Discover Top Posts Tagged with #wind-bladed

Ichigo: Just stop LYING. STOP MANIPULATING.

Ichigo: JUST BE NICER.

Szayel: ......................????????

Szayel: ?!?!?!?!??!??!?!?!?!

#imagine being this morally bankrupt #ILL STOP MEMEING I PROMISE #ILL GET SOME SERIOUS POSTS IN HERE SOON #wind-bladed

"listen, i know this shirt probably looks kind of dumb, but my sister made it, okay? you have to wear it. she'll be sad if you don't."

Even looking at the thing makes his skin crawl; disdain would be putting the look on the arrancar’s face lightly. Why him? Why not Ichigo? Any other time he would poke the substitute in the ribs for replacing him as the youngest Kurosaki’s favourite but in this case-- he’s not entirely sure he appreciates the position. Whatever it’s made up looks itchy, and the only discernible patterns are weird blue little-- are those hearts.

He wants to die. Again. Not even a little bit. Entirely.

It looks absolutely huge too (although it doesn’t take much to dwarf his relatively thin frame, the broadness of his shoulders be damned), but all in weird ways; like it can’t make up its mind what size it wants to be. It’s clearly an early venture into something other than repairing a seam or a hole, but it bars him from the ‘it’s too small’ excuse incredibly easily.

There’s an increasingly long silence permeating the room, in which he hopes his thoughts are loud enough and glare terrible enough that the thing spontaneously combusts. He’s never been that lucky though so it’s no wonder he’s not in this case either.

A long suffering sigh.

“An hour. Tops. That’s it. If I gotta stay in that thing any longer I’m lettin’ this shitty gigai fall like a pile a’ bricks in your living room.”

#windbladed #【滅ぼす ;; .ɪᴄ 】#【滅ぼす ;; ᴍᴇssᴀɢᴇs 】#wind-bladed

his legs are draped over grimmjow's while he sits leaned against the wall, his guitar sitting in his lap as he lazily plucks the strings. grimmjow seems content to take up the majority of the bed vertically. "do you sleep better when i play or something?" he asks, somewhat teasing.

A low grunt, and a moment later one arm shifts slightly from where it had been thrown over the arrancar’s eyes, just enough so that one of them can open with a seemingly herculean effort to glance back at Ichigo and the small, private smile on his face. In truth he really had been half asleep; the mattress familiar and comfortable beneath him and the sun’s rays seeping in through the window warming his middle despite the slowly dying chill of spring. Brain sluggish, he doesn’t really think about his response at all, though it does come out a bit grumpy at being even semi-woken up.

“Just sleep better when’m here,” he grumbles, arm falling back into its previous position with a deep sigh. Sleep far from completely gone, it tugs at the corners of his brain like a heavy blanket. “You already knew that.”

There’s a safety here that lets him sleep. He’d easily became spoiled to it; though the effects are still very much the same as the first time he’d slept here-- deeply and without paranoia, without the need to constantly be alert. His muscles settle heavier into the mattress like welcoming an old friend, though he can’t help but crack a small grin.

“The guitar helps, though.”

#windbladed #【滅ぼす ;; .ɪᴄ 】#【滅ぼす ;; ᴍᴇssᴀɢᴇs 】#this got real gay real fast #wind-bladed

grimmjow finding kurosaki family photo albums

The book is open on Ichigo’s desk when Grimmjow floats in (the window is open more often than not anymore, whether for him or because of the heat); it’s unassuming but there are more pictures than words so he naturally finds himself curious.

It’s open to the first page-- the only words on it, really, are a sentence or two next to a photo every now and then. He can’t read all the characters but he knows some of them are dates. For a brief moment he doesn’t know who the people in the photo are; there’s a woman in a hospital bed with two baby girls and a toddler sitting next to her with a grin so wide his eyes are nearly closed, and it takes only a second for him to realize. A moment later he finally parses together Karin and Yuzu’s names written off to the side.

Really it shouldn’t have taken him even that long. He’s seen photos of Ichigo’s mother-- they’re all over the house (hell there’s even that weird poster downstairs), but he doesn’t think he’s ever seen one of them all together. It was simply something he rarely pried into; Ichigo always seemed to have this far-away look on his face when he thought about his mother, and even if Grimmjow were any good at any sort of empathy he still would have had no point of reference for anything to say.

Still, even as he flips the pages he feels as though this is somewhere he should not tread. Curiosity keeps him there, though; there are photos of all five Kurosakis at some points, presumably taken by someone else. He can’t stop staring at them-- he’d never had a family. They didn’t exist in Hueco Mundo. He doesn’t think he’s ever wanted one; they’re a hindrance, he thinks. Just people in your way. At least, in their barren desert that’s how it was. But, he thinks, humans are strange. They didn’t live what he has lived.

He wonders how his life would have been different if he were truly alive.

As he’s flipping through the photos the ones of all of them together suddenly just-- stop. It’s just Ichigo and his sisters, almost always clinging to one another in some form or fashion, but his mother is no longer in any of them. There were even a few blank pages separating the two. Suddenly he’s no longer curious. Suddenly they become hard to look at.

He hears familiar footsteps climb up the stairs and flips back to the first page.

#【滅ぼす ;; ᴍᴇssᴀɢᴇs 】#【滅ぼす ;; .ɪᴄ 】#windbladed #honestly i miss when physical photo albums were more of a thing #im thankful for digital stuff being more convenient #but physical photo albums are something special #also tfw grimm has literally never had a mother even when he was alive lmao #wind-bladed

ichigo looks down at grimmjow's hands, then back up at the arrancar, then to his nails again. they're a bright, cotton candy blue. he knows already it's yuzu's doing, but the thought never occurred to him that grimmjow would let her do that. he's struggling to keep the slight smile on his face from spreading into a full blow grin. "did you have an alright day with my sister?" he asks.

There are advantages to having a gigai, as often as he complains about the damn thing. Food no longer tastes like ash in his mouth and he can properly feel the warmth of the sun on his skin. This was not one of them.

A small scowl forms on his lips, but it’s still relatively half-assed. “I don’t wanna hear one fuckin’ word outta’ you,” he grumbles, continuing to rummage through the bathroom cabinet. There had to be something in here. The texture on the top of his nail beds is driving him crazy and the colour keeps catching his eyes every time he moves his hands.

“She bribed me,” he continues, voice no more than a slightly annoyed murmur. There’s a pinprick of heat at the tips of his ears. He doesn’t mention that the bribe involved bacon and hash browns. He also doesn’t mention all the pointless conversation that was held and he definitely doesn’t mention letting her do the second hand without so much as a single complaint, even after the food was gone.

“Now help me find the stuff I need to get this shit offa’ my hands.”

#windbladed #【滅ぼす ;; .ɪᴄ 】#【滅ぼす ;; ᴍᴇssᴀɢᴇs 】#wind-bladed #literally 'ive only known yuzu for five minutes but if anything happened to her i would kill everyone in this room and then myself'

i'm glad you're here, you know.

It’s one of their quieter moments; Grimmjow’s half asleep with the other’s fingers in his hair and only dares to lift one eyelid with herculean strength in order to look upwards at his counterpart. There’s still a light on in the room; Ichigo’s been reading something, for school he guesses (he wouldn’t understand it, anyway), but the steady rhythm of fingernails against Grimmjow’s scalp had been a relative constant. Truthfully he hadn’t even noticed when they had stopped-- closer to sleep than he had originally thought, he reckoned.

“Still don’t understand why,” he grumbles, voice heavy with sleep’s heavy form still attempting to drag him downward. It’s only partially a lie. He thinks he understands, maybe, in some way; but the hesitancy to put a name to it always leaves a horrid stabbing feeling in his chest.

He’d rather go back to napping.

#【滅ぼす ;; .ɪᴄ 】#【滅ぼす ;; ᴍᴇssᴀɢᴇs 】#【滅ぼす ;; ᴠ.ʀᴇᴀɴɪᴍᴀᴛɪᴏɴ 】#windbladed #wind-bladed

don't— don't fuckin' tell my sisters you caught me dancing. they'll never let me hear the end of it. and don't laugh, either!

He’s totally not laughing. Really. He’s not. He also was definitely not laughing when he had floated up to the substitute’s window to come in in the first place-- not even to himself, biting the inside of his cheek, completely not fighting back very audible snickers.

“Yeah--,” snort, “I totally--” pfft---