbackwards into the scum villain novel and have been obsessively reading fic since. it was fun so i'm banning myself from having unwriting guilt. not bad then for two weeks, i suppose.
POSTED: nothin!
IN PROGRESS
-naruto - cherry wine - madatobiizu ABO (3 621 words) (bwehehe)
-bleach pack fuckening ABO epilogue (884 words) (get wrecked mayuri)
-bleach suburban OT4 (384 words) (plotted for the next part tho but it's angsty so i've been dragging my feet on committing to the ouch)
--
suburban ot4
--
"When do we have to leave?"
Nelliel's words fall in the silence of the room like a rock in a well. A brief echo against the walls, and then swallowed entirely.
They're in the kitchen, sitting at the table in -- oh, they have usual seats now. Grimmjow's favorite mug is on the drying rack.
"Nel-chan," Hime says, looking up at her with wet eyes. Nelliel can't make herself reach out to take her hands, twisted together into painful shapes on her lap. Not yet, not before she knows.
"Ichigo?"
Ichigo's eyes are angrier than his wife's, but still just as helplessly lost. "He can't kick you out before the current lease ends. He just -- he can't, we had it in writing--"
"Ichigo."
"Two months. And a half. I have the date somewhere, let me just--"
He starts ruffling through his folder. Nelliel places a hand on it, keeping the pages flat. When he looks up at her again she produces a smile. "That's pretty good."
Orihime makes a small, wounded noise.
Grimmjow says nothing at all.
"It's plenty of time," she repeats. In two months and a half she'll be two weeks from her due date. "We'll be fine."
--
bleach pack fuckening ABO
--
Ichigo was just a normal human young adult. Lecturing a military leader of hundreds of people felt -- wrong. Disrespectful. They had centuries of tradition he knew nothing about, political and social pressure from places he had no idea about. It was easy to be idealistic.
It wasn't his job to sort them out, so why was it his job? He tilted his head back, breathing deeply as he stared at the ceiling, and turned his hand in Rukia's grasp so he could grasp her back. Tight pressure, anchoring. Chad's hand on his other shoulder, gentle and warm.
He'd killed Mayuri out of hand, and that part terrified him. That he had decided, 'this man brings nothing to the world that would pay for who he is,' and erased him. That he was able to do that.
It hadn't felt like righteous anger at all. Or like self-defense. It had felt like handing down judgment.
"Ichigo?" Rukia asked.
'Was it the wrong judgment call to make, though?' he thought, or old man Zangetsu thought, or something murkier in between the two of them. Something cold and old and remote, that asked of his choice, 'Would you unmake it?', and the answer was no.
"Ichigo."
"Queasy," he managed to answer. Inoue immediately went rummaging in her backpack for a bottle of water, presenting it with a worried frown. He somehow managed a smile. The water was on the tepid side but still helped distract him, bring him back down.
"Hormone hangover?" Ishida asked, sounding only vaguely interested. "It's not actually an uncommon side effect."
"Ah... Maybe. What do you do to get over it?"
"Just sit in a room alone until it passes, honestly. It happens more often when there's several omegas at once," he added, and looked away, and Ichigo arched an eyebrow. The tip of his visible ear was a little red. Hm.
Inoue was rummaging in her bag with twice the enthusiasm suddenly, and her face was pinkening rapidly.
Dang. Apparently he owed Tatsuki a fistbump.
--
Mada/Tobi/Izu ABO
--
"You maintain this."
Naohime's chakra flickered with nerves and confusion. "Y-yes. I really--"
The daimyo's sister tapped a nail against her cup with the slow deliberateness of a cat starting to lash her tail. "Not a disguise or a trick."
Huh.
"Y-yes, Tarashi-sama. I've fought on the same battlefield as this man, I -- the sharingan wouldn't--"
"Wouldn't?"
"Wouldn't lie, Tarashi-sama, a genjutsu would show, I--"
Tarashi-sama cut Madara and Izuna a side-look. "I'm sure. But wouldn't you?"
Naohime had gone so pale, Izuna actually started to worry she might pass out. She hadn't lost so much blood, but the pressure put on her was visibly not helping. Izuna straightened up, flicked his chakra at his brother to intervene.
Naohime looked bewildered. "Begging your pardon, Tarashi-sama, why would--"
"Didn't he humiliate you just this morning?"
Madara lifted his cup to his lips, took the tiniest of sips, placed it back down, breaking the stare-off. Tarashi-sama scowled at him even before he opened his mouth.
"As far as Naohime knows, she is not lying," he said; his voice calm, casual, as if all the pressure the daimyo's sister and voice slid right off him. "She shared her memory of the event with us and it seemed quite convincing. Obviously, Tarashi-sama has a reason for feeling otherwise?"
"Only the fact that the Senju brothers spent the day in our honored sister's presence and only left her recently to wander the extremely public gardens," she said, tone acidic. "Is Uchiha-dono suggesting our very capable guards somehow mistook them?"
Ah -- no doubt they had sensors on staff. Maybe even Hyuuga guards to watch against genjutsu, so they would know everyone wore their real face in their presence. A normal, insubstantial clone would be immediately obvious to a Hyuuga, or any type of sensor...
Every single Uchiha lining the walls knew of Tobirama's solid clones and every single one of them seethed quietly about it.
"... I am not," Madara said in a slow, measured voice. "My own brother, reviewing the memory, thought it did not feel quite right, though there was nothing obvious to point to. As he is usually the one who meets Tobirama-san on the field, I defer to his expertise."
Tarashi-sama simmered down, leaning back. Madara tilted his head, smiled thinly.
"Too, there is the fact that, should he want Naohime dead... She would not have seen him coming."
i had really good progress for two weeks and then fell assbackwards into the scum villain novel and have been obsessively reading fic since. it was fun so i'm banning myself from having unwriting guilt. not bad then for two weeks, i suppose.
POSTED: nothin!
IN PROGRESS
-naruto - cherry wine - madatobiizu ABO (3 621 words) (bwehehe)
-bleach pack fuckening ABO epilogue (884 words) (get wrecked mayuri)
-bleach suburban OT4 (384 words) (plotted for the next part tho but it's angsty so i've been dragging my feet on committing to the ouch)
--
suburban ot4
--
"When do we have to leave?"
Nelliel's words fall in the silence of the room like a rock in a well. A brief echo against the walls, and then swallowed entirely.
They're in the kitchen, sitting at the table in -- oh, they have usual seats now. Grimmjow's favorite mug is on the drying rack.
"Nel-chan," Hime says, looking up at her with wet eyes. Nelliel can't make herself reach out to take her hands, twisted together into painful shapes on her lap. Not yet, not before she knows.
"Ichigo?"
Ichigo's eyes are angrier than his wife's, but still just as helplessly lost. "He can't kick you out before the current lease ends. He just -- he can't, we had it in writing--"
"Ichigo."
"Two months. And a half. I have the date somewhere, let me just--"
He starts ruffling through his folder. Nelliel places a hand on it, keeping the pages flat. When he looks up at her again she produces a smile. "That's pretty good."
Orihime makes a small, wounded noise.
Grimmjow says nothing at all.
"It's plenty of time," she repeats. In two months and a half she'll be two weeks from her due date. "We'll be fine."
--
bleach pack fuckening ABO
--
Ichigo was just a normal human young adult. Lecturing a military leader of hundreds of people felt -- wrong. Disrespectful. They had centuries of tradition he knew nothing about, political and social pressure from places he had no idea about. It was easy to be idealistic.
It wasn't his job to sort them out, so why was it his job? He tilted his head back, breathing deeply as he stared at the ceiling, and turned his hand in Rukia's grasp so he could grasp her back. Tight pressure, anchoring. Chad's hand on his other shoulder, gentle and warm.
He'd killed Mayuri out of hand, and that part terrified him. That he had decided, 'this man brings nothing to the world that would pay for who he is,' and erased him. That he was able to do that.
It hadn't felt like righteous anger at all. Or like self-defense. It had felt like handing down judgment.
"Ichigo?" Rukia asked.
'Was it the wrong judgment call to make, though?' he thought, or old man Zangetsu thought, or something murkier in between the two of them. Something cold and old and remote, that asked of his choice, 'Would you unmake it?', and the answer was no.
"Ichigo."
"Queasy," he managed to answer. Inoue immediately went rummaging in her backpack for a bottle of water, presenting it with a worried frown. He somehow managed a smile. The water was on the tepid side but still helped distract him, bring him back down.
"Hormone hangover?" Ishida asked, sounding only vaguely interested. "It's not actually an uncommon side effect."
"Ah... Maybe. What do you do to get over it?"
"Just sit in a room alone until it passes, honestly. It happens more often when there's several omegas at once," he added, and looked away, and Ichigo arched an eyebrow. The tip of his visible ear was a little red. Hm.
Inoue was rummaging in her bag with twice the enthusiasm suddenly, and her face was pinkening rapidly.
Dang. Apparently he owed Tatsuki a fistbump.
--
Mada/Tobi/Izu ABO
--
"You maintain this."
Naohime's chakra flickered with nerves and confusion. "Y-yes. I really--"
The daimyo's sister tapped a nail against her cup with the slow deliberateness of a cat starting to lash her tail. "Not a disguise or a trick."
Huh.
"Y-yes, Tarashi-sama. I've fought on the same battlefield as this man, I -- the sharingan wouldn't--"
"Wouldn't?"
"Wouldn't lie, Tarashi-sama, a genjutsu would show, I--"
Tarashi-sama cut Madara and Izuna a side-look. "I'm sure. But wouldn't you?"
Naohime had gone so pale, Izuna actually started to worry she might pass out. She hadn't lost so much blood, but the pressure put on her was visibly not helping. Izuna straightened up, flicked his chakra at his brother to intervene.
Naohime looked bewildered. "Begging your pardon, Tarashi-sama, why would--"
"Didn't he humiliate you just this morning?"
Madara lifted his cup to his lips, took the tiniest of sips, placed it back down, breaking the stare-off. Tarashi-sama scowled at him even before he opened his mouth.
"As far as Naohime knows, she is not lying," he said; his voice calm, casual, as if all the pressure the daimyo's sister and voice slid right off him. "She shared her memory of the event with us and it seemed quite convincing. Obviously, Tarashi-sama has a reason for feeling otherwise?"
"Only the fact that the Senju brothers spent the day in our honored sister's presence and only left her recently to wander the extremely public gardens," she said, tone acidic. "Is Uchiha-dono suggesting our very capable guards somehow mistook them?"
Ah -- no doubt they had sensors on staff. Maybe even Hyuuga guards to watch against genjutsu, so they would know everyone wore their real face in their presence. A normal, insubstantial clone would be immediately obvious to a Hyuuga, or any type of sensor...
Every single Uchiha lining the walls knew of Tobirama's solid clones and every single one of them seethed quietly about it.
"... I am not," Madara said in a slow, measured voice. "My own brother, reviewing the memory, thought it did not feel quite right, though there was nothing obvious to point to. As he is usually the one who meets Tobirama-san on the field, I defer to his expertise."
Tarashi-sama simmered down, leaning back. Madara tilted his head, smiled thinly.
"Too, there is the fact that, should he want Naohime dead... She would not have seen him coming."
no subject
Glad you're enjoying Scum Villain, I read it a year ago and I'm still getting a kick out of the fic.