Bleach Fan Fiction ❯ Thanksgiving Day Drabbles ❯ One-Shot

Thanksgiving Day Drabbles
by debbiechan


Disclaimer: I didn’t create all these marvelous characters; Kubo Tite did. Thank you, Shishou, for feeding a fandom with such possibilities and thank you, fandom, for making me happy and satiated with fic all year round.

Description: Drabbles, G--R. The prompts were a Bleach character and food. I took suggestions from my friends on Thanksgiving Day.


1. Rukia and a carrot
for Adam

“This is you!” Rukia held up a baby carrot.

Ichigo didn’t know what she was talking about.

The ingredients for her latest curry lay on a chopping block. Raisins, walnuts, something very bright red that Ichigo guessed was a chile.

“Yes,” said Yuzu about the baby carrot in Rukia’s hand. “That’s Ichi-nii.”

In a few hours, the stuffed toy in Yuzu’s arms would remark to Ichigo that yes, he could understand Ichigo’s sisters walking in on their brother in the shower and knowing that Ichigo was as wide and long as a baby carrot, but since when had Ichigo taken Rukia’s purity? For shame!

Ichigo would punt Kon out the window.

Rukia held up the chile stem next to the baby carrot. An inch of shiny redness against two inches of muted (was that a dusty carrot?) orange. “Actually if you combine this with the carrot, that’s more like Ichigo’s hair. He’s not really a carrot-top.”

“I know!” yipped Yuzu with what Ichigo thought was undue enthusiasm over the topic of her brother’s hair color. “It is NOT funny when people call him a strawberry-top because that’s a pinky color, and that’s not Ichi-nii at all.”

Ichigo decided to leave the kitchen and just wait for dinner. Read some Shakespeare while the girls talked about vegetable colors.

He would never admit, though, that it didn’t really bother him that they talked so much about him.

The lion plushie with the seam down the center of his face crawled onto Ichigo’s bed. “We’ve escaped them!” Kon said. “Your little sister almost spilled a pot of boiling water on me!”

The giggles from the kitchen carried all the way to his bedroom. Man, what was it with girls and the pitch of their voices?

There was no escape, but Ichigo didn’t really want there to be such a thing as escape from Rukia and the girls.

“You’re just mad,” he told Kon, “because you can’t eat the carrot curry. And no, you can’t have my body to taste it so just shut up and let me read.”

Ichigo could already smell it although the curry wasn’t cooking yet–the spices, the sharp laughter, the sum of the cooks’ love.


2. Nnoitra and sushi
for Greenblack

He had no taste for anything but violence. Because his growing reiatsu did not require nourishment beyond what he could inhale from Hueco Mundo’s atmosphere, Nnoitra didn’t eat food. He ate Neliel, but that was violence not sex. Sex was a human urge, a frivolity for the Living.

Hollow did not reproduce by coming together with other Hollow; they devoured one another in Death after Death.

Every time Nnoitra pressed his teeth against the hard salty bluff that was the center of Neliel’s being, she shook like she was dying. Juices poured from her into the corners of Nnoitra’s mouth. A taste he remembered and led him to believe he could easily remember everything about being human if he wanted to. He didn’t want to, but sucking Neliel, he saw rows and rows of ridiculous colored rolls. Her moans were sweet and sour.
His fingernails pressed into her thigh---not with the intent to hurt her, even though it was violence and not sex.

He wanted to take her piece by piece in his fingers into his mouth but never wholly into his body.


3. Chizuru and pink lollipops
for Andrew

The lunch hour was coming to a close at Karakura High, and one of the girls, as was the Friday custom, had brought dessert.

“Oh please,” Chizuru said, holding out the shiny gift bag. “Take as many as you like.”

“Looky!” chirped Michiru. “They have little faces on them!”

Orihime held a fistful of the tiny pink lollipops. Of course she would grab the most. Chizuru loved that about Hime. Such a voracious girl.

“They’re all happy faces,” Orihime observed. “The candy makers should make a sad one every now and then.”

“Why?” Ryou made a sour face, one very unlike the round visage on the lollipop and stuck the treat into her mouth.

“Because it would be interesting,” Orihime said.

Chizuru noticed that Ryou’s cheeks hollowed as they sucked. The girl had a long face and high cheekbones--such features were criminally sexy. Even when Ryou wasn’t sucking on anything, she looked like she was giving a blow-job.

Images from hentai magazines read by flashlight were conjured in Chizuru’s imagination only to be shattered by a loud sloshing noise--

The sound of Orihime sticking several suckers into her mouth at once was like a downpour of spring rain. The initial rush was followed by slurp, slurp, slurp.

Chizuru’s eyes rolled back into her skull.


4. Ishida and kugel
for dungeonwriter and Kit

Sweet but not too sweet. Filling like a full meal, not a dessert. It looked like a casserole but tasted a bit like a pie. This noodle dish was the first of Orihime’s experiments that Ishida would want to eat again. He kept cutting his fork into the caramelized rectangle in front of him and chewing each bite slowly.

“How could you--?” He swallowed. “How does one cook Jerusalem Kugel by accident?”

Orihime laughed, that free loud laugh that was so good to hear again after the dense horror that had been Hueco Mundo. “I wanted to make an omelet with my leftover udon. I had lots of eggs so I made a very giant one.”

Ishida smiled. Yesterday she had made enough hijiki salad to feed an army. She had been inviting Ishida and only Ishida over for dinner this week, and he’d been waiting for her to learn that he didn’t eat all that much. But maybe she just liked to cook large.

“Then I wanted to make it sweet so I thought a caramel topping would be perfect.”

Of course. Caramel over leftover noodles and eggs. Only Inoue Orihime.

“But the store didn’t have caramel sauce and I didn’t know how to make one so I looked up the recipe on your father’s laptop.”

“Oh did I leave that here?” Ishida had promised his father he’d use it for homework. He didn’t really need it, though; Inoue-san could use it to look up recipes.

“I just followed some links and…” She bounced from her seat to fetch the laptop from a low shelf. “Here, I bookmarked something.” Orihime read aloud from the monitor: “Caramelizing sugar is one of the trickiest techniques to master. It may take some practice to get the caramel to the right color (undercooked caramel has a weak flavor and overcooked caramel has a burnt flavor). But once you get the hang of it, making this kugel will be easy for you.”

Ishida chewed. The caramel had cooled but there was something still perfectly warm about the texture. Maybe it was the happiness of recent days, but he tasted peace.

“And then I read all the stuff I told you,” Orihime went on. “About how Eastern European Jews brought this recipe to the city of in the eighteenth century. It became a snack Jews ate on one of their holy days; I forget which one, maybe all of them.”

“I think the others would like it,” Ishida said. “Even Arisawa-san who is always making fun of your cooking. I think she would be impressed by this dish.”

“Oh, I couldn’t make it again,” Orihime said.

“But … you have the recipe?”

“I don’t use recipes.” Orihime laughed that free laugh again. “The caramel was an emergency. I doubt I could make the caramel right twice. I’m not good with recipes at all. I just let things happen.”

Yes. Ishida would accept another serving of the strange noodle pie with caramel called kugel. He would allow himself to say yes when Orihime would ask him, yet again, to stop by for dinner tomorrow. She always said she felt like company; she always said she wanted to thank Ishida for his bravery in Hueco Mundo with a special food, this cake, this stew, another and another and another. How she was thanking the others who came for her, Ishida didn’t know. He didn’t ask. He knew her generosity was limitless. He felt special, privileged to be the one to eat her odd dinners.

They weren’t bad. They were occasionally miraculous.

He should offer to cook his mackerel stew one of these nights but yes, he should just let Inoue Orihime let things happen.


5. Tatsuki and strawberries
for David

The joke had gotten old. No one made it anymore. Orihime, however, still loved fresh strawberries dipped in azuki paste and eaten whole, in single bites, little green tops and all.

Tatsuki watched her finish off a bowl and walk to the refrigerator to refill it.

“You look like you want some,” Orihime said.

“No,” said Tatsuki. She couldn’t stand too much sweetness. “Trust me, I don’t.”

Orihime sat back down, swiped a strawberry through the gummy red paste and held it up just a millimeter away from her lips.

“Really? You’re not hungry?” Orihime was so clueless. She couldn’t make a sexual pun if she tried. “You don’t want me to make you something else to eat?”

“No.”

At least the conversation didn’t turn to Ichigo. That would’ve been horrible. Strawberries and eating Ichigo. The joke had gotten old. Tatsuki didn’t make it anymore, but she always thought of it every time Orihime got out her weird combination of red fruit and red dipping sauce.

Fuck Ichigo for having such a sexy name.


6. Byakuya and kompeito candy
for bunnisteffi

The tall, elegant jar on Captain Kuchiki’s desk looked like it belonged there. Yes, it was full of candy, and one didn’t immediately associate the sixth division with such hospitality, but while other business spaces of the Gotei 13 were spare and efficient, Kuchiki’s glistened with touches of nobility. One had to assume that the kompeito in the jar were noble candies. Pinks that sparkled and blues one could see through. Noble sugars cooked at exact temperatures in noble ovens until they burst into starry crystalline shapes.

Hisagi Shuuhei always wanted one of the sparkling candies whenever he brought a special edition of the Seireitei News to Captain Kuchiki. Reaching for the jar and daring to remove the lid, though--now, who could possibly do that in the famous officer’s presence?

“SIXTY-NINE!” came a clear piercing cry from the end of the hall.

In a flash, Yachiru was tugging at Hisagi’s sleeve. “Look at us, two vice-captains in Bya-kun’s office! It looks very official! What are you here for--bringing those poetry books that Bya-kushi likes to read?”

Off came the candy jar lid, and in went Yachiru’s fist. She dug out enough kompeito to fill both cheeks.

Captain Kuchiki didn’t look up. He hadn’t even broken stride in his penmanship since the first noises of the eleventh division’s appearance. He had been writing a letter when Hisagi walked in and, like a proper noble, still waited to be addressed.

“Good evening, Captain Kuchiki,” Hisagi began, and the sixth division leader put down his pen and set upon Hisagi that stony expression, that imperturbable jaw, those icy blue eyes.

Only today Hisagi imagined that those blue eyes shone a little like kompeito. Does he? Hisagi wondered if the insight was worth a haiku. Does Captain Kuchiki put out candy for the eleventh division vice captain?


7. Ukitake and umeboshi
for Charlie


Kyouraku always joked that if once, just once, Juushirou would actually eat the red heart center of his get-well porridge, then maybe that annoying cough would be cured once and for all.

Everyone brought him congee and umeboshi. EVERYONE. What were they thinking? Ah, here, Captain, I over-boiled some rice last night and it turned to mush so here, I thought of you and stuck an awful-tasting pickle in the middle of it. Get better, Captain. Be well, Captain. Enjoy your disgusting mush and pickle, Captain Ukitake!

Everyone, especially those folks from the fourth division, knew that the folk remedy of congee and umeboshi was hopeless against tuberculosis, but everyone, especially Captain Unohana, insisted on bringing by the dish whenever stopping by for a visit. Perhaps the dish was comfort food for some; maybe most people with annoying coughs actually liked the feel of gelatinous, sour, cold umeboshi down their throats, but didn’t people know Ukitake Juushirou better?

The captain preferred candy.

He sighed and ate the pink mush around the dark red heart on his plate, chatting with his visitor, an interviewer from the Gotei 13 Monthly, as he navigated his chopsticks around the umeboshi. The deconstructed rice saturated with the umeboshi juice wasn’t so bad, but the actual red plum itself--who would want to eat such a thing?

If Juushirou didn’t do the dishes promptly after such a meal, the umeboshi would often corrode past the lovely laminated illustrations on his china! It would literally burn the space on the dish where it sat.

“I think that demonstrates its healing properties right there,” Kyouraku had once said upon examining a ruined china plate.

The boy from Hisagi’s division, some upstart journalist with a penchant for flowery language who had been interviewing captains all this season, asked Juushirou how officers distracted themselves from the grim realities of war.

Juushirou smiled. “Candy!” he said. “I like candy!”

But no one but Kyouraku, for all his lecturing about the mysterious healing properties of pickled plums, ever brought Juushirou candy.

“Put this in your article,” Juushirou said. “We are all dying men. All dying men could use a little candy.”


END