Written for the prompt: songfic. Ichigo and Shirosaki break the 4th wall while fighting a pack of Hollows.
By: eternalsailorsolarwind AKA youkai_girl
Disclaimer: Bleach and all of its characters are owned by Tite Kubo, his Japanese publishers, and Viz. I just play with them for grins and giggles.
A/N: Written in response to the Week# 35 prompt at bleach_contest: songfic. Ichigo and Shirosaki break the 4th wall here while working. Lyrics written by Carl Douglas, and not used with permission. Shirosaki speaks in italics, and lyrics begin and end with *.
Striking down yet another Hollow, Ichigo gritted his teeth. His inner Hollow was being annoying – again. It was difficult enough to be battling this large pack of lower-level Hollows for a fic without Shirosaki diverting his concentration every five minutes. They’d had to re-do the scene several times already.
“Do you have to do that,” asked the substitute Soul Reaper though gritted teeth.
“Awww, come on, King. Its fun,” drawled his mirror image. The smirk was more then evident in his voice. “’Sides, its perfect.”
Shirosaki began to sing as the orange-haired young man cut down another Hollow:
*Everybody was Kung-fu Fighting!
These kids were fast as lightning,
In fact, it was a little bit fright’ning
But they fought with expert timing.*
“You’re doing it to annoy me, aren’t you,” growled Ichigo in irritation. “How many blown takes have you caused this morning?”
“Not my fault you can’t get into the swing of things. Live a little, for once in your life,” retorted Shirosaki. “Watch that one.”
“Goddammit,” swore Ichigo as the Hollows lined up again. “You’re gonna piss off the author if you keep this up.”
“Idiot. You didn’t read the script again, didja? It’s supposed t’be a songfic. My choice, even.”
“And you, in all your wisdom, chose that. You’re a fuckin’ moron,” snarled the substitute Soul Reaper.
“Nah, I just got style, unlike you. Now would ya finish this already? I got other fics t’do.”
“Bastard,” bit out Ichigo, before using his bankai to blow the pack of Hollows to dust. Turning dramatically, the orange-haired young man allowed his coat to billow on the breeze. As he walked away, strains of music started up behind him.
”Everybody was kung-fu….”
“Shut the hell up!”