Bleach Drabble (160-162)
I really have no words to explain myself tonight. It's just...I think I'm in a weird place right now. That's all.
160.
Title: All Grown Up
Rating: PG
Pairing/Character/s: IemuraxNanao (sort-of) and a flash of KyourakuxUkitake
Word Count: 928
Warning/s: Um… some spoilers for Kyouraku and Ukitake’s shared backstory, but that’s not a biggie, right? Also, I’m still not very good at characterizing Nanao, so this one might be a little over the top, but hey, it’s all an experiment in the end, right? Yeah, what I meant was an OOC warning. ^^;;
Summary: Random pairing crack- It’s good to see two grown adults moving on with their lives after graduating from the academy.
Dedication: gaisce- never say that TricK never inspired me. ^^;;
A/N: So I was talking with Mel a few nights ago and she was talking about how Shunsui reminded her of Ueda from TricK and Nanao reminded her of Naoko. So I thought about that for a while, and while I can see that Nanao is, out of the Bleach cast, the most Naoko-ish, I think that Iemura is a lot more like Ueda (personally) than Shunsui is. And then I got this idea, which isn’t really an idea so much as them yelling at each other a lot, but it makes me giggle all the same, because Iemura would so piss her off. XD
Ise Nanao was generally viewed as one of the quiet types, bookish and prim, a hard worker and a professional type vice-captain, which was good considering her match to a captain as unprofessional a type as Kyouraku Shunsui.
So generally, Nanao was seen as strong willed and intelligent, no-nonsense, disciplined, and commendable in her ability to kick Shunsui to work everyday when all he wanted to do was sleep the morning (and last night’s alcohol) away.
Those that really knew her also called her a little bit of a spitfire under all that propriety, scathing and sharp-tongued when provoked just so, the sort of girl only idiots pissed off on purpose.
And Iemura Yasuchika was sort of an idiot.
It harkened back all the way to their academy days, early enough in their school lives to have been before the split in technique specialization, when it was all general knowledge and a fierce competition to be accepted with honors into the next grade level.
The two top competitors in one particular class had been a young Ise and an obnoxious (also young) Iemura.
“Ha, Ise! I beat you by two points for the number one spot again! What do you have to say about that?”
“The only way you could have gotten that score was if you missed at least two problems but got lucky on the extra-credit by closing your eyes and making a random guess. Which I know you did. I saw you sweating and praying before you threw a hand over your eyes and circled something at the very last minute of the allotted time.”
He scowled. “I still beat you.”
“Not on merit.”
“Luck is merit! It takes a sort of genius, really, to perfect that sort of art.”
“So you’re suggesting that you admire Madarame-san’s ingenious Luck-luck dance?”
Some of their other classmates snickered at the barb.
Iemura crossed his arms. “You can quibble all you want, Ise. The fact of the matter is I beat you again. And since that obviously proves I’m infinitely better than you, I will take the moral high ground this time and ignore your shrewish barbs, pacifying myself on the knowledge that no man will ever marry such a small-breasted dragon-tongued bookworm.”
That was apparently, Iemura’s version of the moral high ground.
Ise, used to his arrogance, always responded to that sort of thing by reminding him that next period was battle practice, and if he wanted, he could borrow her zanpakutou since he knew the theory behind manifesting them but just couldn’t yet, the poor late-bloomer.
He clenched his teeth and glared at her.
She smiled prettily and told him that he would one day, do the fourth division proud, because really, it was inevitable that someone with so much theory and no actual battle ability would be assigned there.
“You’re so lucky, you’ll be one of the few shinigami in seireitei who will get to know the underground sewers like the back of your hand!” she twittered with all the false demureness of a schooled socialite, reaching out to pat him on the shoulder before strolling off towards practice.
It was a petty, horrible rivalry that they always forced one another into fighting over, really. But they’d been young then after all, and most people were sure that with time and added maturity, the two would realize the folly of their points against one another and come to see that the diverse qualities each of them had would one day play important, if different roles in Soul Society and how it was run.
Everyone was sure that with the passage of time, the two of them would both grow up and learn to appreciate each other’s unique and necessary dissimilarities.
“Pill-pusher!!”
“School librarian!!”
“Sewer-sweeper!!”
“Small-chested shrew!!”
“You have an awkward physique!”
“Your hair is ugly!”
Kyouraku Shunsui chuckled as Nanao stormed into the eighth division headquarters absolutely fuming, his vice-captain’s murderous reiatsu rolling off of her thin frame in waves as the gates to the building were slammed closed behind her, cutting off Iemura’s last string of insults with a loud, decisive bang.
“Oooh, I…. oooh! I hate him!!” she shouted, grabbing at her hair with her free hand in frustration. “I can’t stand that idiot!”
“Aww… did you and Iemura-kun have another tiff, my sweet Nanao-chan?” her captain asked sweetly from the place on the floor he was currently relaxing on.
“Are you mocking me, taichou?” she questioned dangerously, scowling at the not-so-innocent question from her superior officer because she didn’t need this now on top of everything else.
“Never, my sweet Nanao-chan,” he assured her, not pushing for details about what Iemura-kun had said to start their argument this time because really, her anger was all the answer he needed.
Smiling ruefully to himself, Shunsui pulled his hat down over his face to shade his eyes from the sunlight, letting himself wax nostalgic on the long lost past of his academy time and his own follies there. He chuckled secretively as he recalled days upon days of running around like an idiot and shouting at the top of his lungs, all on the offhand chance that the cute boy with white hair who sat at the front of the class would maybe sit up and take notice of him if he were flashy enough about it.
“Honestly,” he murmured at the memory, feeling like an old man for a moment as Nanao stood in the doorway raging, “you kids are just so damn cute.”
She threw her book at him and stormed off.
END
161.
Title: A World of Special
Rating: PG
Pairing/Character/s: Eleventh Division
Word Count: 950 (yeah, the paring down thing lasted REAL long, didn’t it? :P)
Warning/s: Crack, lameness and OOCness, but no spoilers that I can think of.
Summary: Madarame begins to notice a pattern.
Dedication: Yoshi- Welcome home!
A/N: I feel guilty for this, I do. But I was thinking about it for awhile and yeah, the eleventh div is all about the thug love right? Mostly. There is the whole…Yumichika thing. And so I guess I set out to try and explain it to myself. And got this. My mind doesn’t work like a normal one, I think. -_-;;
It took some time, but eventually third chair Ikkaku Madarame began to notice a bunch of little things that made him start to think that maybe, just maybe, the eleventh division was… different.
And not just a regular different, like how the fourth division was medical squad or the second division was special ops or the twelfth division were research and tech.
Those were the big glaring kinds of different that everyone noticed.
The kind of different that Ikkaku was beginning to notice was a more…special kind of different.
It took him some time, but he thought he was beginning to see a pattern.
The eleventh division definitely wasn’t made up of kidoh geniuses, like the fifth division. And they weren’t built for defense like the thirteenth division guys. They didn’t specialize in strategizing like the third division, and they were just no good at mid-range battle like the seventh and sixth divisions.
What the eleventh division was good at was…different.
“Oi, you wanna die?”
Madarame looked over his shoulder at the sound of a familiar voice, just in time to see one of his subordinates tilt his chin skyward and look down menacingly out of his one good eye at the poor fourth division errand-boy who’d bumped into him.
“Um…no! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” the medical shinigami exclaimed quickly, bowing at the wronged eleventh division member.
“Che… yarou… better watch where you’re goin’ next time or I’ll cut you, ya hear?” the scar-eyed death god threatened. “Now get outta here!”
“Yes sir!” the fourth division kid simpered hastily, bowing one more time before turning around to run off.
“Yeah, you better run,” scar-eye chortled, moving to kick the fleeing medical shinigami in the ass as he scurried away.
Ikkaku watched the interplay and then strode off, deep in thought. Maybe he was seeing things. Maybe it was just an anomaly, but it felt like there was some sort of pattern there, if he thought about it long and hard.
He rounded the corner in time to hear a large group’s cry of amusement as he came upon five or six of his underlings crouched in a circle, throwing a pair of dice around.
“Oi… teme… that’s ten bucks you owe me now, ain’t it?”
“Che, shut the hell up an’ roll, wouldjya?”
“You wanna die?”
“You wanna die?”
“I’d like to see you try anything, yarou!”
“Oi… you two gonna play or fight? Fights are on the other side’a the buildin’ remember?”
“Yeah, yeah…roll the damned dice, asshole.”
Madarame wasn’t sure but he thought that maybe there was a pattern here.
He walked a few more feet…
… and found the fights on the other side of the building the last group had been talking about. He stood and watched for a moment, as his division’s seventh chair slammed a ninth division shinigami’s face into the wall with one hand while using the other to flick the ash from his still-smoking cigarette.
There was a bottle of booze tucked into his belt.
The eleventh division third chair concluded that there was definitely some sort of pattern here.
And it was special. Not in the retarded way everyone else thought it was. Though one might argue about how, collectively, the eleventh division’s members had the lowest exit test scores out of all other graduating academy shinigami.
But Madarame was pretty sure there was something else special about them.
All of them.
His brow furrowed.
Well, all of them except for…
Later that night, he knocked on Zaraki-taichou’s door, looking troubled.
“What the hell do you want?” Kenpachi asked gruffly, doing what looked like a word-puzzle game at his desk.
“Um…sorry to bother you, sir…but I was just thinkin’ today…”
“Ain’t that nice?”
Ikkaku frowned. “Sir, I think I noticed a um…a pattern when it comes to our division.”
Zaraki arched a brow, pausing to look up at his third chair. “Yeah?”
“Well, our division is…special without question…”
The brow dropped. “Oh. That.”
“Yessir. But um…the only thing I can’t figure out…”
“Mmmhmmm… Yumi, right?”
Ikkaku blinked, surprised at his captain’s astuteness. “Ah, yessir.”
Kenpachi scribbled something on his word-puzzle, and then held the paper back away from his face, smiling triumphantly at it. “Ha, got you, ya bastard! Che. Seven letter word for idiotic… ‘s gotta be dumbass.” He frowned after a second. “That don’t work… OI, YUMI!!!” the captain called, turning towards the office’s side door and yelling loudly enough to make Madarame jump.
“Yes, taichou?” Yumichika called back from the next room.
“What’s a seven letter word for idiotic?”
“Foolish!”
“Che…shoulda gone with dumbass, sounds better,” the eleventh division leader muttered, though he penciled in Yumi’s new answer anyway. “Yeah, that works.” Eventually, he turned back to Ikkaku. “You were sayin’?”
“Um… well,” Ikkaku motioned towards the next room with his hands. “Yumi, sir. He doesn’t um…fit.”
Zaraki snorted. “Course he doesn’t. What’re you…stupid or somethin’? Whyd’ya think I make him take care’a Yachiru?”
Ikkaku blinked.
About three seconds passed.
And realization dawned. “Ooooooh. It’s ‘cuz he’s…”
“Too fruity to do anythin’ perverted to her? Congrats on figurin’ it out, smarty-pants,” Kenpachi grunted acerbically, not bothering to look up as he continued his puzzle. “Hmmm… eight letter word for someone who’s against violence? Che…dickless. ‘s gotta be… waitaminute… OI, YUMI!!!”
“Yes, taichou?”
“What’s an eight letter word for someone who don’t like violence?”
“Pacifist, taichou.”
Zaraki grunted and shook his head, penciling in the answer. “Che. Dickless is dickless, ain’t it? Don’t know why they gotta make up all these other fancy words to dress up the facts.”
That night, Ikkaku Madarame left his captain’s office with a reinforced notion of exactly how special his division was.
END
162.
Title: Animal Magnetism
Rating: PG-13
Pairing/Character/s: UraharaxYoruichi (actually an unquestionable ship fic with them now! FINALLY, right?)
Word Count: 318
Warning/s: Um, sort-of spoilers for Urahara and Yoruichi’s backstory, I guess?
Summary: Urahara has a lot of important questions.
Dedication: Dave- because just like you can write gay, I can write straight. HA.
A/N: Because Urahara’s the kind of hot that makes you want to simultaneously kick his ass and grope it. Which is sexy in a really annoying way, and I think Yoruichi’s probably had to deal with it more than anyone else. Lucky her. XD
The first time he asks her what animal she thinks he would most likely transform into if he could transform into an animal too, she ignores him because she suspects he’s just asking out of boredom while she has better things to do, like train. So she keeps training and leaves him sitting on the porch of her house, wondering out loud if he’d make a sexy chinchilla or a hot koala.
The second time he asks her it’s in bed, and she’s too content to ruin the mood by actually seriously considering his question, so she rolls off of him and grabs her pillow and hits him in the face with it before she falls asleep.
The third time he asks her, it’s in the middle of a big battle and she’s surrounded by enemies, doing her best to concentrate on the fight and not stop her hollow slaughter to go over to where he is and start some Kisuke slaughter, though she wants to, with the way he’s smirking as he simultaneously lays waste and muses philosophically, somehow making the two things seem indispensable of one another as he’s doing them.
So she just grits her teeth and calls back that maybe he’d make a good duck.
That said, she goes back to battling while he fights nearby, pondering as he slaughters, what it is about his personality that would make a good duck.
Later, when they’re both tired and covered in blood that’s not their own, he asks her what kind of duck.
Somehow, she musters up the energy to begin the long overdue Kisuke slaughter after all.
That evening, after they’re both bathed and treated and fed, she lies beside him in the dark of his room and suddenly finds herself saying, “Maybe a wood duck.”
She realizes she only has herself to blame when he rolls onto his side and asks her, “Why?”
END
Editing always needed. And in the case of these three drabbles, probably a good kick in the head is also needed. Thanks in advance. ^_^;;
160.
Title: All Grown Up
Rating: PG
Pairing/Character/s: IemuraxNanao (sort-of) and a flash of KyourakuxUkitake
Word Count: 928
Warning/s: Um… some spoilers for Kyouraku and Ukitake’s shared backstory, but that’s not a biggie, right? Also, I’m still not very good at characterizing Nanao, so this one might be a little over the top, but hey, it’s all an experiment in the end, right? Yeah, what I meant was an OOC warning. ^^;;
Summary: Random pairing crack- It’s good to see two grown adults moving on with their lives after graduating from the academy.
Dedication: gaisce- never say that TricK never inspired me. ^^;;
A/N: So I was talking with Mel a few nights ago and she was talking about how Shunsui reminded her of Ueda from TricK and Nanao reminded her of Naoko. So I thought about that for a while, and while I can see that Nanao is, out of the Bleach cast, the most Naoko-ish, I think that Iemura is a lot more like Ueda (personally) than Shunsui is. And then I got this idea, which isn’t really an idea so much as them yelling at each other a lot, but it makes me giggle all the same, because Iemura would so piss her off. XD
Ise Nanao was generally viewed as one of the quiet types, bookish and prim, a hard worker and a professional type vice-captain, which was good considering her match to a captain as unprofessional a type as Kyouraku Shunsui.
So generally, Nanao was seen as strong willed and intelligent, no-nonsense, disciplined, and commendable in her ability to kick Shunsui to work everyday when all he wanted to do was sleep the morning (and last night’s alcohol) away.
Those that really knew her also called her a little bit of a spitfire under all that propriety, scathing and sharp-tongued when provoked just so, the sort of girl only idiots pissed off on purpose.
And Iemura Yasuchika was sort of an idiot.
It harkened back all the way to their academy days, early enough in their school lives to have been before the split in technique specialization, when it was all general knowledge and a fierce competition to be accepted with honors into the next grade level.
The two top competitors in one particular class had been a young Ise and an obnoxious (also young) Iemura.
“Ha, Ise! I beat you by two points for the number one spot again! What do you have to say about that?”
“The only way you could have gotten that score was if you missed at least two problems but got lucky on the extra-credit by closing your eyes and making a random guess. Which I know you did. I saw you sweating and praying before you threw a hand over your eyes and circled something at the very last minute of the allotted time.”
He scowled. “I still beat you.”
“Not on merit.”
“Luck is merit! It takes a sort of genius, really, to perfect that sort of art.”
“So you’re suggesting that you admire Madarame-san’s ingenious Luck-luck dance?”
Some of their other classmates snickered at the barb.
Iemura crossed his arms. “You can quibble all you want, Ise. The fact of the matter is I beat you again. And since that obviously proves I’m infinitely better than you, I will take the moral high ground this time and ignore your shrewish barbs, pacifying myself on the knowledge that no man will ever marry such a small-breasted dragon-tongued bookworm.”
That was apparently, Iemura’s version of the moral high ground.
Ise, used to his arrogance, always responded to that sort of thing by reminding him that next period was battle practice, and if he wanted, he could borrow her zanpakutou since he knew the theory behind manifesting them but just couldn’t yet, the poor late-bloomer.
He clenched his teeth and glared at her.
She smiled prettily and told him that he would one day, do the fourth division proud, because really, it was inevitable that someone with so much theory and no actual battle ability would be assigned there.
“You’re so lucky, you’ll be one of the few shinigami in seireitei who will get to know the underground sewers like the back of your hand!” she twittered with all the false demureness of a schooled socialite, reaching out to pat him on the shoulder before strolling off towards practice.
It was a petty, horrible rivalry that they always forced one another into fighting over, really. But they’d been young then after all, and most people were sure that with time and added maturity, the two would realize the folly of their points against one another and come to see that the diverse qualities each of them had would one day play important, if different roles in Soul Society and how it was run.
Everyone was sure that with the passage of time, the two of them would both grow up and learn to appreciate each other’s unique and necessary dissimilarities.
“Pill-pusher!!”
“School librarian!!”
“Sewer-sweeper!!”
“Small-chested shrew!!”
“You have an awkward physique!”
“Your hair is ugly!”
Kyouraku Shunsui chuckled as Nanao stormed into the eighth division headquarters absolutely fuming, his vice-captain’s murderous reiatsu rolling off of her thin frame in waves as the gates to the building were slammed closed behind her, cutting off Iemura’s last string of insults with a loud, decisive bang.
“Oooh, I…. oooh! I hate him!!” she shouted, grabbing at her hair with her free hand in frustration. “I can’t stand that idiot!”
“Aww… did you and Iemura-kun have another tiff, my sweet Nanao-chan?” her captain asked sweetly from the place on the floor he was currently relaxing on.
“Are you mocking me, taichou?” she questioned dangerously, scowling at the not-so-innocent question from her superior officer because she didn’t need this now on top of everything else.
“Never, my sweet Nanao-chan,” he assured her, not pushing for details about what Iemura-kun had said to start their argument this time because really, her anger was all the answer he needed.
Smiling ruefully to himself, Shunsui pulled his hat down over his face to shade his eyes from the sunlight, letting himself wax nostalgic on the long lost past of his academy time and his own follies there. He chuckled secretively as he recalled days upon days of running around like an idiot and shouting at the top of his lungs, all on the offhand chance that the cute boy with white hair who sat at the front of the class would maybe sit up and take notice of him if he were flashy enough about it.
“Honestly,” he murmured at the memory, feeling like an old man for a moment as Nanao stood in the doorway raging, “you kids are just so damn cute.”
She threw her book at him and stormed off.
END
161.
Title: A World of Special
Rating: PG
Pairing/Character/s: Eleventh Division
Word Count: 950 (yeah, the paring down thing lasted REAL long, didn’t it? :P)
Warning/s: Crack, lameness and OOCness, but no spoilers that I can think of.
Summary: Madarame begins to notice a pattern.
Dedication: Yoshi- Welcome home!
A/N: I feel guilty for this, I do. But I was thinking about it for awhile and yeah, the eleventh div is all about the thug love right? Mostly. There is the whole…Yumichika thing. And so I guess I set out to try and explain it to myself. And got this. My mind doesn’t work like a normal one, I think. -_-;;
It took some time, but eventually third chair Ikkaku Madarame began to notice a bunch of little things that made him start to think that maybe, just maybe, the eleventh division was… different.
And not just a regular different, like how the fourth division was medical squad or the second division was special ops or the twelfth division were research and tech.
Those were the big glaring kinds of different that everyone noticed.
The kind of different that Ikkaku was beginning to notice was a more…special kind of different.
It took him some time, but he thought he was beginning to see a pattern.
The eleventh division definitely wasn’t made up of kidoh geniuses, like the fifth division. And they weren’t built for defense like the thirteenth division guys. They didn’t specialize in strategizing like the third division, and they were just no good at mid-range battle like the seventh and sixth divisions.
What the eleventh division was good at was…different.
“Oi, you wanna die?”
Madarame looked over his shoulder at the sound of a familiar voice, just in time to see one of his subordinates tilt his chin skyward and look down menacingly out of his one good eye at the poor fourth division errand-boy who’d bumped into him.
“Um…no! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” the medical shinigami exclaimed quickly, bowing at the wronged eleventh division member.
“Che… yarou… better watch where you’re goin’ next time or I’ll cut you, ya hear?” the scar-eyed death god threatened. “Now get outta here!”
“Yes sir!” the fourth division kid simpered hastily, bowing one more time before turning around to run off.
“Yeah, you better run,” scar-eye chortled, moving to kick the fleeing medical shinigami in the ass as he scurried away.
Ikkaku watched the interplay and then strode off, deep in thought. Maybe he was seeing things. Maybe it was just an anomaly, but it felt like there was some sort of pattern there, if he thought about it long and hard.
He rounded the corner in time to hear a large group’s cry of amusement as he came upon five or six of his underlings crouched in a circle, throwing a pair of dice around.
“Oi… teme… that’s ten bucks you owe me now, ain’t it?”
“Che, shut the hell up an’ roll, wouldjya?”
“You wanna die?”
“You wanna die?”
“I’d like to see you try anything, yarou!”
“Oi… you two gonna play or fight? Fights are on the other side’a the buildin’ remember?”
“Yeah, yeah…roll the damned dice, asshole.”
Madarame wasn’t sure but he thought that maybe there was a pattern here.
He walked a few more feet…
… and found the fights on the other side of the building the last group had been talking about. He stood and watched for a moment, as his division’s seventh chair slammed a ninth division shinigami’s face into the wall with one hand while using the other to flick the ash from his still-smoking cigarette.
There was a bottle of booze tucked into his belt.
The eleventh division third chair concluded that there was definitely some sort of pattern here.
And it was special. Not in the retarded way everyone else thought it was. Though one might argue about how, collectively, the eleventh division’s members had the lowest exit test scores out of all other graduating academy shinigami.
But Madarame was pretty sure there was something else special about them.
All of them.
His brow furrowed.
Well, all of them except for…
Later that night, he knocked on Zaraki-taichou’s door, looking troubled.
“What the hell do you want?” Kenpachi asked gruffly, doing what looked like a word-puzzle game at his desk.
“Um…sorry to bother you, sir…but I was just thinkin’ today…”
“Ain’t that nice?”
Ikkaku frowned. “Sir, I think I noticed a um…a pattern when it comes to our division.”
Zaraki arched a brow, pausing to look up at his third chair. “Yeah?”
“Well, our division is…special without question…”
The brow dropped. “Oh. That.”
“Yessir. But um…the only thing I can’t figure out…”
“Mmmhmmm… Yumi, right?”
Ikkaku blinked, surprised at his captain’s astuteness. “Ah, yessir.”
Kenpachi scribbled something on his word-puzzle, and then held the paper back away from his face, smiling triumphantly at it. “Ha, got you, ya bastard! Che. Seven letter word for idiotic… ‘s gotta be dumbass.” He frowned after a second. “That don’t work… OI, YUMI!!!” the captain called, turning towards the office’s side door and yelling loudly enough to make Madarame jump.
“Yes, taichou?” Yumichika called back from the next room.
“What’s a seven letter word for idiotic?”
“Foolish!”
“Che…shoulda gone with dumbass, sounds better,” the eleventh division leader muttered, though he penciled in Yumi’s new answer anyway. “Yeah, that works.” Eventually, he turned back to Ikkaku. “You were sayin’?”
“Um… well,” Ikkaku motioned towards the next room with his hands. “Yumi, sir. He doesn’t um…fit.”
Zaraki snorted. “Course he doesn’t. What’re you…stupid or somethin’? Whyd’ya think I make him take care’a Yachiru?”
Ikkaku blinked.
About three seconds passed.
And realization dawned. “Ooooooh. It’s ‘cuz he’s…”
“Too fruity to do anythin’ perverted to her? Congrats on figurin’ it out, smarty-pants,” Kenpachi grunted acerbically, not bothering to look up as he continued his puzzle. “Hmmm… eight letter word for someone who’s against violence? Che…dickless. ‘s gotta be… waitaminute… OI, YUMI!!!”
“Yes, taichou?”
“What’s an eight letter word for someone who don’t like violence?”
“Pacifist, taichou.”
Zaraki grunted and shook his head, penciling in the answer. “Che. Dickless is dickless, ain’t it? Don’t know why they gotta make up all these other fancy words to dress up the facts.”
That night, Ikkaku Madarame left his captain’s office with a reinforced notion of exactly how special his division was.
END
162.
Title: Animal Magnetism
Rating: PG-13
Pairing/Character/s: UraharaxYoruichi (actually an unquestionable ship fic with them now! FINALLY, right?)
Word Count: 318
Warning/s: Um, sort-of spoilers for Urahara and Yoruichi’s backstory, I guess?
Summary: Urahara has a lot of important questions.
Dedication: Dave- because just like you can write gay, I can write straight. HA.
A/N: Because Urahara’s the kind of hot that makes you want to simultaneously kick his ass and grope it. Which is sexy in a really annoying way, and I think Yoruichi’s probably had to deal with it more than anyone else. Lucky her. XD
The first time he asks her what animal she thinks he would most likely transform into if he could transform into an animal too, she ignores him because she suspects he’s just asking out of boredom while she has better things to do, like train. So she keeps training and leaves him sitting on the porch of her house, wondering out loud if he’d make a sexy chinchilla or a hot koala.
The second time he asks her it’s in bed, and she’s too content to ruin the mood by actually seriously considering his question, so she rolls off of him and grabs her pillow and hits him in the face with it before she falls asleep.
The third time he asks her, it’s in the middle of a big battle and she’s surrounded by enemies, doing her best to concentrate on the fight and not stop her hollow slaughter to go over to where he is and start some Kisuke slaughter, though she wants to, with the way he’s smirking as he simultaneously lays waste and muses philosophically, somehow making the two things seem indispensable of one another as he’s doing them.
So she just grits her teeth and calls back that maybe he’d make a good duck.
That said, she goes back to battling while he fights nearby, pondering as he slaughters, what it is about his personality that would make a good duck.
Later, when they’re both tired and covered in blood that’s not their own, he asks her what kind of duck.
Somehow, she musters up the energy to begin the long overdue Kisuke slaughter after all.
That evening, after they’re both bathed and treated and fed, she lies beside him in the dark of his room and suddenly finds herself saying, “Maybe a wood duck.”
She realizes she only has herself to blame when he rolls onto his side and asks her, “Why?”
END
Editing always needed. And in the case of these three drabbles, probably a good kick in the head is also needed. Thanks in advance. ^_^;;