Pandelion

i don't know what i'm doing, but i'm doing my best at it my AO3

[pandelion-fic]

Signed up for the Au Roulette 2024, so this is my last-minute submission for that. Working with the third prompt I got, College/Academia. This is almost 1k of the concept and I'm still working on it, full fic will be posted to AO3 when it's done.

So, this is for Yin Yang Master: Dream of Eternity, gen. --

“He Shouye, what a surprise to run into you here,” someone says from behind Boya and he breaks off in the middle of his sentence, turning to look at the newcomer.

“Qingming,” He Shouye answers, standing smoothly. “Zhongxing did not tell me that he was sending a representative this year.”

“It was a last minute decision,” the man - Qingming, apparently - says, smiling. “I am glad that I made it in time for the opening ceremonies.”

He bows, a little deeper than strictly necessary, and He Shouye nods in response. The dean rarely smiles, but Boya has learned over the years how to read the subtle shifts in He Shouye’s moods. He is pleased to see this Qingming.

“It is good that you are here,” He Shouye says. “A new perspective is always useful.” He shifts, turning slightly towards Boya to include him in the conversation. “Ah, allow me to introduce you. This is one of our newest professors and my former student, Yuan Boya. Boya, this is Qingming, first disciple of the Yin-Yang sect.”

Boya bows, polite, and when he lifts his head, he finds Qingming regarding him thoughtfully. "Yuan Boya? You wrote that paper on appropriate investigation techniques when dealing with demons, didn't you?"

"I - yes, I did," Boya says slowly. He glances at the dean, but He Shouye's expression is as inscrutable as ever, though Boya tentatively "Several years ago, it was one of my areas of focus during grad school. I didn't realize anyone had actually read it."

"It was very interesting," Qingming says, smiling. He’s got a pleasant face, Boya thinks, and clearly knows it, which is rarely a good combination in their field. "Mostly incorrect, of course, but that is to be expected, given the instructors at Tiandou - "

Boya opens his mouth, but nothing comes out, the words all tangling together in his throat. Incorrect?! He'd spent a year alone on research for that paper and to have someone tell him point blank that it was wrong -

"You - !"

"Qingming," He Shouye interrupts before Boya can decide which insult best suits this infuriating man. "This conference is intended to be a way to facilitate peaceful talks between the sects and the schools. Please refrain from antagonizing your fellow academics."

Boya would very much prefer to not be a fellow academic to this Qingming, but despite his clear opinion regarding Tiandou University's instructing staff, the rebuke seems effective.

"Apologies," Qingming says, bowing his head. He glances at Boya. "I did not mean to antagonize, though if Boya-daren is so inclined, I would be willing to discuss the inaccuracies of his paper at a later date."

Boya is saved from being charged with second degree murder by Longye's arrival.

“Boya, there you are! They’ve got these incredible little shrimp things at the buffet, you’ve got to come try them,” she says, latching onto his arm. Then she blinks, turning to look at He Shouye and Qingming and gives them a bright, simpering smile, every inch the ditzy scholar that she very much isn’t. “Oh, I’m so sorry! Did I interrupt?”

“Not at all,” Qingming says before Boya can, returning Longye’s smile. Asshole.

“I was just about to come find you, actually,” Boya says. He manages a tight, polite smile and inclines his head to Qingming the barest amount to be considered polite. “If you’ll excuse me.”

“Of course,” Qingming. “Far be it for me to stand in the way of, ah, incredible little shrimp things.”

Longye’s fingers dig into the hidden underside of Boya’s arm, but he doesn’t need the reminder to not cause a scene. It takes a fair bit of willpower to ignore Qingming, turning to give He Shouye a much more sincere bow. “I look forward to hearing your presentation this afternoon,” he says.

He Shouye nods back. “I hope it will be informative,” he says.

Another quick bow and then Boya lets Longye drag him off, presumably in the direction of the buffet table and the ‘delicious little shrimp things.’

~*~

Longye stays pressed against Boya’s side as they walk, glancing back under the guise of tossing a lock of hair out of her face. “He Shouye looks as sour as ever, but who was the new guy? I don’t recognize his robes.”

“His name’s Qingming,” Boya says, keeping his focus forward. “He’s the first disciple of the Yin-Yang sect.”

“The Yin-Yang, really? They haven’t attended one of these conferences in, like, almost twenty years. Wonder why they’ve finally sent someone?”

“I don’t know and I don’t care,” Boya tells her. He spots the buffet table through the crowd and adjusts their course to head for it. Shrimp things or not, food is a good distraction. “He’s an asshole.”

Longye looks at him. “Boya, I know you have a great talent for being off-putting, but you were only talking to him for like, five minutes. What did you do?”

“Why are you assuming it’s my fault?” he asks, stopping to better glare down at her. “I was perfectly polite, he’s the one that - “

For someone who only comes up to his shoulder, Longye is irritatingly good at making him feel like he’s a bug under a microscope. Probably from all the practice she gets on a daily basis. “Boya.”

Boya only lasts a moment before looking away. “I wrote a paper, apparently,” he says. “When I was a grad student.”

“…He read one of your grad school papers?”

“Read it and disagreed with it enough to say so to my face,” Boya says.

“Damn, what an asshole,” Longye says.

“Thank you,” Boya says.

She adjusts her grip on his arm and tugs him back into motion, resuming their journey to the buffet table. “Well, look on the bright side. It’s a big conference, what are the chances you’ll actually have to deal with him again?”

[joisbishmyoga]

[anakliro-deactivated20230603]

thought they might look cute like this

[snow-body]

promised for @o-winterqueen-o :^)

[djappleblush]

Writers don’t get to rest.

[crystallizedtwilight]

I redrew the screenshot below! Kuwabara is the only one they let sit at their lunch table.

Keep reading

[banditywrites]

Trying to will my fic into existence just by thinking about it.

I will let you all know if it works out.

[banditywrites]

It did not

[ao3commentoftheday]

must a fic be written in order to exist? is it not enough to just be a hazy string of half-imagined scenes that never leave your tired mind but bring you comfort nonetheless?

[festival-of-pudding]

is there anything better as a writer than an AO3 message that someone went through all your fics in a fandom? “[person] left kudos on [story1]. [person] left kudos on [story2]. [person] left kudos on [story3].” GLORIOUS. like you actually read words I wrote and thought “hmm, yes good, I will continue” and then did so. magical. i saw some Youths out there afraid this is “stalking” but as an Old let me tell you au contraire, it is a rare sweet nectar that warms our ancient dead hearts 💖

[pandelion-fic]

princess and the panther flower shop

The flowers hadn’t been Ichigo’s idea, but after a while, he needs something to do, something that will keep him grounded in the here and now instead of drifting off into the there and then. A comment in a local market, overheard by chance, reminds him of a half-forgotten conversation and he leaves with a tray of flowers just starting to bud.

(“Oh, look, Kurosaki-kun! Look at all the flowers! Did you know that every flower has a meaning? Someday, I want to have a whole garden filled with a dictionary of flowers!”

“Flowers don’t grow in pages, Princess.”

“Well, no, but if you plant them right, you can read them!”)

It takes years to figure out everything he needs to know. The proper mix of sunlight and water. Soil conditions. Which plants could be trusted to survive the winter and which ones had to be carefully tended to all year ‘round. He throws a lot of pots through the greenhouse windows in frustration when the plants die despite everything he’s done. But slowly, the one tray of flowers becomes two, become garden beds, become a whole field, carefully divided and maintained so that each type of flower grows in just the right conditions.

He studies while the plants grew, looks into the histories and the stories, makes notes and consults various resources. Every flower - and every plant, it seems, and he wonders if he’ll have to branch out into trees and bushes next - has a meaning. Sometimes more than one, or the specific color of the flower changes the meaning to something else entirely. Learning each one takes time, but time is one thing he has plenty of.

In comparison, learning the art of flower arranging is much more straightforward. Color and placement and meanings, placed just so to achieve the desired effect.

The shop is less something he wants to do and more a way to get rid of all the flowers that are now growing in fields and greenhouses. He starts small, a tent at the same market that started him down this path, and gradually expands into a stall, into a shop. Money isn’t an issue at all, but it is nice to see the numbers change from red to black, to see more and more people come through the door, smiles and expectation on their faces.

The plants have already settled him into the rhythm of days, the flow of seasons, but the routine of the shop fixes it into place. There is no chance of him drifting away when he has customers to serve. It keeps him human, the dirt under his fingernails, the ring of the little bell above the shop door.

He wonders, once, if Urahara had felt the same when he opened the candy store.

It goes that way for years, time marked more by the colors in his shop than by any clock. The wheel of the worlds turning as inexorably as ever, always changing and always staying the same.

He forgets, in the way that only time can manage. He forgets the details, the precise order of events, the exact way everything had felt at the time. But he doesn’t forget the big things, the things that matter, the things that keep him here, even as the people in his shop change, grow older and younger.

And then, one day, the door to his shop opens, just before close. He is wrist deep in a pot, dirt smeared up his forearms and across his face because it’s summer and the fan in the shop isn’t enough to combat the humid heat.

“Fucking weird name for a flower shop,” the customer says and it’s a common sentiment, though usually not accompanied with vulgarity. People comment on the shop’s name all the time, enough that Ichigo has condensed the explanation down to a couple of sentences.

“It’s named after a couple of old friends,” he says, not looking up from the flower he’s carefully settling into the new pot. African violets are notoriously finicky and he’ll lose this one if he does this wrong. “One would love it, the other would probably have the same reaction as you if he knew.”

He gets the flower set into the new soil and brushes in more to cover the roots properly before leaning back and brushing his hands off. He turns to the customer, a smile ready, and freezes when his eyes catch on blue and turquoise.

“Yeah,” Grimmjow says, grinning at him and the shape of it is the same as Ichigo remembers. “Like I said. Fucking weird name for a flower shop.”

[pandelion-fic]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Bleach Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Grimmjow Jaegerjaques/Kurosaki Ichigo, Tia Harribel/Nelliel Tu Oderschvank Characters: Grimmjow Jaegerjaques, Kurosaki Ichigo, Nelliel Tu Oderschvank Additional Tags: Car racing AU, bit of a fast and furious vibe, adrenaline and high risk hobbies are great things to bond over, Pre-Relationship Grimmichi Summary:

Open race nights means anyone with a car can toss their hat in the ring. But, while four wheels and a combustion engine will get you in the race, they don't guarantee shit.

took me almost a year to write less than three thousand words, but felt good to write for Bleach again. ^^

[pandelion-fic]

and to the heart of the sea (all the waves bow down)

(Atlantis: The Lost Empire AU)

Grimmjow gives him a narrow look, jaw working as if he’s arguing with himself over something. “Come on,” he says finally, grabbing Ichigo’s wrist and dragging him along. “I want you to see something.”

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Ichigo says, stumbling over his feet for entirely too long before he manages to get himself moving in the right direction. “What - where are we going?”

“You’ll see,” Grimmjow says, short, but they’re winding through the buildings and down the sloping streets to the water, so it doesn’t take a genius to guess.

Ichigo shoots a look over his shoulder as the palace - and the rest of the expedition - is lost to the gloom of evening. “I really don’t think I should be out here,” he says, but Grimmjow doesn’t answer, doesn’t even look at him. “Right. Here’s hoping I don’t get in too much trouble, then.”

Grimmjow doesn’t let go of him until they stop in one of the many little coves made by steps that sink into the water, as if they had been built without thought that they might one day be covered. It fits with the story of the city sinking beneath the waves and it makes Ichigo itch to take a look at them, see if there are any other details he might be able to learn.

But they’re not here to look at stairs, probably, and Ichigo turns to ask Grimmjow where he’s being taken, only to find the man halfway out of the loose robes that seem to be characteristic of the Atlantean fashion. “Hey, so where - ack! What are you doing?”

Grimmjow looks at him then, eyes dark in the fading light but still so very amused. “What, do surface-dwellers swim with their clothes on?”

“I - no, no, we don’t, but that’s - it’s not - “ Ichigo makes a strangled noise, turns away to stare fixedly at the stairs again. Grimmjow laughs behind him.

“You do swim, though, yes?”

“I can swim,” Ichigo says to the cut stone. “If the situation calls for it.”

“Good. Come on. There’s a mural I want you to look at.”

“A mural - “ Ichigo’s half turned around before he remembers why he turned away in the first place and his cheeks go hot, but Grimmjow hadn’t stripped down all the way, apparently, still wearing a loose wrap around his hips. Not naked. Ichigo’s not sure if he’s more relieved or more disappointed. “Where is it?”

“Where else?” Grimmjow says, stepping down into the water. He’s picked up a lantern from somewhere, the flickering light casting him in warm bronze and deep azure. It’s a really good look on him. “Are you planning to swim in all those clothes?”

Ichigo flushes again, embarrassed this time, and hurries to strip down to his boxers, stepping down into the water as quickly as possible in a vain attempt to hide the silly cat print of the fabric. The water is cool, but not cold against his bare skin. “Alright, let’s go.”

Grimmjow watches him for a second longer, then nods, taking a deep breath and ducking under. Ichigo takes another second to send a prayer to whatever god might be listening that this doesn’t end in death, dismemberment, or too much embarrassment on his part, then follows suit.

[astraldemise]

[feanarotherindion]

sad news: staring pitifully at the blank document doesn't make your cool ass story you concocted in your mind appear on it by the power of osmosis.

[ak47melee]

[justkaktus]

[missreinarabbit]

[infinityuserboxes]

[simonghostrileys]

Incredibly fucking slow at it 🤧

[slagginbitch]

i fixed it

[robin-the-robo]