[Fanfic] Fantasies Impromptu, Opus 6
Author: sheuzheiproih
Title: Fantasies Impromptu, Opus 6
Rating: PG. Because of the fantasies, of course. And some perfectly harmless name-calling.
Pairing: Ichigo x Grimmjow
Warnings: Nothing. Just Ichigo’s wandering mind and the unabashed abuse of a number of familiar character tropes. Also some shameless psuedo-emulation of the writing style of Terry Pratchett.
Summary: Every day, Grimmjow walks into class with an outrageous new personality (accessories included). Funny thing is, Ichigo seems to be the only one who notices.
~ A belated Christmas gift-fic for misumisu84! ~
Providing Grimmjow with a gigai was the second worst idea in the history of Bleach.
Second, because the worst idea [1] in the history of Bleach was enrolling Grimmjow in the same class as Ichigo at Karakura High School.
Doesn’t anyone else notice? Ichigo ponders fitfully, as the object of his musings swaggers through the classroom door in full bousouzoku regalia, carrying what Ichigo hopes is a length of rusty metal pipe, but is probably something much more dangerous (not to mention illegal in most countries, including this one). The open tokko-fuku, the hachimaki headband hanging down past the rolled-up sleeves, the baggy pants and heavy combat boots and bandages wrapped around the otherwise bared torso -- Ichigo is sure that on anyone else, the outfit would look patently ridiculous, a walking caricature.
Grimmjow makes it look good. In fact, his attitude suggests that he held the entire ensemble at knifepoint and instructed it to look good, or else. The dark blue overcoat is relatively unadorned. It doesn’t need kanji declarations, or a billboard’s worth of garishly colored patches; the stylized white number “6” on the back is sufficient to get the message across. (And for the incredibly dim-witted, Ichigo reflects, the crouching panther embroidered under it probably helps.)
This is no common street thug with a five-word vocabulary and a penchant for kicking puppies [2], Grimmjow’s posture declares. This is a prince of the criminal underworld, already being groomed for his rightful place at the top of the yakuza food chain.
But appearances are beside the point, and Ichigo forcefully shakes himself out of his daze of (grudging) admiration, because he knows for a fact that Grimmjow just got here less than a week ago, and anyway, there aren’t even any yakuza in Karakura Town, as far as he can tell [3].
Still, this is nothing compared to yesterday. At least today’s Grimmjow is more or less in-character.
Yesterday, Grimmjow had been a model student. It had been terrifying in its own way, which is to say that it went against the natural order of the universe. The manner in which he strolled into the classroom could only be described as “studious.” Not only was he wearing the school uniform, but it was crisply pressed and buttoned all the way, and his tie was straight and his hair had not a strand out of place (although it was still spiky and very, very blue).
He was also wearing glasses. Light, steel-rimmed, rectangular glasses. Intellectual glasses.
Admittedly, they suited him nicely, Ichigo thought. His face had the right bone structure for it, and the metallic glint really set off the piercing blue of his eyes. The problem was that those eyes could pierce just as effectively without the eyewear; their night vision was probably ten times better than any person’s normal vision could ever hope to be.
And then the results had been posted for an exam from a couple days previous, and things had really gotten weird ... because somehow, Grimmjow Jaegerjaques, the newly arrived exchange student from France, had placed 6th in the entire class. (Ishida placed 1st, as per usual. Orihime placed 4th, and Chad placed 9th. Ichigo placed 30th, which was a few notches below his usual standards. However, this subpar performance probably owed itself to the fact that two days ago had been the day that Grimmjow showed up at school wearing something Ichigo couldn’t even put a name to, except that it involved tight black leather, buckles and chains, and quite a lot of exposed skin. For Ichigo the hormonal teenage boy, it had certainly been distracting. Strangely enough, no one else seemed to give it a second glance.)
That same day, an in-class discussion of various literary techniques somehow turned into a one-on-one debate [4] between Ishida and Grimmjow concerning the nature of metaphorical versus neurological synesthesia, which would have ended in sure disaster if Orihime hadn’t defused the situation by contributing the humble opinion, “Uhm, I-I think blue has a very nice texture. And it smells lovely, too!” The Quincy and the Arrancar, both being obvious proponents of the color blue, were sufficiently mollified by this to cease and desist, much to the relief of the majority.
The day before yesterday -- after the bondage-gear, but before the glasses -- had been just as bad, or worse, or just plain BAD in a way that defied relative terminology. Suddenly, Grimmjow had become everybody’s favorite person, and was captain of just about every sports team or club on campus [5]. Ichigo hadn’t been aware that Karakura had a track and field team, but apparently now it was one of the best of the best, and almost guaranteed a spot in the nationals because let’s face it, it’s pretty difficult to beat someone who can be scuffing his toe boredly at the finish line before the sound of the pistol going off has had time to reach the ears of the other runners.
Seeing Grimmjow during practices had almost made it worthwhile, though. Almost. The basketball uniform seemed designed to showcase those long, supple legs. Sweat didn’t dampen his body as he slammed the tennis ball across the net [6]; it formed an alluring sheen on the surface of his smooth skin, and the droplets shaken free from his wetly clinging hair sparkled, yes, sparkled in the sunlight. And swimming. When he was swimming ...
STOP, Ichigo tells himself, and does, with some effort. But it doesn’t get any easier, because the next day, Grimmjow has taken up a side job as a model. The schedule must be tight, because Grimmjow shows up at school wearing some big name designer’s “New Concept,” which looks like sex when Grimmjow is wearing it, and like a glorified scrap heap when he isn’t [7]. Not that it matters, Ichigo thinks -- or rather, tries in vain NOT to think. After all, once the clothes are off, he’ll be too occupied with looking at Grimmjow to even notice the scrap heap.
The day after that, Grimmjow is Dark and Edgy. His school uniform feebly insists that it is white and a rather pleasant light grey, but everything else about his demeanor makes it very clear that he is wearing Black. (The tie is gone. Dark-and-Edginess does not tolerate blue and red stripes.) Some of his hair has decided to hang down for a change, and is at just the right length for him to glower through enigmatically. He says a grand total of three words [8] throughout the whole day.
The girls go crazy over him anyway. Ichigo goes crazy too, but with a lot less “squee!” and a lot more *groan*.
And the day after that, Grimmjow is a woman.
At first, Ichigo sees the long hair and thinks it’s just a gigai modeled after Grimmjow’s released form. Then he sees the skirt. And the boobs.
She’s tall and leggy, and walks as if her standard-issue canvas shoes are three-inch stilettos. (You can practically hear the seductive clicking.) Her clothes are form-fitting in a way they definitely weren’t intended to be. No sultry saxophone music follows in her wake ... but that’s only because the saxophone player is also too busy gawping.
This time, it’s the boys’ turn to celebrate. Ichigo just wants to die.
It’s on the eighth day that Ichigo finally figures out what’s going on. Grimmjow pads into the classroom, thankfully male once more. However, he is also a fully-fledged nekomimi, which brings his gender (not to mention his species) into question all over again. It looks like Pantera -- mostly. Except that Pantera wouldn’t be caught dead with a bell around his neck, and would have seen no reason to lick his paws unless they were covered in blood. (Usually someone else’s.) And as far as Ichigo recalls, Pantera roars. He doesn’t meow, and he certainly doesn’t purr.
Nevertheless, there is a meowing, purring bundle of blue-haired, black-pawed kitty-ness currently perched quite comfortably on Ichigo’s desk, swatting happily at imaginary hell butterflies and hitting Ichigo in the face every once in a while with his long, velvety black tail. (Which also has a bell attached to it.)
That is, until Tatsuki slams her hands down on said desk and shouts in Ichigo’s face, effectively jarring him out of his most recent reverie.
“God, finally,” she mutters, giving him a smart cuff on the head for good measure as he does the mental equivalent of a flail, scrambling desperately for a foothold in reality. When he manages to find one, though, he decides that he doesn’t like it very much. First of all, Grimmjow isn’t there in any way, shape, or form. Secondly, he seems to have drooled all over his desk, and the incriminating puddle is both embarrassing and a bother to clean up. Finally, Tatsuki has approached him to ask how he did on the last exam, the results for which were in fact posted today, not five days ago. As ludicrous as the rest of the fantasy had been, it was eerily accurate when it came to the exam rankings, excepting, of course, number six (Nanbu Kenichiro, Class 8). Ichigo placed 31st. Not even a nice, even 30th.
Life has been pretty rotten lately, Ichigo observes despondently as he trudges back home. And all because a certain stubborn jackass of an ex-Espada utterly refuses to hop into a gigai and try out some normal living for a change, like Renji and the others have been so willing to do.
Well, technically, Grimmjow does currently have a gigai that anchors him to the real world. Ichigo is just very loath to call it a PROPER gigai.
As Ichigo opens the door to his house, he automatically directs a scowl towards the large cat basket, presently unoccupied [9], that sits innocently in a corner. Next to it are placed two bowls, one for water and one for a small heap of very ordinary-looking cat feed. (There are two or three dead, vaguely rodent-like Hollows sitting on top of the cat feed, but of course, only the very spiritually inclined are able to see these.) Taped above the basket is a list written on a piece of Yuzu’s second-nicest stationery; it is there, presumably, for the “cat” to read.
Ichigo squats down and pulls out a pen. In the free space between rule #22 (“We appreciate the thought, but please, do not leave last night’s catch on the doorstep”) and rule #23 (“The furniture is not a scratching post, and neither is Ichigo’s leg”), he squeezes in the following addendum:
“Get out of my head, you bastard!”
~ END ~
(... Except for the footnotes.)
[1] Other incredibly stupid ideas that have made it into the Top 10 list include: letting Orihime cook; naming Yammy as an Espada; calling Yumichika “fat”*; and most of the events of the filler episodes.
* This has happened only once, and is also known as That Time Nobody Talks About Anymore. The shinigami perpetrator, an uncommonly poor sport, had just lost a bet to Fifth Seat Ayasegawa. No one remembers his name anymore; there weren’t enough pieces of him left to merit even an unmarked grave.
[2] On the contrary, Grimmjow loves puppies. They make for a wonderful appetizer, before moving on to a main course of whole wild boars, giant squid sashimi, and of course, human souls.
[3] There are quite a few, actually. However, they are all long-retired.
[4] That is, an extremely coherent and eloquent shouting match. A brief excerpt of it went as follows: (Ishida Uryuu) “Cross-sensory metaphors may be viable in the context of abstract description in literature, but they are ultimately meaningless! Neurological synesthetic associations possess a characteristic systematicness that makes them considerably more logical for scientific study!” (Grimmjow Jaegerjaques) “And precisely what is so meaningful or logical about establishing that the letter H looks purple to one person and neon green to another? At least when Nabokov starts talking about ‘furry warmth’ and the ‘rich flavor of hell,’ you know exactly what he means! Literary synesthesia has purpose because it demands wit and interpretation beyond mere association!”
[5] Except for the chess club, because chess isn’t a sport (except to those who are very good at wishful thinking). And the bowling club. Because ... I mean, really.
[6] And through the opponent player’s racquet. And through the space where the opponent player’s head would have been if he hadn’t had the foresight to flee the court moments before. And then through the school walls, and the trunks of several unfortunate trees, and an ice cream cone that a young man had just purchased for his new girlfriend, and some more tree trunks, before finally coming to rest embedded in the side of an old woman’s car. Which was alright, because her eyesight was going, so she never even noticed it anyhow.
[7] Such is the case with many clothes that qualify as high fashion. Still, these are preferable to the ones that only look good when they aren’t being worn.
[8] “No” and “Fuck off.” These and other similarly cynical phrases are a staple in antiheroic verbal arsenals.
[9] The occupant** is most likely engaged in prowling the neighborhood in the hopes of running into a rogue Menos. Karakura Town hasn’t been so Hollow-free in years. Minus this one, that is.
** A big white and black-tipped cat, to the distant observer. A close observer will note that the feline’s musculature is far too powerfully set to be that of a typical house cat, and that the blue eyes glow in an uncanny fashion that can only be described as otherworldly. A closer observer will get his eyes scratched out, but only if he is lucky.
Title: Fantasies Impromptu, Opus 6
Rating: PG. Because of the fantasies, of course. And some perfectly harmless name-calling.
Pairing: Ichigo x Grimmjow
Warnings: Nothing. Just Ichigo’s wandering mind and the unabashed abuse of a number of familiar character tropes. Also some shameless psuedo-emulation of the writing style of Terry Pratchett.
Summary: Every day, Grimmjow walks into class with an outrageous new personality (accessories included). Funny thing is, Ichigo seems to be the only one who notices.
~ A belated Christmas gift-fic for misumisu84! ~
Providing Grimmjow with a gigai was the second worst idea in the history of Bleach.
Second, because the worst idea [1] in the history of Bleach was enrolling Grimmjow in the same class as Ichigo at Karakura High School.
Doesn’t anyone else notice? Ichigo ponders fitfully, as the object of his musings swaggers through the classroom door in full bousouzoku regalia, carrying what Ichigo hopes is a length of rusty metal pipe, but is probably something much more dangerous (not to mention illegal in most countries, including this one). The open tokko-fuku, the hachimaki headband hanging down past the rolled-up sleeves, the baggy pants and heavy combat boots and bandages wrapped around the otherwise bared torso -- Ichigo is sure that on anyone else, the outfit would look patently ridiculous, a walking caricature.
Grimmjow makes it look good. In fact, his attitude suggests that he held the entire ensemble at knifepoint and instructed it to look good, or else. The dark blue overcoat is relatively unadorned. It doesn’t need kanji declarations, or a billboard’s worth of garishly colored patches; the stylized white number “6” on the back is sufficient to get the message across. (And for the incredibly dim-witted, Ichigo reflects, the crouching panther embroidered under it probably helps.)
This is no common street thug with a five-word vocabulary and a penchant for kicking puppies [2], Grimmjow’s posture declares. This is a prince of the criminal underworld, already being groomed for his rightful place at the top of the yakuza food chain.
But appearances are beside the point, and Ichigo forcefully shakes himself out of his daze of (grudging) admiration, because he knows for a fact that Grimmjow just got here less than a week ago, and anyway, there aren’t even any yakuza in Karakura Town, as far as he can tell [3].
Still, this is nothing compared to yesterday. At least today’s Grimmjow is more or less in-character.
Yesterday, Grimmjow had been a model student. It had been terrifying in its own way, which is to say that it went against the natural order of the universe. The manner in which he strolled into the classroom could only be described as “studious.” Not only was he wearing the school uniform, but it was crisply pressed and buttoned all the way, and his tie was straight and his hair had not a strand out of place (although it was still spiky and very, very blue).
He was also wearing glasses. Light, steel-rimmed, rectangular glasses. Intellectual glasses.
Admittedly, they suited him nicely, Ichigo thought. His face had the right bone structure for it, and the metallic glint really set off the piercing blue of his eyes. The problem was that those eyes could pierce just as effectively without the eyewear; their night vision was probably ten times better than any person’s normal vision could ever hope to be.
And then the results had been posted for an exam from a couple days previous, and things had really gotten weird ... because somehow, Grimmjow Jaegerjaques, the newly arrived exchange student from France, had placed 6th in the entire class. (Ishida placed 1st, as per usual. Orihime placed 4th, and Chad placed 9th. Ichigo placed 30th, which was a few notches below his usual standards. However, this subpar performance probably owed itself to the fact that two days ago had been the day that Grimmjow showed up at school wearing something Ichigo couldn’t even put a name to, except that it involved tight black leather, buckles and chains, and quite a lot of exposed skin. For Ichigo the hormonal teenage boy, it had certainly been distracting. Strangely enough, no one else seemed to give it a second glance.)
That same day, an in-class discussion of various literary techniques somehow turned into a one-on-one debate [4] between Ishida and Grimmjow concerning the nature of metaphorical versus neurological synesthesia, which would have ended in sure disaster if Orihime hadn’t defused the situation by contributing the humble opinion, “Uhm, I-I think blue has a very nice texture. And it smells lovely, too!” The Quincy and the Arrancar, both being obvious proponents of the color blue, were sufficiently mollified by this to cease and desist, much to the relief of the majority.
The day before yesterday -- after the bondage-gear, but before the glasses -- had been just as bad, or worse, or just plain BAD in a way that defied relative terminology. Suddenly, Grimmjow had become everybody’s favorite person, and was captain of just about every sports team or club on campus [5]. Ichigo hadn’t been aware that Karakura had a track and field team, but apparently now it was one of the best of the best, and almost guaranteed a spot in the nationals because let’s face it, it’s pretty difficult to beat someone who can be scuffing his toe boredly at the finish line before the sound of the pistol going off has had time to reach the ears of the other runners.
Seeing Grimmjow during practices had almost made it worthwhile, though. Almost. The basketball uniform seemed designed to showcase those long, supple legs. Sweat didn’t dampen his body as he slammed the tennis ball across the net [6]; it formed an alluring sheen on the surface of his smooth skin, and the droplets shaken free from his wetly clinging hair sparkled, yes, sparkled in the sunlight. And swimming. When he was swimming ...
STOP, Ichigo tells himself, and does, with some effort. But it doesn’t get any easier, because the next day, Grimmjow has taken up a side job as a model. The schedule must be tight, because Grimmjow shows up at school wearing some big name designer’s “New Concept,” which looks like sex when Grimmjow is wearing it, and like a glorified scrap heap when he isn’t [7]. Not that it matters, Ichigo thinks -- or rather, tries in vain NOT to think. After all, once the clothes are off, he’ll be too occupied with looking at Grimmjow to even notice the scrap heap.
The day after that, Grimmjow is Dark and Edgy. His school uniform feebly insists that it is white and a rather pleasant light grey, but everything else about his demeanor makes it very clear that he is wearing Black. (The tie is gone. Dark-and-Edginess does not tolerate blue and red stripes.) Some of his hair has decided to hang down for a change, and is at just the right length for him to glower through enigmatically. He says a grand total of three words [8] throughout the whole day.
The girls go crazy over him anyway. Ichigo goes crazy too, but with a lot less “squee!” and a lot more *groan*.
And the day after that, Grimmjow is a woman.
At first, Ichigo sees the long hair and thinks it’s just a gigai modeled after Grimmjow’s released form. Then he sees the skirt. And the boobs.
She’s tall and leggy, and walks as if her standard-issue canvas shoes are three-inch stilettos. (You can practically hear the seductive clicking.) Her clothes are form-fitting in a way they definitely weren’t intended to be. No sultry saxophone music follows in her wake ... but that’s only because the saxophone player is also too busy gawping.
This time, it’s the boys’ turn to celebrate. Ichigo just wants to die.
It’s on the eighth day that Ichigo finally figures out what’s going on. Grimmjow pads into the classroom, thankfully male once more. However, he is also a fully-fledged nekomimi, which brings his gender (not to mention his species) into question all over again. It looks like Pantera -- mostly. Except that Pantera wouldn’t be caught dead with a bell around his neck, and would have seen no reason to lick his paws unless they were covered in blood. (Usually someone else’s.) And as far as Ichigo recalls, Pantera roars. He doesn’t meow, and he certainly doesn’t purr.
Nevertheless, there is a meowing, purring bundle of blue-haired, black-pawed kitty-ness currently perched quite comfortably on Ichigo’s desk, swatting happily at imaginary hell butterflies and hitting Ichigo in the face every once in a while with his long, velvety black tail. (Which also has a bell attached to it.)
That is, until Tatsuki slams her hands down on said desk and shouts in Ichigo’s face, effectively jarring him out of his most recent reverie.
“God, finally,” she mutters, giving him a smart cuff on the head for good measure as he does the mental equivalent of a flail, scrambling desperately for a foothold in reality. When he manages to find one, though, he decides that he doesn’t like it very much. First of all, Grimmjow isn’t there in any way, shape, or form. Secondly, he seems to have drooled all over his desk, and the incriminating puddle is both embarrassing and a bother to clean up. Finally, Tatsuki has approached him to ask how he did on the last exam, the results for which were in fact posted today, not five days ago. As ludicrous as the rest of the fantasy had been, it was eerily accurate when it came to the exam rankings, excepting, of course, number six (Nanbu Kenichiro, Class 8). Ichigo placed 31st. Not even a nice, even 30th.
Life has been pretty rotten lately, Ichigo observes despondently as he trudges back home. And all because a certain stubborn jackass of an ex-Espada utterly refuses to hop into a gigai and try out some normal living for a change, like Renji and the others have been so willing to do.
Well, technically, Grimmjow does currently have a gigai that anchors him to the real world. Ichigo is just very loath to call it a PROPER gigai.
As Ichigo opens the door to his house, he automatically directs a scowl towards the large cat basket, presently unoccupied [9], that sits innocently in a corner. Next to it are placed two bowls, one for water and one for a small heap of very ordinary-looking cat feed. (There are two or three dead, vaguely rodent-like Hollows sitting on top of the cat feed, but of course, only the very spiritually inclined are able to see these.) Taped above the basket is a list written on a piece of Yuzu’s second-nicest stationery; it is there, presumably, for the “cat” to read.
Ichigo squats down and pulls out a pen. In the free space between rule #22 (“We appreciate the thought, but please, do not leave last night’s catch on the doorstep”) and rule #23 (“The furniture is not a scratching post, and neither is Ichigo’s leg”), he squeezes in the following addendum:
“Get out of my head, you bastard!”
~ END ~
(... Except for the footnotes.)
[1] Other incredibly stupid ideas that have made it into the Top 10 list include: letting Orihime cook; naming Yammy as an Espada; calling Yumichika “fat”*; and most of the events of the filler episodes.
* This has happened only once, and is also known as That Time Nobody Talks About Anymore. The shinigami perpetrator, an uncommonly poor sport, had just lost a bet to Fifth Seat Ayasegawa. No one remembers his name anymore; there weren’t enough pieces of him left to merit even an unmarked grave.
[2] On the contrary, Grimmjow loves puppies. They make for a wonderful appetizer, before moving on to a main course of whole wild boars, giant squid sashimi, and of course, human souls.
[3] There are quite a few, actually. However, they are all long-retired.
[4] That is, an extremely coherent and eloquent shouting match. A brief excerpt of it went as follows: (Ishida Uryuu) “Cross-sensory metaphors may be viable in the context of abstract description in literature, but they are ultimately meaningless! Neurological synesthetic associations possess a characteristic systematicness that makes them considerably more logical for scientific study!” (Grimmjow Jaegerjaques) “And precisely what is so meaningful or logical about establishing that the letter H looks purple to one person and neon green to another? At least when Nabokov starts talking about ‘furry warmth’ and the ‘rich flavor of hell,’ you know exactly what he means! Literary synesthesia has purpose because it demands wit and interpretation beyond mere association!”
[5] Except for the chess club, because chess isn’t a sport (except to those who are very good at wishful thinking). And the bowling club. Because ... I mean, really.
[6] And through the opponent player’s racquet. And through the space where the opponent player’s head would have been if he hadn’t had the foresight to flee the court moments before. And then through the school walls, and the trunks of several unfortunate trees, and an ice cream cone that a young man had just purchased for his new girlfriend, and some more tree trunks, before finally coming to rest embedded in the side of an old woman’s car. Which was alright, because her eyesight was going, so she never even noticed it anyhow.
[7] Such is the case with many clothes that qualify as high fashion. Still, these are preferable to the ones that only look good when they aren’t being worn.
[8] “No” and “Fuck off.” These and other similarly cynical phrases are a staple in antiheroic verbal arsenals.
[9] The occupant** is most likely engaged in prowling the neighborhood in the hopes of running into a rogue Menos. Karakura Town hasn’t been so Hollow-free in years. Minus this one, that is.
** A big white and black-tipped cat, to the distant observer. A close observer will note that the feline’s musculature is far too powerfully set to be that of a typical house cat, and that the blue eyes glow in an uncanny fashion that can only be described as otherworldly. A closer observer will get his eyes scratched out, but only if he is lucky.