Day 12 - Home Cooking
Another one for my IchiRuki 30_kisses challenge, I swear I'll put these in order eventually.
Title: Day 12 - Home Cooking
Author/Artist: tasogaretaichou
Pairing: IchigoxRukia
Fandom:Bleach
Theme: #12 - In a good mood
Disclaimer: Bleach =/= mine
The cheerful tune issuing from the kitchen beyond the doorway would likely have been a nice little piece of the day. After all, in most instances where someone was whistling to themselves, whistling accompanied by the occasional word or phrase hummed or trilled along with the beat, it meant that said someone was in a good mood. Nothing forboding or threatening about that. Especially when it was being whistled by a young woman -- girl, really, considering how young she looked -- wearing a rather cute lavender apron and a pair of oversized slippers as she puttered around the kitchen and busied herself with looking in cupboards and cabinets. Except.... said woman in the kitchen wasn't just a young woman. Rather, it was a petite raven-haired shinigami, who was currently trying to figure out exactly what the phrase "blend two eggs" meant.
".... why can't this thing be written in a way that makes sense?"
Small fingers turned the pages of the cookbook idly as her mind mulled over the unfamiliar phrase. She knew what eggs were. Any idiot knew what eggs were. She also knew how to count, as was evidenced by the pair of white orbs resting beside the bowl on the countertop. But what did "blend" refer to? Obviously she knew the meaning of the word, just not how it referred to cooking. Brows furrowing, Rukia cast her gaze around the room, studying the collection of appliances and other knick-knacks that comprised the interior of the Kurosaki family's kitchen. Blend, blend, blend.....
Standing up, she padded over to the other side of the counter, reaching across it to grab the tall glass pitcher sitting in the black base. This thing was called a "blender", right? So by logical deduction, it was used to blend things. And eggs were things, right? Nodding to herself, Rukia pried the top off of the blender and picked up the two eggs, dropping them in the top before propping elbows on the counter to study the buttons on the front. Wrinkling her nose up, she nodded to herself before pressing the top down and selecting the button that, conveniently enough, said "blend" on it.
"That should do it, then."
Stepping back slightly, she raised one eyebrow quizzically at the racket the machine made as shells cracked and shattered and yolk spattered the sides of the container as it's contents were churned around. It seemed a bit odd for the shells to be in there, but seeing as the book she'd purloined from Yuzu's shelf hadn't said anything about what to DO with the shells, Rukia could only assume that the process of blending rendered any concerns over that obsolete. Turning back to her mission at hand, she set about looking for her next ingredients.
Rukia -- not that anyone would really dare say it to her face -- could not cook. Well ok, there were a couple people who might have said it to her face, but the majority of those in her immediate vicinity would have rather crawled bare-ass naked across hot coals than actually admit to said petite shinigami that her cooking reminded them of the sort of medical experiments they fancied the 12th division with. Even Orihime's cooking was looked at with less trepidation than Rukia's. At least the other girl managed to make things come out recognizable. Just.... in odd combinations.
Unfortunately for Kurosaki Ichigo, he was not privy to any such information. Mostly due to the fact that said shinigami had never seen fit to bother herself with cooking for him. He was a big boy, he could feed himself. And her, for that matter. It was the arrangement they'd had for quite some time. He cooked, or bought food, and she badgered and harrassed him until he fed her too, usually through gritted teeth and a growl. And it had been working for a long time. Until the other day. When she'd happened to notice one of the couples at school eating lunch. Which wasn't in and of itself an unusual thing, but she couldn't shake the way the girl had handed the boy a little wrapped package of cookies and the way he'd smiled and thanked her. Something about it just seemed... nice.
Ichigo wasn't "nice". Not that she expected him to be. So while she could easily chalk her sudden predilection for baking up to the simple desire to prove to herself that she could do it just as well -- and maybe also to the fact that it would make her adopted persona even a bit more believable now that everyone at school knew that she and Ichigo were a couple -- she chose instead to tell herself it was simply because she wanted to. And that he was going to eat whatever she made whether he wanted to or not.
Mulling over that, she kept up with her wanderings through the kitchen, muttering to herself. There wasn't enough butter, so now she needed something to use in place of it. Plucking a jar of mayonaise from the fridge, she studied it for a moment. They both went on bread, right? Only the mayonaise was a good deal stickier than the butter. Putting it back, she smiled and instead snagged the stick of cream cheese. There. Same consistency, same shape and size. It wouldn't make that much difference, right? And then to solve the fact that she'd accidentally mis-measured and put three spoonfuls of vanilla in instead of one, she'd just add 2 to everything else. Perfect. Humming the same tune, she went right back to her cooking. He'd be home soon, and she wanted to have it ready.
***************
Being banished to his room wasn't something that normally put Kurosaki Ichigo into a good mood. Especially not when said banisher happened to be his short, oft ill-tempered ...... whatever she was. He wasn't about to call her his..... girlfriend. Not only was it just to weird, but he had to admit -- even if only to himself -- that the world really fell far short of what they shared. Or at least, he did in those fleeting moments where he actually allowed himself to think things like that. Which wasn't often. And especially wasn't during a time like this when same bitchy shinigami had all but locked him in his own room while she did who-knows-what downstairs. But this had proved to be one of the rare times when common sense prevailed and he'd decided that it was easier to sit in his room and stew rather than deal with a pissed-off Rukia.
But that was before a rather intriguing smell began to waft up the stairs from the direction of the kitchen and he'd cracked his door to sniff. It smelled... interesting. Not at all like what he'd have expected something Rukia cooked to smell like. Not because he had any sort of experience -- he didn't -- but simply because it was hard to imagine Rukia doing anything that one could consider "girly" or even "normal". And cooking definitely went under that category. Until his curiosity overrode any sense of self-preservation and he stealthily made his way down the stairs, sniffing the air hesitantly. It wasn't a smell he could easily recognize, but then neither did it smell particularly hazardous. And then there was that mental picture -- the one that stubbornly refused to leave his head no matter how much he wanted to pretend it didn't exist -- of Rukia standing in front of that stove in nothing but an apron. Feh, like THAT was likely to happen. And if it DID, it would only be long enough for her to kick him in the head to break the illusion and then scoff at him for being an idiot.
She knew he was there, and while she'd been tempted to beat him for it, she was done with her work and so he'd just managed to save her the trouble of going up and dragging him downstairs. Glancing up from where she was pulling the tray of cookies out of the oven, she raised an eyebrow at him with a slight scowl.
"I told you to stay upstairs."
Her voice had the dangerous edge to it, but not to the normal level that edge normally ran. And while "safe" was probably a laughable concept, at least he was out of range of her feet. Sniffing experimentally, he eyed the cookies on the tray with a good deal of trepidation. They looked normal enough.... golden brown and warm, the tops kissed with just a hint of powdered sugar. Hell, they looked almost as good as something Yuzu might have made. He backpedaled a pace or two as she shoved a spatula under one and stuck it in his face.
"Here."
Ichigo eyed the cookie as though it were a poisonous viper coiled and ready to strike. Brown eyes flickering back and forth between the cookie and Rukia's increasingly irritated expression, he decided that the cookie was probably the lesser of two evils. Besides, how bad could they really be?
He got his answer a few seconds later when, after having hurridly shoved the cookie in his mouth and swallowed without hardly even chewing it, he felt a cold sinking feeling in his gut as he could swear his insides physically turned at the intrusion of what could only be termed the horrors of hell solidified into baked form.
It would be a long time before Kurosaki Ichigo would ever trust anything Rukia had cooked ever again.
Title: Day 12 - Home Cooking
Author/Artist: tasogaretaichou
Pairing: IchigoxRukia
Fandom:Bleach
Theme: #12 - In a good mood
Disclaimer: Bleach =/= mine
The cheerful tune issuing from the kitchen beyond the doorway would likely have been a nice little piece of the day. After all, in most instances where someone was whistling to themselves, whistling accompanied by the occasional word or phrase hummed or trilled along with the beat, it meant that said someone was in a good mood. Nothing forboding or threatening about that. Especially when it was being whistled by a young woman -- girl, really, considering how young she looked -- wearing a rather cute lavender apron and a pair of oversized slippers as she puttered around the kitchen and busied herself with looking in cupboards and cabinets. Except.... said woman in the kitchen wasn't just a young woman. Rather, it was a petite raven-haired shinigami, who was currently trying to figure out exactly what the phrase "blend two eggs" meant.
".... why can't this thing be written in a way that makes sense?"
Small fingers turned the pages of the cookbook idly as her mind mulled over the unfamiliar phrase. She knew what eggs were. Any idiot knew what eggs were. She also knew how to count, as was evidenced by the pair of white orbs resting beside the bowl on the countertop. But what did "blend" refer to? Obviously she knew the meaning of the word, just not how it referred to cooking. Brows furrowing, Rukia cast her gaze around the room, studying the collection of appliances and other knick-knacks that comprised the interior of the Kurosaki family's kitchen. Blend, blend, blend.....
Standing up, she padded over to the other side of the counter, reaching across it to grab the tall glass pitcher sitting in the black base. This thing was called a "blender", right? So by logical deduction, it was used to blend things. And eggs were things, right? Nodding to herself, Rukia pried the top off of the blender and picked up the two eggs, dropping them in the top before propping elbows on the counter to study the buttons on the front. Wrinkling her nose up, she nodded to herself before pressing the top down and selecting the button that, conveniently enough, said "blend" on it.
"That should do it, then."
Stepping back slightly, she raised one eyebrow quizzically at the racket the machine made as shells cracked and shattered and yolk spattered the sides of the container as it's contents were churned around. It seemed a bit odd for the shells to be in there, but seeing as the book she'd purloined from Yuzu's shelf hadn't said anything about what to DO with the shells, Rukia could only assume that the process of blending rendered any concerns over that obsolete. Turning back to her mission at hand, she set about looking for her next ingredients.
Rukia -- not that anyone would really dare say it to her face -- could not cook. Well ok, there were a couple people who might have said it to her face, but the majority of those in her immediate vicinity would have rather crawled bare-ass naked across hot coals than actually admit to said petite shinigami that her cooking reminded them of the sort of medical experiments they fancied the 12th division with. Even Orihime's cooking was looked at with less trepidation than Rukia's. At least the other girl managed to make things come out recognizable. Just.... in odd combinations.
Unfortunately for Kurosaki Ichigo, he was not privy to any such information. Mostly due to the fact that said shinigami had never seen fit to bother herself with cooking for him. He was a big boy, he could feed himself. And her, for that matter. It was the arrangement they'd had for quite some time. He cooked, or bought food, and she badgered and harrassed him until he fed her too, usually through gritted teeth and a growl. And it had been working for a long time. Until the other day. When she'd happened to notice one of the couples at school eating lunch. Which wasn't in and of itself an unusual thing, but she couldn't shake the way the girl had handed the boy a little wrapped package of cookies and the way he'd smiled and thanked her. Something about it just seemed... nice.
Ichigo wasn't "nice". Not that she expected him to be. So while she could easily chalk her sudden predilection for baking up to the simple desire to prove to herself that she could do it just as well -- and maybe also to the fact that it would make her adopted persona even a bit more believable now that everyone at school knew that she and Ichigo were a couple -- she chose instead to tell herself it was simply because she wanted to. And that he was going to eat whatever she made whether he wanted to or not.
Mulling over that, she kept up with her wanderings through the kitchen, muttering to herself. There wasn't enough butter, so now she needed something to use in place of it. Plucking a jar of mayonaise from the fridge, she studied it for a moment. They both went on bread, right? Only the mayonaise was a good deal stickier than the butter. Putting it back, she smiled and instead snagged the stick of cream cheese. There. Same consistency, same shape and size. It wouldn't make that much difference, right? And then to solve the fact that she'd accidentally mis-measured and put three spoonfuls of vanilla in instead of one, she'd just add 2 to everything else. Perfect. Humming the same tune, she went right back to her cooking. He'd be home soon, and she wanted to have it ready.
***************
Being banished to his room wasn't something that normally put Kurosaki Ichigo into a good mood. Especially not when said banisher happened to be his short, oft ill-tempered ...... whatever she was. He wasn't about to call her his..... girlfriend. Not only was it just to weird, but he had to admit -- even if only to himself -- that the world really fell far short of what they shared. Or at least, he did in those fleeting moments where he actually allowed himself to think things like that. Which wasn't often. And especially wasn't during a time like this when same bitchy shinigami had all but locked him in his own room while she did who-knows-what downstairs. But this had proved to be one of the rare times when common sense prevailed and he'd decided that it was easier to sit in his room and stew rather than deal with a pissed-off Rukia.
But that was before a rather intriguing smell began to waft up the stairs from the direction of the kitchen and he'd cracked his door to sniff. It smelled... interesting. Not at all like what he'd have expected something Rukia cooked to smell like. Not because he had any sort of experience -- he didn't -- but simply because it was hard to imagine Rukia doing anything that one could consider "girly" or even "normal". And cooking definitely went under that category. Until his curiosity overrode any sense of self-preservation and he stealthily made his way down the stairs, sniffing the air hesitantly. It wasn't a smell he could easily recognize, but then neither did it smell particularly hazardous. And then there was that mental picture -- the one that stubbornly refused to leave his head no matter how much he wanted to pretend it didn't exist -- of Rukia standing in front of that stove in nothing but an apron. Feh, like THAT was likely to happen. And if it DID, it would only be long enough for her to kick him in the head to break the illusion and then scoff at him for being an idiot.
She knew he was there, and while she'd been tempted to beat him for it, she was done with her work and so he'd just managed to save her the trouble of going up and dragging him downstairs. Glancing up from where she was pulling the tray of cookies out of the oven, she raised an eyebrow at him with a slight scowl.
"I told you to stay upstairs."
Her voice had the dangerous edge to it, but not to the normal level that edge normally ran. And while "safe" was probably a laughable concept, at least he was out of range of her feet. Sniffing experimentally, he eyed the cookies on the tray with a good deal of trepidation. They looked normal enough.... golden brown and warm, the tops kissed with just a hint of powdered sugar. Hell, they looked almost as good as something Yuzu might have made. He backpedaled a pace or two as she shoved a spatula under one and stuck it in his face.
"Here."
Ichigo eyed the cookie as though it were a poisonous viper coiled and ready to strike. Brown eyes flickering back and forth between the cookie and Rukia's increasingly irritated expression, he decided that the cookie was probably the lesser of two evils. Besides, how bad could they really be?
He got his answer a few seconds later when, after having hurridly shoved the cookie in his mouth and swallowed without hardly even chewing it, he felt a cold sinking feeling in his gut as he could swear his insides physically turned at the intrusion of what could only be termed the horrors of hell solidified into baked form.
It would be a long time before Kurosaki Ichigo would ever trust anything Rukia had cooked ever again.