darlingfox (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
darlingfox) wrote2007-08-04 04:00 pm
darlingfox) wrote2007-08-04 04:00 pm
Entry tags:
[Bleach] Needlework | crack | PG-13
Title: Needlework
Fandom: Bleach
Rating: PG-13 for language
Summary: The Espada is just a fancy name for Hueco Mundo's handicraft club. some Aizen/Gin
Disclaimer: Bleach belongs to Kubo Tite
A/N: Old ficlet, and I blame![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
capslock_bleach for this: a long time ago someone wondered who designs the Arrancar outfits, and the discussion that followed was full of crack and amusing mental images. I don't think this has any spoilers unless you count one name that probably hasn't been mentioned in the anime.
"Fuck this," Grimmjow announced loudly and killed the couch with his needles. "I’m fucking tired of this and who the hell needs wool socks anyway? It’s not like it’s cold in here or anything."
"Tousen-sama has cold feet." Ulquiorra’s voice was as empty as his eyes were, not that he’d bothered to look up from his work. Grimmjow glared daggers at the other Arrancar and speculated briefly if he, too, could be killed with knitting needles. Probably, but where would he hide the body? "You also dropped stitches with your senseless flailing."
"Shut up!" Stupid pansy arse-kisser had an embroidery hoop while Grimmjow was still stuck with knitting the easy patterns. Next thing you’d know, the bastard would be making bobbin lace as well as Aizen did.
Grimmjow was entertaining himself by imagining how marvellous it’d be to poke Ulquiorra’s eyes with a crochet hook when he realized that something was wrong. Very wrong. ‘Someone’s head will be torn off (again)’ wrong. It took a moment to notice it because Yammy’s loom was so fucking noisy, but then it hit him: the faint, chainsaw-ish buzzing had stopped.
"My, my, aren’t we fast today," someone drawled behind him. "Going already?"
Swearing under his breath, Grimmjow turned slowly around. When had he gotten so used to Ichimaru’s sewing machine that he couldn’t tell when the bastard wasn’t using it anymore?
"No," Grimmjow said relatively meekly. It was an unspoken agreement between the Arrancar that while Aizen had to be feared and respected like the god he was, one should handle Ichimaru like a very sharp and pointy object. "Just stretching my back."
"That’s because you sit like a cheap whore," Ichimaru pointed out, adjusting the heap of white fabric on his arm. "Unlike Ulquiorra here."
Grimmjow was going to rip Ulquoirra open and feed him to Wonderwice; the kid ate anything, dead or alive. Definitely alive in this case.
"Or is the task too difficult for you, Grimmjow?"
Oh, fuck. Fuck fuck fuckity fuck.
"You could always try something easier," Aizen continued, creepily polite, behind Ichimaru’s shoulder. "Like friendship bracelets. We should have few patterns left from the time Noitora was practising."
"No, Aizen-sama!" Grimmjow assured quickly. "Just needed a small break. Back muscles being a pain in the ar- er, back."
"Well then, please continue." Grimmjow was not thinking about where Aizen’s hands were, not even if the right one was clearly sliding up and down Ichimaru’s side. And he most definitely didn’t notice that Aizen was wearing one of Ichimaru’s more imaginative creations because some things disturbed even the toughest of the Arrancar. "And do adjust your posture. The hunchback will not be good for your continuing health."
The ‘if you know what I mean, and I know that you know because it will involve torture and pain, most likely yours’ after the last bit really went without saying.
"Yeah." Grimmjow sat down and grabbed his knitting, making sure that his back was straighter than a line of Ichimaru’s seams. Then he eyed the half-made sock and cursed. Sodding Ulquiorra had been right, he had dropped stitches, and it had to be the fucking heel too.
-Fin-
Fandom: Bleach
Rating: PG-13 for language
Summary: The Espada is just a fancy name for Hueco Mundo's handicraft club. some Aizen/Gin
Disclaimer: Bleach belongs to Kubo Tite
A/N: Old ficlet, and I blame
capslock_bleach for this: a long time ago someone wondered who designs the Arrancar outfits, and the discussion that followed was full of crack and amusing mental images. I don't think this has any spoilers unless you count one name that probably hasn't been mentioned in the anime."Fuck this," Grimmjow announced loudly and killed the couch with his needles. "I’m fucking tired of this and who the hell needs wool socks anyway? It’s not like it’s cold in here or anything."
"Tousen-sama has cold feet." Ulquiorra’s voice was as empty as his eyes were, not that he’d bothered to look up from his work. Grimmjow glared daggers at the other Arrancar and speculated briefly if he, too, could be killed with knitting needles. Probably, but where would he hide the body? "You also dropped stitches with your senseless flailing."
"Shut up!" Stupid pansy arse-kisser had an embroidery hoop while Grimmjow was still stuck with knitting the easy patterns. Next thing you’d know, the bastard would be making bobbin lace as well as Aizen did.
Grimmjow was entertaining himself by imagining how marvellous it’d be to poke Ulquiorra’s eyes with a crochet hook when he realized that something was wrong. Very wrong. ‘Someone’s head will be torn off (again)’ wrong. It took a moment to notice it because Yammy’s loom was so fucking noisy, but then it hit him: the faint, chainsaw-ish buzzing had stopped.
"My, my, aren’t we fast today," someone drawled behind him. "Going already?"
Swearing under his breath, Grimmjow turned slowly around. When had he gotten so used to Ichimaru’s sewing machine that he couldn’t tell when the bastard wasn’t using it anymore?
"No," Grimmjow said relatively meekly. It was an unspoken agreement between the Arrancar that while Aizen had to be feared and respected like the god he was, one should handle Ichimaru like a very sharp and pointy object. "Just stretching my back."
"That’s because you sit like a cheap whore," Ichimaru pointed out, adjusting the heap of white fabric on his arm. "Unlike Ulquiorra here."
Grimmjow was going to rip Ulquoirra open and feed him to Wonderwice; the kid ate anything, dead or alive. Definitely alive in this case.
"Or is the task too difficult for you, Grimmjow?"
Oh, fuck. Fuck fuck fuckity fuck.
"You could always try something easier," Aizen continued, creepily polite, behind Ichimaru’s shoulder. "Like friendship bracelets. We should have few patterns left from the time Noitora was practising."
"No, Aizen-sama!" Grimmjow assured quickly. "Just needed a small break. Back muscles being a pain in the ar- er, back."
"Well then, please continue." Grimmjow was not thinking about where Aizen’s hands were, not even if the right one was clearly sliding up and down Ichimaru’s side. And he most definitely didn’t notice that Aizen was wearing one of Ichimaru’s more imaginative creations because some things disturbed even the toughest of the Arrancar. "And do adjust your posture. The hunchback will not be good for your continuing health."
The ‘if you know what I mean, and I know that you know because it will involve torture and pain, most likely yours’ after the last bit really went without saying.
"Yeah." Grimmjow sat down and grabbed his knitting, making sure that his back was straighter than a line of Ichimaru’s seams. Then he eyed the half-made sock and cursed. Sodding Ulquiorra had been right, he had dropped stitches, and it had to be the fucking heel too.
-Fin-