Faust (1)

Originally posted 7/8/2014

 Testing, 1, 2, 3…

~

There existed no such thing as a moment’s peace, however. Within minutes of retreating to his office, Ulquiorra sensed the room grow stuffier, as if he had stepped onto the precipice of an enormous pot of steaming water. He did not turn to greet the man who emerged from the shadows. “My,” said his companion, “no pentagrams to shut me out today? You must be in a good mood.”

“Who knows better than you?”

“Indeed.” Kokuto walked over to the heavy oak desk in the center of the room and admired the trinkets there. “It has not escaped my notice that your soul is rather perturbed.” His one eye landed on a single flower, strewn across the open pages of medical text. It was a rare bloom, the most romantic mauve, its petals soft, still full of life despite having been severed at the stem. He lifted it from the book, turning it over in his hand, and his lip curled in disgust. “Where did this come from?”

Ulquiorra remained studiously focused on the world beyond the glass. Kokuto was beside him in an instant, the flower pinched between his thumb and index finger, and he followed the doctor’s gaze into the garden. There flitted the graceful form of a woman, young in face but voluptuous in body. She bent over the roses and caressed them with the utmost care, a sweet smile bringing a pretty, healthy glow to her cheeks. “Oh,” Kokuto murmured, “you’ve allowed the wench into your garden now?”

Ulquiorra’s brow lowered ever so slightly. “I could not keep her from it.”

“Seems to me that you are incapable of keeping her from many things.” Kokuto twirled his captive flower around and around until a petal detached itself and made a twisting descent to the floor. “I’m almost disappointed, that someone with your power could allow himself to be governed by a teenaged girl.”

Below, the girl retrieved a watering can and lovingly tipped it over the roses. Ulquiorra’s fingers curled.

“Did you feel that, Doctor Cifer? I doubt it, so allow me to enlighten you. Your soul,” Kokuto jerked the flower carelessly to the side, “pitched a little just now. The most life I’ve felt from it in at least two hundred years. And do you know what that tells me?”

“I don’t care.”

Kokuto grinned. “As long as you are aware.” He tilted the flower towards Ulquiorra in offering. Ulquiorra regarded it dispassionately. “It may be hypocritical coming from me, sir, but you should be careful what you wish for.” The flower burst into flame in his hand. “Some things aren’t worth the sacrifice.”

Pancakes

Originally posted 7/17/2014 

Luleiya told me I should write more crossover drabbles, so here’s Muse!Hime and TY!Ulqui, on the couch.

~

“And why is it so frickin’ hard to find pancake mix in Japan that doesn’t cost roughly the same as a Christmas dinner? Are you guys importing that shit illegally or something? Is there some kind of Aunt Jemima prohibition in this universe that I’m not aware of?”

Ulquiorra sensed a strange yet familiar feeling building up in his chest.

“That would be so awesome. Can you imagine? Underground pancake houses that you have to, like, knock on the door to the opening beat of Mambo No. Five? And if you don’t get it just right, they gut you like a kipper?”

His jaw clenched as he tried very hard to ignore the woman’s rambling. Why oh why had he taught himself English?

“Ulquiorra,” the woman had moved across the couch, and she leaned her entire weight on his left side, “I know you’re picturing this. Don’t worry about Mambo No. Five, okay? My idiot probably doesn’t know what that is either, so I’ll handle the knocking. You need to be the muscle, but also the charm, because the guy behind the peephole will take a look at me and be like,” she affected a very different accent, “‘Ain’t that a loose broad if I ever saw one! Frankie, check out the knockers on her, eh?’” She placed her hand on his chest, directly over his heart. “Then they let us in, and…” Her eyes grew wide, dazzled, and she gazed around the room as if she’d seen heaven. “Syrup. Syrup everywhere. Fountains of sticky sweet syrup in all the flavors of the rainbow! Gravy boats filled with the stuff! Scantily clad women pouring syrup into the greedy gullets of fat old businessmen!”

And he couldn’t help it anymore; he held his own hand to his mouth, seized by a silent shaking fit. Orihime drew back with a sly grin. Geez, it was about time; it’d only taken her half the afternoon to break him. “Are you laughing?” she asked in a tone of mock innocence. When he didn’t answer, she tried to get a look at his face, but he turned away from her. “Help me out here, are you laughing or having a seizure? Because I can call an ambulance in either case.”

“Stop,” he choked out.

“Or maybe the local IHOP? They’ll hook you up to a syrup IV drip. God, I want pancakes now.”

Ulquiorra straightened, hooked an arm around her waist, pulled her down roughly, and caught her with his other arm before she could fall across his lap. She stared up at him with wide eyes, red spreading across her cheeks. He wasn’t laughing, but he did wear a very faint smile. “It serves you right,” he admonished gently, before dipping down to kiss her.

Orihime sighed against his lips and slipped her hands into his hair, hoping that whatever had sent her to him would give her another month before she was forced to go home.

The Tease

Originally posted 7/20/2014 

Companion piece to “Pancakes,” featuring M!Ulqui and TY!Hime, on the sofa (bed).

~

There was something frustratingly alluring about this Ulquiorra. In terms of body, he was identical to hers in every way, save for the lack of tear marks. Their personalities bore striking similarities: distaste for things that didn’t interest them, impeccable tidiness, a need for structure and schedules, their tendency to assign grave importance to small tasks. Even in the things that set them apart from each other, they were similar: they were both argumentative, but her Ulquiorra would get his point across in two sentences, while this one would go on dramatic five-minute tangents that somehow ended in him blaming his opponent for climate change.

Could it be those small differences that attracted her to him? Or was it just plain curiosity? Ulquiorra Schiffer was born human, after all. He smiled easily, though half the time his smiles seemed insincere. He didn’t question why things were said or done. He knew who he was, and felt perfectly comfortable in his own skin…

“You’re staring.”

“Eh?” Orihime was indeed staring. Her cheeks burst into flame, and her English became harder to remember. “Sorry,” she squeaked. “I - ah - did not mean to?”

Ulquiorra smirked. God, she was adorable. “What were you thinking about?”

She was momentarily distracted by his half-lidded eyes, the interesting upward curve of his lips, the way that she felt drawn to him by a mere look.

The word she was thinking of: seductive.

But she didn’t know how to say that in English, and even if she did, she would be too embarrassed. “Umm…” Safe territory. There was a picture frame resting on top of the piano behind him. The photo was of him with his Orihime, who playfully stuck her tongue out at the cameraman. “I was thinking, you and me… her… you two are close?”

The seductive smile faltered a little. “Me and the world’s last dragon, you mean? Yes. We are in an adult relationship, after all.” More like an adolescent relationship where they kept breaking up and getting back together without actually leaving or murdering each other.

Orihime made a face that he could best describe as determined. “Then the two of you have… have…”

Ulquiorra waited for her to finish, but her face only got redder, if that was possible. His amusement revived his smile. “Yes, we’ve had sex.”

Apparently, that wasn’t what she had been trying to ask. Her eyebrows almost vanished into her hairline. “Kissu!” she screamed, her English forgotten entirely. “Kissu!!”

Whoops. “Well, the sex had to start somewhere,” he mused as the girl on the couch hid her face in her hands and whistled like a teakettle. Was she really that innocent? Oh, he sure hoped he had at least a month left to tease her. “I’m sorry,” he lied, “I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

Orihime gave no indication of having heard or understood him. For five minutes she sat thinking of middle school health classes and anatomical diagrams and an American movie she’d seen once with Tatsuki and Chizuru where the protagonists had been doing IT under a blanket. Only instead of the blonde actors, she pictured her other self with the tired eyes, whimpering beneath the seductive pianist.

She had trouble looking directly at him for the next few days, which was just as well, because now she couldn’t stop wondering what it would be like to kiss him.

Faust (2)

 Originally posted 7/22/2014

Testing, 1, 2…

~

Living more than a hundred years had a way of spinning cobwebs on memories, caking them in the dust of the people who had died before him, the ash of all the bridges he’d burned. But other memories stayed with him, as fresh as spring flowers. They came back to him in dreams as his soul, still weakly grasping the hand of heaven, tried to purge him of the sins he’d committed in the past.

“Your friend’s awful stiff, ain’t he?”

“He’s just shy! Give him some of that ale and he’ll loosen up fast enough. Right, Ulquiorra? Tell the ladies you’re shy.”

“What kinda name is that? Latin, innit? I know some Latin too. Never remember it ‘til I’m in bed though.”

“And there you have it, Doctor. A wink of approval from the filthiest whore this side of Europe. Not half bad at incantations either.”

And everyone had danced and sang and made merry, save for Doctor Ulquiorra Cifer, who had a rule against making merry in such a miserable world. He’d always suspected there were devils in those woods, and now he knew for certain. The ghouls, the crones, the wizards, the pagans, and the depraved, all spinning crazed circles around the creature he’d accidentally trapped in his home with a pentagram. Where he himself fit into that picture, he wasn’t sure.

The memory still echoed around the back of Ulquiorra’s mind as he descended into his study a little past dawn. Its windows were frosted over; fresh snow had fallen on the mountains overnight, further blocking the path to the village at the foothills below. There was no hope of sending that woman back, then.

Where was the woman, anyhow? She was usually there by sunrise, a book on her lap, ready to pester him with her incessant questions…

“Missing something?” Ulquiorra’s gaze fell upon Kokuto, who had procured a cravat, a naval jacket, and a hat since the day before. It would have made for a handsome picture, had it not been for the side of his face that was disfigured, twisted and leering and smelling of rotting flesh.

“The girl,” Ulquiorra said.

“Orihime Inoue, yes?” Kokuto marched in front of a standing looking glass and struck a pose. “If I had to guess, I’d say she’s gone to be with the Lord by now.” He stole a peek at Ulquiorra, relishing the slight widening of his eyes. “Poor thing doesn’t stand much of a chance against the elements in such thin underclothes.”

His words had their desired effect. Ulquiorra shoved him out of the way of the looking glass and put his hand on its surface. The reflected image rippled, slowly at first, then faster until it had changed into a vision of blinding snow. In that vast expanse of white, he saw the flaming tendrils of the woman’s hair being whipped about by the wind. She was practically buried. Ulquiorra turned to Kokuto, pale with unspeakable rage. “Why is she outside?”

Kokuto shrugged helplessly. “Why don’t you ask her maid?”

Ulquiorra bit down on his thumb hard enough to draw blood. “I intend to.” He tilted the looking glass until it was parallel to the floor, pressed his bleeding thumb onto it, drew a line under the woman’s prone form, and symbols at her head and feet. Kokuto took several cautious steps backwards.

“How about I fetch the maid for you?” he said, not waiting around for an answer. Ulquiorra was already reaching into the looking glass, his anger growing exponentially when the bitter cold struck his exposed hands. He was almost shoulder deep in the mirror before he had a secure enough hold on the woman, and he lifted her out of the snow, out of the shrieking wind, and into the warmth of his study.

Her muscles were stiff, breaths coming in weak little gasps. Her skin was pale, making the blood he’d smeared on her neck that much brighter, and the sight of it repulsed him. But he had no time to waste. Lowering his mouth to hers, he breathed into her, and felt warmth spreading rapidly through her body beneath his hands. She began to shiver, whimpering in her sleep. Ulquiorra’s tongue swept over his lips. He’d been alive far too long to not recognize the taste of a sleeping draught.

Someone had tried to kill the girl. In his own home. And when Kokuto brought the rat to him, they would discover just how much of a demon their master truly was.

Gettin' My Kicks

Originally posted 8/13/2014

 Grimmjow and Karin mid-argument, because I want to explore it.

~

“If you have so many servants and bitches in Hueco Mundo, and life is so great for you there, why are you always hanging out here?” Karin muttered as she frowned down at her homework. She wasn’t as book smart as her sister, but she wasn’t dumb, either. No one in the family was. Ichigo’s old teachers had been saying so ever since the twins entered high school.

Grimmjow, sitting cross-legged on her bed and poking at his gigai’s holeless stomach, sneered at the question. “Even a king needs a break sometimes.”

“A break that lasts three months?”

“What the fuck do you know?!” he snapped irritably, then settled back into a quiet sulk.

Karin scribbled down an answer, checked her work, and moved on to the next problem. She neglected to ask why it was always her that he bothered when he came to the human world, and not Yuzu. It was troublesome. She’d been called into the office the other day because an idiot classmate had seen her hanging out with a ‘blue-haired thug’ and reported her. Karin was forced to endure a lecture about Ichigo’s reputation, family similarities, and how unsightly it was for a young lady to be associating herself with gangsters.

Morons. They didn’t know the half of it.

“I’m just saying, a guy like you, who has a kingdom full of wenches throwing themselves at his feet every night, wouldn’t come mingle with humans for months at a time for no reason.”

“What are you, my therapist now?”

“Do you even know what a therapist is?”

Grimmjow’s eye twitched. “I don’t have to put up with this!” he yelled, standing from her bed. “You are so lucky you’re Kurosaki’s sister!”

Karin threw her pencil down and whirled on him. “I’m quaking!” she snapped, her voice oozing with sarcasm. “If I piss you off so much, go bother your stupid women and leave me alone! I’m busy!”

Grimmjow stared at her for a moment. She was awfully fixated on the bitches thing, wasn’t she? A wicked grin spread across his face. “You’re not jealous, are you?”

One minute later, Grimmjow went flying down the steps of the Kurosaki Clinic, hitting several along the way before he came to a stop in front of a patient waiting to be seen. A door slammed upstairs. Isshin poked his head out of the examination room at the commotion, but seeing that it was just Grimmjow, he relaxed. “Don’t worry, he’s fine,” he said to his shocked patient. “Trust me, I’m a doctor.”

pk go to sleep

Originally posted 8/14/2014

 Okay bickering GrimmRin was pretty fun but you know what’s even better?! Romantic GrimmRin. (ﾉ´ヮ´)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

~

“Hey,” Karin murmured as she gazed out the window to distract herself from the shirtless Arrancar kissing her neck, “do you really have women in Hueco Mundo?”

“Hn?” Grimmjow cut her an annoyed look, half distracted from the mark he was leaving on her shoulder.

“I mean, I’m not stupid enough to think you’re a virgin, but…” She left the sentence open for him to interpret however he wanted; she was too embarrassed to continue. Why did love have to make her feel like such an idiot? She hated it. But this was a legitimate concern! She couldn’t exactly pop into Hueco Mundo and check.

Grimmjow paused his attentions, becoming thoughtful. He loomed over her, shading her from the sun coming in through the window, and considered the question. “I used to,” he said, “but not anymore.” He saw her head turn towards him in his peripheral vision. “Not for a few years now.”

She tried to hide the relief in her voice. “Why not?”

What the hell did she mean ‘why not?’ He scowled down at her, but there was no real anger in it. How could he be angry when her long black hair was loose and falling across her face in such a sexy way, and that smart-talking mouth of hers was parted so invitingly? Thus, he gave her the macho answer, because he wouldn’t be much of a hollow if he told her none of them made him feel a fraction as much as she did. “They were boring,” he growled before his lips came down on hers and she lost the will to hound him for details.

pk stahp

Originally posted 8/14/2014

 This is the last of the GrimmRin I SWEAR (９*゜▽゜)９

~

“Ichi-nii, you’re back!”

Ichigo patted his not-so-little baby sister Yuzu on the head. Neither of them commented on the fact that he hadn’t aged while she’d developed into a lovely young woman of seventeen. “Just for a day or two. Wanted to make sure you guys were alright. Where’s Karin?”

Yuzu’s eyebrows and lips moved downwards. “She’s upstairs with a migraine. Had to miss soccer practice because of it.”

“Yikes. She won’t be very happy then, huh?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t know about that…” Yuzu said quietly, studying her fingernails and doing nothing to stop Ichigo from heading up the stairs.

Knowing that migraines required silence and darkness, he walked to the end of the hallway without turning on the light and very quietly, very slowly opened the door of his old bedroom. He stopped dead at the sight of a menacing shadow with glowing blue eyes glaring savagely at him from the side of his bedridden sister. Ichigo withdrew his head from the room and closed the door again, blinking. He went downstairs.

Yuzu was watching television. “How’s she doing?” she asked, not even taking her eyes off the screen.

Ichigo sat on the cushion across from her, a confused look on his face. After a few moments of processing, he pointed a finger in the direction of the stairs. “Was that Grimmjow?”

“Yup!”

This seemed to confuse him even more. “What’s he doing in Karin’s bed?”

Yuzu sighed, turned off the television and moved to Ichigo’s side, laying a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. “You’ve missed a lot while you’ve been away, Ichi-nii,” she said in her most comforting voice, “but don’t worry. It’s going to be alright.”

Linguistics

Originally posted 8/15/2014 

Shameless promotion of the crossover, eeeey. TY!Ulqui and M!Hime.

~

“You know, I don’t think I’ll ever get used to these Japanese floor-bed thingies,” Orihime said as she settled into her side of Ulquiorra’s bed for the evening. She’d rapidly stopped feeling embarrassed about having to share it with him if she wanted adequate sleep, and he didn’t seem to mind. Unless she chattered too much. Or snored. Not that she did – Paco was probably lying when he said so. “What do you call these again?”

“Futon,” Ulquiorra replied.

Her brow furrowed. “I thought futons were couch type deals.”

“Not fu-tahn,” he said, “fu-ton.”

“Fu-tone,” Orihime tried.

He stared at her, his face impassive, but she could tell from experience reading her Ulquiorra’s expressions that he was amused. “It is not ‘tone’ either. Fu-ton.”

“Fffu-ton,” she said.

He leaned closer. “Do not allow your teeth to touch your lip.”

Orihime’s frown deepened. “But then wouldn’t I just be whistling? Like hoo-ton or something?”

“Futon,” Ulquiorra repeated slowly.

She blushed, struggling to fix her pronunciation. “H-F-Futon.”

His green eyes softened. “That is correct.”

“Woo!” Orihime threw her fist into the air. “Score one for me! Orihime doesn’t suck that bad at Japanese!” She wiggled under the covers excitedly.

Now it was Ulquiorra’s turn to look confused. “How do you 'suck’ at Japanese?”

She turned her head in his direction. “Huh? Umm… Oh! It’s a figure of speech. When you suck at something, it means you’re really bad at it.”

“Ah.” Ulquiorra lapsed into a thoughtful silence. “Then you suck at Japanese.”

TY Bonus: Warrior Princess

Originally posted 8/20/2014

 ;DDDDD

~

It was said that children used social cues to decide how they should react to events. For example, a fallen child would not cry unless the people around them looked alarmed. So when Ulquiorra heard Satsuki wailing in the yard, he guessed that his well-meaning wife had gasped as dramatically as she often did, thus startling their daughter into a sobbing fit. He left his work on the desk and walked calmly to the back door.

Orihime, who had anticipated his arrival, gave him a helpless look. “Sorry,” she giggled, “I couldn’t help it.”

The crying child stood a few feet away, rubbing her eyes with one arm and holding the other apart from her body, as if doing so would distance herself from the pain of her scraped palm. Ulquiorra crouched down in front of her. “What happened, Satsuki?”

She hiccupped and sniffled, her little mouth trembling. “I f-fell and my h-h-hand is bleeding!”

He noted that her palm was, in fact, bleeding. “I see. And why are you crying?”

“Because it hurt!”

“Does it still hurt?” She nodded. “Does it hurt as bad as the time you hit your head?” Satsuki coughed, looked at her hand, and answered in the negative. “Does it hurt as bad as the time you spilled hot soup on your lap?” She shook her head no, her sobs quieting. “Then if it does not hurt that much, why are you crying?”

Satsuki stared at him. “I dunno.” And with that, she stopped altogether, her sniffles the only thing remaining.

Satisfied, Ulquiorra picked her up and headed back towards the house. “We will put a bandaid on it,” he said, “and then you may resume playing. But next time you fall down, remember that you have survived worse. A warrior does not cry every time she gets hurt.”

“I’m a princess!” Satsuki corrected him.

He looked at Orihime, who was still smiling apologetically, but seemed much more relaxed than before. “Princesses can be warriors too,” he said, and the three went indoors together.

So...

Originally posted 8/28/2014

 Remember when I said I was done with the GrimmRin? I LIED. ⊙▽⊙

~

Could’ve been anything. Like how he poked her belly and the skin would sink beneath his index finger, but the arm that shoved his hand away was like a brick wall. Or perhaps that irritating cocky grin that, surprisingly, had been inherited by the mother who smiled so serenely in her photographs. Or the way she’d grab his attention, then do something weird like flare her nostrils, and laugh at his bewildered expression.

Could have been the way she ate the radishes her twin sister prepared, but picked them out of her food at restaurants. Or how she reached over and around him for a notebook or the TV remote, like he was some oversized pillow she’d forgotten to put away. Or how she’d once used him as a live target for soccer practice, firing shot after shot through the hole in his abdomen, until her technique was perfect, and had never apologized.

Speaking as a male, it could have been the way her tank top clung to her back when she was sweaty. Or the humid scent that came off of her after she showered. The shape of her muscular calves. The sway of her hips when she shifted her weight. The fact that she was oblivious to how sexy she looked when she let her hair down and untangled it with her fingers.

But it also could have been the way she tried too hard. How she hated her teachers when they claimed her brother was a thug. How she regretted not developing powers of her own. Or the casual way she mentioned a comment she’d overheard in school, like it had almost slipped her mind, and wasn’t corroding her self esteem. The things her classmates assumed because she didn’t date anyone. Her rejection of traditional femininity, and the injury caused by a boy she’d liked who had thought of her as “one of the guys.”

But if he had to name a few things:

The way she didn’t tell him not to wait for her by the school gate, even though the rumors were getting out of hand. How she held his hand when she had a bad cramp, squeezing tighter and tighter. The way she climbed into bed and shut off the lights even though he was still there, trusting him to get up and leave whenever he wanted. The look on her face when he’d complained that her clumsy attempt at a kiss was just that, and how she’d allowed him to teach her despite the insult - and the fact that she was a fast learner.

It could have been anything, though. She was easy to love.

Happy Birthday, Little Princess

Originally posted 9/4/2014

 Suggested by Luleiya for the adorable sketch she did! (She was on time for Hime’s birthday, unlike me. XD) “7 Minutes” universe, post-story.

~

“This frat house has ridiculously nice window seats.” Orihime leaned back against Ulquiorra as he wound her hair around his hand, admiring its softness. They were sharing said window seat, which was wide enough for three and stuffed with throw pillows. “It’s kind of suspicious, don’t you think? Like, why would they spend so much time on bay windows when there isn’t even a view to enjoy? Unless you like grass and leaves and… fence.”

The corners of Ulquiorra’s mouth lifted almost imperceptibly. “What did that fence ever do to you?” he asked, draping his arm over her shoulder.

Orihime grinned. She had to admit, she’d been pessimistic going into her first official date with Ulquiorra - random party hookups had a tendency to end badly, after all - but she’d been pleasantly surprised to find that she liked him even better outside of strange circumstances. He was smart, a dedicated student. He had plans for the future. A dry sense of humor that somehow complimented her craziness.

Plus, he looked really good with glasses. She couldn’t help kissing him when he wore them, though the lenses always ended up smudged, and he had the nerve to complain.

“They’re going to make me drink twenty-two shots tonight,” she said suddenly, her expression grave. “One to grow on.” She lifted her head to stare at him. “Help me.”

“How?”

“We’ll hide somewhere.”

“A closet?” She whacked his arm. “You’re right. That’s the first place your friends will look.” This time she snorted, her cheeks coloring at the memory of all the closet-based jokes that had flown around their heads in January. Then she grew serious. She reached up and took Ulquiorra’s face in both hands, though she was positioned awkwardly so her fingers nearly ended up in his mouth.

“Let’s run away together.”

His eyebrows went up. “We’ve only been dating nine months.”

“People have babies in nine months. We can skip town for one evening.”

“…oh, you meant for the night.”

Orihime frowned. “What did you think I meant?”

“Nothing,” Ulquiorra said quickly, removing her hands from his warming face and standing with her. “Let’s go. There are only two restaurants in the next town over, if you don’t mind a fast food birthday dinner.”

She didn’t.

She also didn’t mind sharing a hotel room with him.

It Was a Pleasure to Burn

Originally posted 9/4/2014

 Prompt #2: The Faust AU. Title is the opening sentence of Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury. Adult themes if you squint.

~

Ghosts were almost synonymous with the cold.

When people felt a sudden chill enter the room, they attributed the draft to the presence of a ghost. Laughing, but in a nervous way. Their eyes seeking apparitions in swirling dust motes, ominous messages woven into silk cobwebs. They shivered. Massaged their fingers.

But when he touched her, she burned.

Were he a phantom, she would not have felt so much heat. Were he anything less than a man of flesh, she would not have thirsted, lips parted, gasping for the winter air.

She had assumed. That chilly demeanor. Those icy eyes. Biting words. Frozen heart. Surely someone who looked as if they had been carved from a glacier could retain no human warmth.

Then he touched her, and she burned.

His hands moved as urgently as a wildfire, and her body was the brush. He was a fever that made her ache, too sensitive to touch. He was the pyre on which she laid her heart in willing sacrifice.

The cold, at least, had the decency to put one to sleep before it killed.

But he was the flame that raged and consumed, and she cried out to God to deliver her because the smoke was so thick that she could no longer find a way out of a life that threatened to collapse on top of her. Could God even see her, so cloaked in sin? Soot flooded her lungs. She needed to breathe. She was frightened.

She was unashamed.

…

Her love for him was that of a body on fire: agonized by its embrace, enamored by its promise of salvation through death.

His love for her was like hellfire: easy to fall prey to, demanding her very soul, leaving nothing left of her but ashes.

It's AU Hour!

Originally posted 9/9/2014

Today’s feature is the Muse High School AU! In other words, AU-ception!!! Because I feel like writing about the Muse brats, but the story timeline is sealed and I need all the crossover stuff for the actual fic. Eeeeyy.

~

Ulquiorra sat in his usual practice room, his fingers sliding over the upright piano’s weathered keys, pressing them at random. It was a broken, discordant tune. Not much of a song. He couldn’t tell whether it was coming or going, beginning or ending; thus, he knew he would not be composing anything that morning. He’d have gone to the band director’s office and told her he was leaving, had the snatches of gossip he’d heard before first period not alerted him to the fact that Orihime was back after a week-long absence. And if she was at school, it was only a matter of time before…

He felt more than heard the muted thud of the door at the end of the hall that connected the band hall to the choir room. Every practice room was somewhat soundproofed, so he didn’t hear Orihime’s footsteps until her face appeared in the little window. She pulled the door open without knocking, one hand tightly clutching the strap of her backpack, and let it slam shut against its frame. Luckily there were no classes in the building that period.

“You haven’t called me.” Straight to the point. She was definitely pissed off if she hadn’t bothered to build up to the declaration. “I’m gone for five days and not even a ‘Hey, how ya doin’ dragon girl? Suck any dicks this weekend?’ text message.”

Ulquiorra let his hand fall away from the piano keys, staring hard at the girl looming threateningly above him. “Did you?”

“Fuck you!” she cried, ripping off her backpack and throwing it against the wall. “I thought we were friends! But I guess being used for inspiration o-or whatever it is you want me for doesn’t automatically make me worth your time, does it?”

He averted his eyes. “I didn’t know what to say.”

“Really?!” she said, her voice shrill. “Nothing at all? No welcome package to the wonderful world of orphanhood? You couldn’t even take two minutes to come up to me at the funeral and give your condolences? Your father did, by the way, and according to you he’s the shittiest human being on the planet!”

“Orihime.”

“What?!”

“I don’t think it was cruel of you not to cry at the funeral,” he said, covering the piano keys. “Your brother is too dead to care, one way or another. The only person in that church who would have to live with the shame of being weak in front of people who don’t care about them, is you.”

Orihime looked at him for a long time. Her breathing gradually became unsteady, and in the light from the hallway he could see that her eyes had become like glass, and her jaw quivered every few seconds. “What do I do?” she whispered. “He was my whole world, Ulquiorra. What am I going to do now?” She collapsed onto the piano bench beside him, wrapped her arms around his torso, pressed her face into his shirt, and began to sob. Loud, uninhibited sobs. Tears that she had hidden deep within her heart until she could find a place to let them out.

Ulquiorra held her tightly, wishing he knew of something, anything that would make this easier for her. But he’d been too young when he’d lost his mother. He didn’t know how to mourn for family. He hardly knew what family was.

And it was frightening, because he’d never had a thought for anyone other than himself before he’d seen her staring blankly at her brother’s casket - still in shock, not registering what was happening because he’d been alive just a few days ago.

In that moment, standing in the midst of his adoptive parents and siblings like a black chess piece on the white side of the board, Ulquiorra had been overwhelmed by the desire to become Orihime’s family. Someone who would keep her safe, happy. Someone who would care for her no matter what she did.

But he had no right, because if there was one thing he could say he knew for sure, it was that family wasn’t supposed to use you.

Feelers

Originally posted 10/2/2014

UlquiHime Pokemon AU~

~

“I know what you’re thinking.” Ulquiorra sat outside of the clothing boutique, his holo caster displaying a message he’d received from Grimmjow earlier that morning. It was nothing new or particular interesting: the birds were getting rowdy thanks to a migratory gang of Fearow that had no respect for Ulquiorra’s Honchkrow’s authority, utter chaos, send help, et cetera.

Beside Ulquiorra was Orihime’s Audino. It gazed at him with eyes that matched the sky above, its chubby cheeks moving as it munched on an apple. “You believe that I am in love with the woman,” Ulquiorra said to the fluffy pink Pokemon, as the recorded Grimmjow dove to escape an attacking Spearow. “Allow me to correct that mistaken assumption.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t run off with it – I’m only gonna show – hey, Ulquiorra! What do you think of this dress?” Orihime had appeared, half in the clothing store and half out. The dress in question was on the tight side, orange with psychedelic pink swirls. It didn’t suit her at all.

“Miss, please, you have to come back inside…!” cried a nervous employee hovering at her elbow.

Orihime read the look on Ulquiorra’s face. “Yeah, you’re right. I should be shopping for a coat if we’re heading into the mountains.” She disappeared into the shop again. The door closed with a jingling of bells.

Ulquiorra and Audino stared at the door a moment longer, then looked at each other. Audino reached for its ear and pressed the flat end of the feeler on Ulquiorra’s wrist. Its smile widened.

“You’re wrong,” Ulquiorra said, a little petulantly, and hit the reply button on the holo caster. 

Payback

Originally posted 10/4/2014

 I was watching The Voice and I don’t know what happened. Muse-verse, sometime between engagement and wedding.

~

Orihime didn’t let insults get her down very often. Most of the time they bounced harmlessly off the steel door her heart was locked behind (to which only Ulquiorra had the key). But this was different, and she had the sulky expression to prove it.

Here she was, wearing a dress specially tailored to accommodate her gratuitous bust, acting like a lady in front of music industry big wigs because her famous pianist fiance had been invited to some chick’s party. The chick in question - Miss Georgia Sones - was a rising star in the piano world, and reportedly a huge fan of Ulquiorra’s. He’d been spending a lot of time with her in the past month, and starting fights with Orihime by making airy comments about how nice it was to be appreciated.

Orihime never took them seriously, though. Jealousy wasn’t the issue. It was the fact that she’d genuinely wanted to get along with Miss Georgia Sones… and the little two-faced apple tart had, in relative privacy, sneered that she had no idea why Mr. Schiffer was dating an ignorant, tone deaf slut.

Never mind the slut part - Orihime had a secret fear that her lack of musical knowledge was a point on some imaginary list of reasons for Ulquiorra not to marry her. And now she was sulking. And he was noticing. Twice he’d asked her if she was alright, if she needed a Tums, and once he’d made a phone call to Italy and woken up a very annoyed Natalia Moretti. Unfortunately the conversation had been in Italian, so Orihime had no idea what was said.

“It’s nothing, geez. I’m just so depressed by this glamorous hotel. Like, if I let it slip to the staff that being adopted by white people doesn’t make you any less Mexican, we might get kicked out,” Orihime muttered spiritlessly.

Ulquiorra didn’t buy the social justice act for a second. He’d watched, from across the room, as Orihime’s face fell while talking to Miss Georgia Sones. Unfortunately, it was his turn to sing Miss Georgia Sones’ praises to the gathered audience, and he’d fraternized with her often to excite everyone. He left his gloomy fiance at the table and stepped up to the microphone.

“It is truly an honor to be here tonight,” he said, straightening the cuffs of his sleeves nonchalantly. “As you may know, Miss Sones has been coming to me for advice since we were introduced to each other by the label a few weeks ago. If you ask her, she’ll tell you that I’ve said very little on that subject, and it’s true - I’m hesitant to impart wisdom, as I suffer from a general lack of it.” Chuckles from the audience. “But now that I’ve got you all here, I figure it is time to stop dancing around the subject and say exactly how I feel about Miss Georgia Sones.

"To say that she is a third rate musician would be too kind. Her piano playing is reminiscent of the midi keyboards in those God-awful Kidz Bop albums. Her style is flashy and deceptive, like films that try to distract viewers from a terrible plot with constant, unnecessary explosions. Her compositions have the emotional depth of a snail, and evoke in me no other feeling than a desire to be run through by the lance of an actor at a Renaissance fair. My advice to you, Miss Sones, is to remove your greedy hands from the piano at once and find a career better suited to your terrible personality. And cease your attempts to sleep with me, I’m engaged.”

Dead silence. The color had drained from Miss Georgia Sones’ face. Horrified looks were exchanged by everyone. Even Orihime had sunk down in her chair like she was considering sneaking out from under the table. Ulquiorra blinked. “But again, thank you for inviting me. The food is delicious. Don’t forget to tip your waiters.”

The After Party

Originally posted 10/9/2014

 Muse-verse, part two of the last (fan fiction) drabble.

~

“For the record, I don’t need your help defending myself.”

“Hmm?”

“That’s what all that stuff you said was about, right?”

“Your arrogance never ceases to amaze me, Ms. Inoue.”

“So you just randomly decided to end that girl’s career tonight.”

“I decided to end her career the moment I heard that so-called breathtaking composition of hers. The forced acquaintance was simply a convenient excuse to gain access to the party, where I would have her, the record company, and the press together in the same room. You heard the composition, didn’t you?”

“I thought it was nice.”

“That’s because you’re tone deaf, and I swear to you that when a cure is found, I will pay for your correctional surgery - please get your talons away from my crotch.”

“That’s what I thought you said.”

Orihime stretched her arms above her head, then immediately dunked them under the surface of the bathwater, shivering. Ulquiorra pulled her back against him with a sigh. “Are you mad at me?”

She shook her head, watching the ends of her hair cut through the water like sea serpents. “Nah, I think your mom expressed all of my feelings in that phone call.”

“I’m not going to apologize,” Ulquiorra said for the umpteenth time that night.

“I’m not going to make you,” Orihime reassured him, leaning her head on his shoulder. Secretly, she was glad that Ulquiorra’s seniority would override his eccentricities and put an end to the stupid bimbo’s rise to stardom. And if it didn’t, Natalia’s likewise opinion of Miss Georgia Sones would settle the matter. She smirked, turned, and placed her hands on his chest to steady herself. “Hey, wanna have totally awkward and potentially dangerous bathtub sex?”

Ulquiorra gave her a once over, eyeballed the dimensions of the bathtub, looked to make sure his cell phone was within reaching distance, then pretended to consider it for all of two seconds. “Yes.”

Cold Sone Stober

Originally posted 10/14/2014

Crossover, Muse!Hime and TY!Ulqui.

~

“I just– I don’t– listen, I don’t– shh, listen. I don’t understand…” Orihime trailed off, wincing like it was taking every last amount of brainpower she had to form a sentence, “…why you’re mad at me.”

Ulquiorra gave her a flat stare. Really, it was his fault for assuming nothing would happen at an impromptu party with Rangiku - who’d been so excited to hang out with New Hime that she’d rented her old gigai for the day. But it still went against everything he knew. His Orihime didn’t drink alcohol, so at worst he’d expected her to be returned to him in some vulgar outfit, not bowling over garbage cans and slurring.

“Waaait. I get it. You’re… no, no, that doesn’t make any sense.” Orihime crawled towards him, zigzagging and placing her hands down uncertainly, like the floor was moving away from her. “C'mon, Japanese Paco, we were hangin’ out, that’s all. I didn’t cheat on you, if that’s what you’re PMSing about.”

“You and I are not in a romantic relationship.”

“Pffffffft, okay.” She fell face-first onto his lap and, rather than get up, she began to giggle. “You are such a liar, Japanese Paco!”

“I do not tell lies.”

“No, no, no, you totally do. Because,” she lifted herself onto her hands again, staring at him with all the focus of a sleepy high school student, “we’ve been kissing and stuff.”

“Kissing does not equal a relationship.”

“Come oooon, man, you’re bustin’ my balls here. Let’s just call this what it is.”

Ulquiorra frowned, not sure what she was referring to, or what balls she was talking about. He tried to push her away. “I will not discuss anything with you until you are sober.”

Orihime threw her arms around his neck. “You know what doesn’t need discussing? Me unlocking that chastity belt of yours,” she purred, more smushing her lips against his than actually kissing him. Ulquiorra grabbed her arms and extracted himself from her immediately.

“You’re going to bed. And no, I will not accompany you,” he said.

“Oh, geez, if you’re worried that I’m gonna tell people you took advantage of me while I was ineeburated, you can relax. Sober me has been DTF for like a week now.” Ulquiorra sighed, unable to comprehend her abbreviations and unwilling to try. He pulled the woman to her feet and began steering her towards the hallway. “Does this mean yes?” Orihime asked giddily. “Because if it does, we may need to get protection. I mean, could you imagine me getting pregnant with your baby? Paco would know it isn’t his… or IS it his? Shit, I would kill to watch that episode of Jerry Springer!”

Ulquiorra left her in his bedroom and closed the door between them, hoping that in her drunkenness, she would believe herself locked in. He grabbed a spare blanket from the hall closet and headed back to the living room. The woman’s off-key singing filled the apartment a few minutes later - apparently she’d forgotten all about wanting to sleep with him - and he listened to her voice fade in and out until she fell silent.

His last thought of the night was that her lips had tasted like sake.

Prologue

Originally posted 10/31/2014

Faust AU, because it’s spooky.

~

Marseille wasn’t what it used to be. Everywhere you went, warning signs. Everywhere you looked, carts wheeling off the dead. The smell of them was inescapable. Must have been the reason for that “pocketful of posies” line in the tune he was whistling.

Not that he was complaining. This kind of chaos was right up his alley. The plague, that pet project of his, had put up a good fight a few centuries ago. Marseille would probably be its last hurrah. Why not drop in to enjoy the scenery?

Stopping in an all but deserted part of the city, he craned his neck towards a building from which there came one steady voice among pained groans. “There he is,” he muttered, sauntering up the front steps of the residence and knocking with a politeness that was almost mocking. When no one bade him enter, he grabbed the handle and threw the door open. “Hello!” he called into the house. “Anyone alive in here?”

How depressing. The owner of the building must have been sick for a while; they hadn’t even bothered to clean up for him. The only thing not covered in a thin layer of dust was a long black coat, draped across a nearby chair. He grinned, locating the stairs and taking them two at a time.

Here the voices grew louder until, upon entering a cramped bedroom, he found the source at last. An old woman lay dying on her cot, breathing ragged, eyes unfocused. Perched on a stool beside the bed, a young man, black hair, impeccable posture, timing the pulse at her wrist. He hadn’t even flinched at the presence of the intruder.

The woman, however, laid eyes on the cheerful white-haired youth and became dreadfully pale. Her lips flapped uselessly before her voice caught up with her mouth. “Doctor,” she whispered, “send him away. He ain’t welcome here.”

“Do not be afraid, Madame. He is not here for you,” said the doctor.

“What a rude old woman! Shame she’s lasted this long, I’m bored. Got anymore patients after her, or will the great Doctor Ulquiorra Cifer finally admit that even his arts can’t help these wretches?”

“You ain’t welcome here,” the old woman moaned. “I may be poor, but I’m a good Christian. I go to be with my God soon!”

Ulquiorra turned away from her, lifting his hand as if in greeting. His fingernails were black. “If I could stop the spread of it in my own body, surely I can do something for them,” he declared. “Am I wrong, Kokuto?”

Kokuto laughed out loud, coming closer to inspect the damage done to the doctor’s hands. The old woman nearly had a fit. “Not wrong, my friend. Just naive. Naive and so very, very young.” He made a disgusted face at the gasping, fish-eyed patient and took a few steps back. “Well, I hate to stay where I’m not wanted. When you’re done trying to best me, meet me in Paris. I found a guy who’ll build you that house you want.”

Ulquiorra said nothing in response. Kokuto shrugged and retreated down the stairs, the sound of his whistle fading with distance. The woman turned pitying eyes on Ulquiorra, who occupied himself with her pulse again, as if they hadn’t been interrupted. “Oh Doctor…”

“Save your breath, Madame. You will have all of eternity for piety.” 

Space Case

Originally posted 11/9/2014

Tonight’s drabble: Scenes that won’t make it into Muse, Musings, or the crossover (unless mentioned in passing).

 

~*~

Don’t go.

Words so simple, whispered in the dead of night. Arms tightening. Voice laden with fear. Weak, weak, weak. He was weak without her. But he wasn’t the one who’d almost died.

During the day, there were apartment-sized spaces between them. Seemed like she was always in the laundry room when he was in the bathroom or he was in the bedroom when she was watching television in the living room or he was at the piano when she was asleep and– It was funny to think about later; that she should have to ring him up on the phone just to get him to come to dinner.

And yet, he made these face when they were together. Faces that said things like I need you or you’re the most important person in my life or don’t leave me. Things that were far too complicated to say out loud. He sighed them into her mouth at night.

Then sunrise, and there was the remote control and the sofa and the music and the walls and the city and the entire solar system wedged between their two hands. There he was, across the galaxy. There she was, afraid to move her fingers a few inches to the left.

She parted her legs and found herself thinking of cosmonauts, of dying stars and black holes. She wrapped her arms around him and thought of small steps and giant leaps and an American flag standing erect on the moon, announcing to the vast and empty universe that mankind had accomplished something. She gasped his name and wondered if what he’d heard instead was I’m trying; Oh God, I’m trying, but you’re making it so hard.

Then the rising sun would cast light on the vacancy beside her. Then the dawn would come hauling hurt feelings and words that neither of them meant. With no sound… no hope… no air left for panting reassurances…

She was bitterly surprised that she could hold her breath for so long. 

11/11 Drabble

Originally posted 11/12/2014

 to accompany that horrible doodle from earlier 8D Because the timeline of the crossover won’t allow for pocky day shenanigans! and TY!Ulqui spends so much of his story being so… painfully… restrained.

 

~*~

“Oh my gosh, these biscuits aren’t even that good." Crunch. "How’s a girl supposed to get fat eating these twiggy little things?" Crunch crunch. "And the chocolate they use for them? Sub par at best. Could have paid less for a Hershey bar and had a better time.”

“You complain, yet you continue to eat them.”

Orihime stuck a stick of pocky between her teeth and grinned at Ulquiorra, who was on the other side of the couch with a Shakespeare anthology he’d picked up at the library. “Want one?”

“I will pass,” he said, not even looking at her.

The stick of pocky drooped, then disappeared into Orihime’s mouth like a blade of grass devoured by a rabbit. “Whatever.” She whacked the box back and forth from hand to hand, shaking up its contents, then changed her mind and plucked another stick, holding it with two fingers. “Hey, check me out.” She leaned back until she lounged lazily on the armrest. “Dahling, you simply must stop trying so hard. You are a modern woman. Let him come to you,” she said in an old Hollywood starlet voice, looking as bored as possible as she pretended to take a drag from the pocky stick.

She snuck a glance at Ulquiorra. His eyes had shifted from the book to her, but he remained on his side of the couch. Orihime held the pocky stick in her mouth and casually flicked her tank top strap off of her shoulder, then readjusted her pose to be as alluring and open as possible. If that didn’t get his attention…

“What are you doing, woman?”

She sighed, fixed her tank top strap, and got back into a normal sitting position. “Nothing." Eating bad biscuits because it’s some stupid couple holiday in Japan, she thought bitterly. Not that she was dating this Ulquiorra in particular, but would it kill him to act like a guy for once? She’d have an easier time seducing a tree. An asexual tree.

Orihime continued passive-aggressively eating the pocky - she’d spent money on it so there was no way it was going to waste - all the while thinking that her Ulquiorra wouldn’t have fallen for it either. He’d have made some snide comment about her catching a cold if she left her shoulder naked, then he’d watch her eat the entire box to teach her a lesson, then he’d say "I told you so” when she got a stomachache and then he would have sex with her. She frowned around her pocky. Why the hell was she dating him again? Must have been for his money, because no sane person would stick around for that kind of abu–

The bottom half of the pocky stick disappeared into Ulquiorra’s mouth, severed by a single bite. Orihime’s eyes flew wide open. He held her gaze as he swallowed it, wincing slightly. “I am not very fond of them either,” he confessed.

“Then why bother…?” Her sentence fell short when his thumb hooked through her tank top strap and moved it aside, lips lowering to her bared shoulder. She turned her head to simultaneously give him access and hide her smile. “You could have just done this the first time I offered.”

His mouth traveled languidly up her neck, his hand slipping into her hair to keep it out of his way. "I refuse to encourage your childish and shameless behavior,“ he said, his voice low in her ear.

"Trust me, you haven’t even seen the worst of it yet,” Orihime purred as she pulled him down and pressed her mouth firmly against his.

And Now, A Quick Drabble!

Originally posted 12/4/2014

 Ulquihime Pokemon crossover. BAM. (The smut drabbles are on hold because they’re actually fairly long.)

~

“You’re an asshole, you know that?” Ulquiorra didn’t even bother to turn away from the stack of mail that had accumulated in his absence. Grimmjow stood by the door, arms folded over his chest, scowling a deeper scowl than usual. “You could have seriously injured her Pokemon.”

“She should have taken more time to train them.”

He rolled his eyes. “That’s so not what this is about.”

Ulquiorra ripped open an envelope and glanced at its contents. Usual gym leader business: decisions made by the league, reminders to reapply for licenses, pay dues on time. He tossed it aside. “Enlighten me, then.”

“Gladly!” Grimmjow pointed at him. “You’re pissed off because she’s friends with Kurosaki.” Ulquiorra scoffed. “It’s true! Don’t act like I don’t know! Kurosaki challenged this gym four times before he won, and each time you told him to give up, it only made him want to keep trying. How embarrassing for you when someone actually beat you through effort and not talent!”

Ulquiorra’s Skarmory lifted its head from its wing and hissed at him. Grimmjow’s Liepard hissed back. Ulquiorra himself continued to sort the mail, unconcerned. “Know what? Screw you. I’m not going to let that girl quit, so when she comes back and kicks your ass, you can address your thanks to Grimmjow.”

Several minutes after he had gone, Ulquiorra put down the stack of envelopes and stared at them.

“Imbalance of power? What about it?”

His eyes narrowed.

“You thought I’d give up just because you’re stronger than me?”

He left the office behind and wandered out into the dark arena, where hours earlier his Honchkrow had blown the woman’s Pokemon away as if they were stray feathers. But rather than see her in the shadows, he saw Ichigo Kurosaki, far from league champion, his Combusken struggling to stand.

“I knew from the start that you were strong. But knowing how strong you are makes no difference. I’m going to beat you, Ulquiorra.”

The woman’s smile flashed through his mind.

“Kurosaki-kun gave me this Torchic. I want to become strong; strong enough to beat him, to show him my gratitude. And when I’ve done that, it’ll be okay… for me to tell him how I feel about him…”

Ulquiorra lifted his head. In the darkness above, he could see a clumpy shape on one of the beams, a long stinger hanging down in the open air.

If the woman even thought of coming back to his gym with that nonsense, his Gliscor would make sure she didn’t do it again.

Kids Say the Darndest Things

Originally posted 12/4/2014 

BELATED BIRTHDAY DRABBLE FOR ULQUIORRA. Tell Yourself universe. I just love making him happy ok 

~

Jackie Tristan entered the Cifer residence with an exhausted sigh. She’d only pulled an eight-hour shift at work that day, but her coworkers had insisted she go drinking with them, and for once she’d had no excuse not to.

In the living room, Riruka Dokugamine reclined on the couch, balancing a pencil on her nose. A dollhouse was situated on the table before her. Jackie sent her a confused look. “They still in there?” she asked. Riruka held up a finger as Jackie approached. Faintly, sounds of rapid gunfire came up from the dollhouse, and through one of the tiny windows Jackie could see paint on the walls.

“We work for five-year-olds,” Riruka declared.

It was certain. Captain Inoue had staged her own death and run off with her lover, the two of them marrying in secret and having a child together. What her husband didn’t know was that Captain Inoue had never truly given up on revenge. The marriage, the baby, the obnoxiously pink house – everything, weapons in her arsenal of psychological warfare. All she’d had to do was wait until Captain Cifer had grown complacent…

…and he’d still beaten her.

Presently, Captain Inoue sat dying against the wall, a small heart on her sweater and an entire clip of paint bullets in her gut. Above her loomed Ulquiorra Cifer, her husband and the father of her child. The gun in his hand was empty, the look on his face betraying no emotion. “You were a fool to think that I would trust you,“ he said.

"What gave me away?” his adversary rasped, pretending to cough up blood.

“You had more guns stashed around the house than the couple from that American film.”

Orihime perked up. “Do you think Jackie-san and Riruka-chan have seen it yet? We should watch it tonight!” Ulquiorra stared at her. “Oh, sorry,” she put on a pained expression, “I knew I should have kept them in the shed!”

“To think you spent all that time waiting to take revenge, and you were still defeated. I almost pity you.” His voice was as cold as it had been in his hollow days. Orihime smirked.

“Who says I lost?”

Red paint splattered the back of Ulquiorra’s shirt. His eyes widened. He turned slowly, the weapon slipping from his hand.

Five year old Satsuki Cifer stood in the doorway, pointing a tiny paint gun straight at him.

“Have you met my number two?” Orihime cooed.

“Impossi—!” Two more paint bullets hit Ulquiorra in the chest. He fell to his knees. This couldn’t be. His wife’s betrayal, he understood perfectly well. But his daughter’s? He glared at the child as she walked up to finish him off. “Why?” he asked. “What do you stand to gain from this?”

Satsuki’s frown was identical to his. “The insurance money.” She looked over his shoulder. “Right Mama?”

“Right!” Orihime agreed.

Ulquiorra tried to hold onto his glare. With anyone else, it would have been easy. But this was his five year old daughter, and he could easily picture Orihime coaching her on what to say before they entered the dollhouse, and the little girl agreeing with all of her childish enthusiasm. What did a little girl know of insurance money? What would she even buy with it, a million pieces of bubblegum? He turned his head, hid his mouth behind his hand, and laughed.

Orihime gawked at him. Satsuki, startled at the sight, dropped her gun and flailed her arms. “I broke Papa!” she cried, her Ulquiorra-like frown replaced by a very Orihime-esque panicked face, which only made her father laugh harder.

Much later,when they were all out of the dollhouse, cleaned up, and Captain Inoue had been properly rewarded for her victory, Ulquiorra would assure his wife that as far as birthdays went, that one made the top five.

Moonlight

Originally posted 12/8/2014

Faust AU on the brain, and I don’t think I’ve actually written an interaction between F!Ulqui and Hime yet. This may or may not make it into the story.

~

It was bitterly cold. Darkness reigned, the pale moon above doing little more than separating shadows from each other. The air was thinner at this altitude; Orihime felt lightheaded, but she refused to complain. She walked with her arms out in front of her, cloak dragging, fallen leaves and snow and twigs crunching beneath the boots she’d been provided.

“Stay close to me,” the doctor had told her, “don’t wander off.”

But she’d lost sight of him in the night, wondering how he could walk so certainly through woods that looked the same to her. As far as she could tell, there was no path, no destination. He hadn’t even told her where they were going…

A light caught the corner of her eye. Orihime stopped, breathing heavily, seeking the source of the illumination. There was a flame suspended in the air several feet away. “Hello?” she called out to it. “Doctor, is that you?”

The flame bounced back and forth in response. Orihime couldn’t see a body attached to the torch, but it was so dark, the glare could have merely been obscuring the person holding it. She walked towards it, tree branches grasping at her clothes and tickling her chin. It was getting closer, closer now, then growing distant as if it were walking away from her. “Wait!” she cried, picking up a side of her skirt and breaking into a jog.

Her foot came down on open air. A strangled scream tore from her throat. At the same moment, a hand seized her upper arm and pulled her roughly backwards, away from the cliff that she had very nearly fallen off of. Orihime looked behind her. The afterimage of the flame burned in her eyes, but she saw moonlight in the doctor’s green. “I believe I told you not to wander off, woman.”

“Y-You’re hurting me,” she whispered. She could feel his grip on her arm straight to the bone.

He let her go and turned his back on her. “These woods are dangerous. Keep your eyes on me. Do not look about you.”

Orihime nodded wordlessly, rubbing her aching skin as she followed after him again. But she couldn’t help the chill that ran down her spine. Something in that forest had just tried to kill her. Something inhuman, supernatural; something the doctor knew about… and wasn’t afraid of. 

A Day in the Life Without

Originally posted 12/12/14

Sad drabble as I try to scoop all this sadness out of me and unapologetically hurt you all in the process. Muse-verse.

~

7AM, the alarm clock rings. It took her two hours to fall asleep the night before. She glares at the ceiling.

7:50AM, she wipes the condensation from the bathroom mirror and stares at her reflection. Everything’s gravitating downwards no matter how much she exercises. Lines, crevices, bags. She hasn’t dyed her hair in six years.

9AM, she drives to her daughter’s to help with the grandchildren. They’re all youth and energy, running from place to place, showing off disastrous masterpieces in their coloring books. Her daughter asks her how she’s doing. She can’t complain. Then she chases her grandkids around the backyard until she’s too tired to move.

1PM, she heads into work. The shelter is full of girls with mistrustful eyes and haggard appearances. They stare defiantly at her as she talks to them. But little by little, their defenses fall. Little by little, they begin to hope, and to love themselves again.

5PM, she arrives home and makes dinner for herself. It’s not very good. It’s never been very good, but lately it hasn’t tasted the same, which makes it worse.

6PM, she watches Wheel of Fortune, grumbling that the new host isn’t as good as Pat Sajak, may he rest in peace. She yells at the contestants to stop being greedy and solve the damn puzzle already. She laughs when their greed lands them on bankruptcy.

8:30PM, she gets ready for bed, because who is she kidding, she’s sleepy.

9PM, her fingertips caress the black piano. She says hello, and sits on the bench, removing the cover from the keys. She make a clumsy attempt at Claire de Lune because she’s always liked it - who doesn’t? It’s slow going. She can’t get up to the right tempo without pressing the wrong keys, and she’d rather play it lento than play it wrong. But it sounds off to her anyway, as if both herself and the piano are too tired to make it beautiful.

10PM, she lays in bed, staring at the empty space beside her. She reaches behind her for the phone on her nightstand and navigates the menu. At the very bottom of her music playlist, a sound file that’s traveled from phone to computer to phone and phone again; a file that’s survived for half a century. She taps on it, and places the phone on the bed next to her.

“Do I really have to do this?”

“Uh, yeah. An unreleased track from the late Ulquiorra Schiffer? I’ll be filthy rich.”

“If you outlive me, that is.”

“Are you going to play or what?”

“…sometimes I get the feeling that you don’t love me at all, Ms. Inoue.”

“Quit yer bellyaching.”

There’s a beat of silence in which she can see him clearly, in the light of the Las Noches apartment, sitting on the piano bench, glaring at her. Before the gray showed up in their hair, before he felt their daughter move beneath her skin and smiled, before he put the ring on her finger, before the nights they would stay up planning their next vacation, before they needed a calculator to keep up with their anniversaries, before his arms slipped around her for the last time.

Then the music begins, more lovely than anything she could ever play.

And in minutes, she’s asleep. 

Scenes from the Unwritten 1

Originally posted 12/13/2014

 Drabbles from the AUs I didn’t write! Starting with QUIZ BOWL.

~

Calling him out was a bold move, but Orihime had always been a bold person. She walked a safe distance from the rest of HM Private Academy’s grinning, snickering team members, with their silent captain in tow, aware of her friends’ concerned stares from across the auditorium. What would he think of her question? Would it seem vain of her to ask? She swallowed her nerves and turned to face him as soon as they were out of earshot. It couldn’t be helped; she’d have no peace until she knew for sure. “Umm, sorry for inconveniencing you like this, Cifer-san. It’s just that… whenever we compete against each other, it seems like you target me intentionally. I don’t want to think badly of you, so I figured I’d ask you directly…”

Ulquiorra Cifer, the genius of HM Private Academy, regarded her with pocketed hands and a blank expression. “You are not wrong,” he said.

Orihime blinked. “Eh?”

His green eyes bore into hers. “Why is someone like you on Karakura’s team? They were already the laughing stock of the district before you came along.”

Her mouth fell open.

“This is a competitive environment, not an elementary school field trip. If you will not take it seriously, then you should find a club more suited to your personality. It is insulting to the rest of us to be pitted against the likes of you.”

Orihime’s mouth had gone dry, her face bloodless. There was a roaring in her ears. Was she hallucinating? Had she imagined all of that? Because there was no way anyone speak such unbelievably rude words so casually, right?

But Ulquiorra neither looked away nor back down. “Is that all you wanted to know?”

The blood rushed back to her face. She lowered her head and nodded once. Her breathing sounded wrong. She was just standing there, and he was headed back to his teammates…

“Cifer-san!” she blurted out, catching the attention of half the auditorium, staff and students and judges included. He stopped walking. She pointed a shaking finger at him. “We won’t lose!” she screamed, “I won’t be scared off! We’re going to wipe the floor with you, and then you’ll be sorry!”

He graced her with a disgusted glare. Most of his teammates were howling with laughter now. Orihime whirled around and stomped back to Karakura’s table, bowing her head to hide the tears of mortification brimming on her eyelids. “Inoue, what happened?” Ichigo asked.

“Are you okay, Orihime?”

“What did he say to you, Inoue-san?!”

Orihime took a deep breath. “It doesn’t matter,” she declared, straightening her shoulders. “I’m okay. What’s important is that we make it to regionals this year and send HM Private Academy packing, am I right?!”

She was met with several doubtful glances. Her shoulders sagged again. This was going to be harder than she thought.

Scenes from the Unwritten 2

Originally posted 12/14/2014

 SWAN LAKE/FAIRY TALE AU

~

The moon loomed large and full in the sky above, and on the lake’s surface where it was mirrored, and in the princess’s eyes as she gazed at it with something like longing. She had learned to love that moon, the means by which her humanity was restored. But alas, she could not be fully satisfied, for she knew that her salvation meant condemnation for another.

The sound of wings drew her attention back to the darkness of night. Having stared at the moon for so long, she did not immediately see the shadow flitting amongst the stars until it was practically upon her, and shortly there landed Ulquiorra Cifer, the princess’s one and only companion. With long talons, bat wings, a wiry tail, and a gaping hole in his chest, he was not one to inspire anything but fear in mortal men. Yet Orihime Inoue could only smile at him, and stand from the chair that had been left out for her by the sorcerer Aizen. “Good evening, Ulquiorra! Have you any news from my kingdom?”

Ulquiorra drew his wings closer around him. “They still search for their lost princess,” he said, “but the years have not been kind to them. There are no leads that could take them here, and even then, no magician skilled enough to remove the curse that binds your highness to this lake.”

Orihime’s smile was tinged with sorrow. “I see.” She drew in a deep breath, then reached out and pinched his cheek. “And for the last time, call me Orihime! Aren’t we friends?”

His eyes, discolored and beastly, widened marginally. “My apologies, your highness.” She frowned. “Forgive me… Orihime.”

Satisfied, the princess let go of his pale skin and turned her gaze back to the moon. “If only the both of us could be human at the same time! Not me a bird when you’re a man, and you a beast when I’m a woman. Wouldn’t that be something?”

“Does this form displease you?”

“No, nothing like that,” she said, clasping her hands behind her back. “I merely tire of feeling sorry for the both of us.”

Ulquiorra watched her watch the moon above, as if at any moment it would free them itself, and he was certain that if his heart had still been in his chest, he would have felt it stir.

Scenes from the Unwritten 3

Originally posted 12/14/2014 

POKEMON AU!

~

“What I don’t understand is why you cannot be civil towards each other.” Ulquiorra looked at his Honchkrow, which bowed its head in shame, then at his Fearow, which looked determinedly at something else. “You are both under my command now. I expected the turf wars to stop with this new brotherhood, but apparently I need to lecture you like a pair of children.” Fearow squawked at him indignantly. “I don’t care who started it. You will behave, or you will not be allowed out of the gym.”

Grimmjow, sitting nearby, let out a long sigh. “Two weeks without her and he’s become the bird whisperer again.” It had been business as usual since Ulquiorra had returned to the gym and gotten the Murkrow-Spearow war under control. But even Grimmjow had to admit that there was something off about his best friend, and he suspected he knew exactly what.

Honchkrow lifted its beak, spotted something in the distance, and nudged Fearow with its wing. The other bird narrowed its eyes, but then followed Honchkrow’s gaze and its expression changed. Both birds snickered and took flight simultaneously, leaving Ulquiorra wondering what had gotten into them. Then, “Well, would you look at the time! Gotta go!” Grimmjow announced, clearing the gym yard’s stone fence in one leap and vanishing.

Ulquiorra blinked. He turned his head in the direction of the birds’ amused glances.

Orihime Inoue, the new league champion, stood at the entrance of the yard with her hands behind her back and a smile on her face. She looked no different than the day he’d met her in the woods, desperately chasing his Murkrow to get her hairpins back, and yet so much had changed that Ulquiorra found himself at a loss for words.

“Aren’t you going to say hi?” she suggested.

“Yes,” he replied, then amended, “hello,” then amended again, “congratulations.”

Orihime strolled forward. “Thanks! I thought the interviews and parades would never end, it was exhausting!” He met her halfway, hands in his pockets. “Not that it wasn’t fun, too.”

“I wouldn’t know.” They stopped a few feet away from each other. “I was on my way back when the battle took place, I’m afraid. Haven’t had a chance to watch it yet, because…”

“The birds?”

“The damn birds,” Ulquiorra finished, and Orihime laughed, knowing he both meant it and didn’t.

“It’s okay. I haven’t watched it myself - I mean, I lived it - but I haven’t seen a replay. Too nervous. A lot happened that day.”

“Right. Kurosaki must have been surprised to lose.”

“He was quite shocked!”

“And your confession, as well.”

“Oh, you totally should have been there! I looked him straight in the eye and I said, ‘Ichigo, you inspired me to start my own journey and gave me a Pokemon to do it with. I’m very grateful to you! And after coming all this way and going through all this trouble to confess my feelings for you, I have to apologize, because I’m not in love with you at all.’ I think his eyes were about to fall out of his head.”

Ulquiorra stared at her. “Huh?”

Orihime giggled and looked at him meaningfully. “Ichigo’s great, but… he wasn’t the one who kept me going when I thought about giving up. And he definitely wasn’t the one who fought off wild Ursaring to protect me. And he wasn’t the one accompanying me every step of the way when he had a gym to run.”

“He wasn’t, was he,” Ulquiorra said quietly. She shook her head. “The other guy, though… he may not be as impressive as you make him sound.”

“No?” She bridged the gap between them.

“For all you know, he could just be an insensitive feather-brained jerk who tames bird Pokemon because he’s good at it, and not because he enjoys it in the slightest.”

Orihime took his face in her hands. “And what’s so bad about that?”

Ulquiorra’s arm circled her waist. “Give me enough time, and I’ll show you.” Then her lips met his, and for once he didn’t mind the laughing crows of the busybody birds that had gathered to watch.

Same Old

Originally posted 12/16/2014

The Muse brats as seniors was requested because the other outcome is too sad. TwT

~

Forty years into a marriage was probably considered too late to be complaining about her spouse, but Orihime was determined to do it anyway. “Will you please take your father to live with you?” she whispered to her daughter Scarlet. “He’s taken to fiddling around with his other wife at two in the morning and I don’t think I’ve gotten any REM sleep in the past week. Which, in case you didn’t know, is very dangerous. Lab rats deprived of REM sleep died in two days.” She leaned closer. “I think he’s trying to kill me.”

Scarlet couldn’t help smiling at the ways her parents had rubbed off on each other. In her childhood, it was always her dad who went on long tangents to prove or reach a point, and lately her mother had started up too. She leaned back on the couch to look around at her father, who was hanging ornaments from the Christmas tree and didn’t seem all that happy about it. “Dad, are you trying to kill Mom?”

Orihime whacked Scarlet’s arm. “Traitor!”

Ulquiorra paused, turning his head to give his daughter an unreadable stare. “Maybe.”

“Can you stop? I know you think it’s a good idea now, but you’ll regret it when there’s no one around to nag you.”

“You lived with us for twenty years. How are you not on my side?” Ulquiorra complained, while Orihime let out a triumphant squawk. He turned his glare on her instead. “Inspiration doesn’t sleep, woman. If you had a shred of talent, you would understand this.”

“You wanna go, old man?” Orihime snapped, standing from the couch.

“Mom, don’t get excited.”

“She’s survived one heart attack already. A wrestling match won’t kill her. Hell, I’m starting to think nothing will.”

Scarlet buried her face in her hands. “I’m too pregnant for this,” she sighed, effectively stopping both parents in their tracks.

“You’re what?!” Orihime shouted.

“Who did this to you?” Ulquiorra demanded.

“The popular theory is my husband, Dad.”

Orihime burst into tears. Ulquiorra pulled her into his arms, the argument forgotten. “Look, you’ve upset your mother.”

“I’m old!” Orihime sobbed. “Old and getting older and now some brat’s going to be hanging around calling me grandma!”

“Really?” Scarlet stared at them flatly. “You can’t even be a little happy for me?” But her mother was too inconsolable to speak, and her father was fussing over her, trying every sarcastic remark and insult in his arsenal to distract her. Scarlet shook her head and smiled. Of course they were happy for her. The complaints about age were just her mother’s lame excuses for her emotional display. “I’ve got ultrasound pictures, if you’re interested.”

Orihime wailed even louder. “Now who’s trying to kill her?” Ulquiorra said defensively, and stroked her hair. “Calm down, woman, you’re embarrassing yourself.” 

...

Originally posted 12/23/2014

 The deep spring of sadness is back, and I must get this heaviness off of my chest. Tell Yourself universe; adult things I wanted to explore.

~

It was what one would call a “sensitive subject.” A fresh, badly hidden wound that bled and ached and screamed. Touching a sensitive subject was widely regarded as impolite. However, they were not that easy to avoid.

When two people suffered in the same confined space, it was impossible not to bump into those wounds. When two people had to look at each other every day, eat meals together, share a bed, there was no point in trying to hide their pain. They’d learned that lesson the hard way back in the early days of their relationship, and perhaps in a moment of youthful naivety, they’d promised it would never happen again.

Then she’d gotten cramps. Then she’d rushed to the bathroom to protect her clothes from getting stained. Then he’d walked in and found her crying, asked her what was wrong, and she could no longer stop herself from crashing straight into the sensitive subject:

“It was late. I thought… this time, for sure…”

She was angry at him. Angry at herself. Every day she faced the room of smiling, innocent children - children that weren’t hers - and a tempest raged inside of her.

Why did he get to pretend that he was the only one hurting?

How dare he shut himself away from her. How dare he hide his heart from her when he was the only person she could confide in about this. How dare he become cold to her touch. And how dare she be angry at the both of them for having equally valid feelings.

Two months passed. Two months of strained and meaningless conversations, of sleeping with their backs turned, of sitting up at night staring at her wedding band in tears because it was only a matter of time before he left her; when finally, she lost it.

She filled their silences with yelling. Closed the distance between them with hands grabbing and shaking and hitting where the hole in his chest used to be. Appealing to the heart he’d buried beneath the sands of his past, the heart that loved her at her ugliest, because she didn’t want to feel alone in that big house anymore, because hurting together didn’t have to be a bad thing. If he was upset with her, if he thought she’d been unfair, she wanted to know. If he was upset with himself, if he was afraid, if he thought he’d failed her because he couldn’t give her a child, she wanted to know.

Anything but this, she sobbed, as she lost the strength to keep hitting him and threatened to collapse on the floor.

But he caught her before she could fall. Caught her and held her against him so tight that it almost hurt. Held her without speaking, but the tears she felt landing on her shoulder were evidence enough that he’d returned to her, sorry that he’d been gone for so long.

They spent the evening nursing each other’s wounds. She told him that she was his, that she would never regret choosing him, that no matter what happened they would face it together. He told her he loved her, again and again, in the heat of passion and in the quiet and uncertain moments after.

They were still scared, of course. There was nothing that wasn’t frightening about trying to make a marriage between two completely unique individuals work. But it was their hearts that had brought them together, and they knew it was their hearts that would keep them that way.

Four months later, she turned up at the shop with a hand resting beneath her navel and an enormous, watery smile on her face.