1. Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez. Sexta Espada, escaped from Aizen’s grasp; wanders back and forth from The World of the Living and Wakomundo at will. Main love interest is Rosetta but only in one universe; open in all other verses.
2. Rosetta Fuentes. Grimmjow’s main love interest; 20,000 yr old Vampryss. A small village outside Barcelona, Spain is her hometown, but it’s in ruins now. Spanish legend, La Muerta Verde, or The Green Death. Small frame, thin but curvy, frail and delicate looking, very dangerous and deadly if pushed over the edge. Long red hair and vivid green eyes, heart shaped face.
3. The Twins, Zero and Dekota Nixon.
• Zero Nixon- oldest twin, vampyre, calm and wise, mature, soft spoken, gentle, very powerful. Business man and entrepreneur of numerous establishments. Very tall (7ft) and lean, toned and muscular, silver hair and violet eyes.
• Dekota Nixon- werewolf. Wild, rebellious, careless, irresponsible, loud, apathetic, gang leader and drug dealer, dangerous, “loose cannon”, hot headed. Despises goody-two-shoes older brother. Brown, shaggy, chin length hair and golden yellow eyes. Shorter that Zero (6'8"), kinda buff.
((Below the cut lies some angst that was originally meant to be in a small ask, but turned out to be quite a large drabble that I took great joy in writing. Also, a small playlist of songs that I was listening to while writing this just to set the mood.))
Playlist:
Elisa-Rainbow
The Glitch Mob-Palace of the Innocence
Mr. Little Jeans- The Suburbs
rosettafuentes
Ulquiorra sat curled upon the hospital bed with a mirror in his hands that was moving about so badly from his shaking that could scarcely see his reflection clearly, but forever being able to make out the ugly bruises that mottled his pale skin as an unwelcome and ugly reminder.
The doctor had assured him that the marks would fade in time and that they were only superficial, but right now the raven could hardly remember what he looked like without the bloated swelling and smear of dark purple surrounding his left eye and gracing the skin on his throat in a morbid necklace.
He couldn’t recall what his lips looked like without the two vertical splits in them, both deep enough to warrant gaudy blue stitches.
Why couldn’t he just dance like he wanted to without all of these troubles? Why couldn’t people just leave him alone to do the things that he loved in peace?
The raven haired dancer had thought that everything was going well at Zero’s theatre and that he had finally found a place where he could dance the way he wanted to and practice his craft in safety, but less than twenty four hours ago when he had found someone waiting at his car for him after his shift had finished Ulquiorra was confronted with the truth of how very wrong he was.
It had been late when Ulquiorra had been leaving the theatre, having stayed after all the performances had finished in order a few new moves and combinations on the large stage while no one was around to bother him or laugh when he messed up a particularly difficult step that he was still having trouble getting the hang of.
He hadn’t seen the man leaning against the hood of his car until he was practically bumping to him, having been far too distracted with looking for his car keys in the depths of his bag so he could get out of the cod night air and into his heated car as fast as possible.
The man told him that he was a fan of his dancing and that he had apparently seen all of Ulquiorra’s performances since his initial audition for the theatre almost three months ago and that he was one of the many that sent him flowers to congratulate him and show his admiration for a dance well done.
All of this would have been flattering if the stranger hadn’t have waited until they were alone in the middle of a deserted parking lot past midnight to tell him and it was these facts that had alarm bells screaming in Ulquiorra’s brain.
He tried to sound grateful for the praise, but with every step Ulquiorra took to get to his car the man took some to match him until he had cut the dancer off completely and uttered a question that made the raven’s heart plummet to the souls of his feet.
He asked if Ulquiorra wouldn’t mind giving him a private dance.
Ulquiorra refused of course and as expected his admirer did not seem to take to well to the idea of being refused, hands reaching out to grab hold of the raven as he tried to push forward to get to the safety of his car- to lock himself behind a steel door and leave this crazy in his tire tracks.
There had been a struggle after that point-that much Ulquiorra remembered- and the man had yelled something about how he was the only one who really cared for the dancer and appreciated his talent and beauty for what it was.
In hindsight now Ulquiorra had to admit that he was kind of glad the man wasn’t some methodical and calculating kidnapper and had lost his cool and started shouting as it was what eventually bought the help that he needed….he just wished he hadn’t have had to deal with the violence that came along with that loss of temper.
After a few moments of struggling the man had shoved Ulquiorra hard after he had gotten off a lucky punch and the next thing he knew there was a blossom of pain as his head hit the cold asphalt. Thankfully though that pain seemed to numb the pain of the next few blows to the face or the hands that had been on his neck a minute later, things he had barely noticed or seen through a veil quickly fading consciousness after his abrupt and violent contact with the ground.
Those things-the pain and the actions-were but a blur to him now and he only remembered them vaguely from what the police had told him one of the cleaners saw and from the security tapes they had acquired and made Ulquiorra watch to see if he remembered anything specific about the man who attacked him….a man who conveniently managed to keep his head turned away from direct view of the cameras as if he knew they were there.
He hadn’t been able to and now Ulquiorra felt truly wretched.
Wretched because of what happened to him. Wretched because he could hardly remember anything about the one who had done it in order to help the police and even more wretched still because after the cleaner hand ran at the man with valiant broom raised high he had fled and the authorities had yet to find him.
There was little to keep Ulquiorra from jumping from his bed and locking himself in the tiny bathroom so no one else could get at him, little except for the two men who he had awoke, groggy, in pain and crying to.
One such man now took the mirror from his shaking hands and placed it far out of reach or worry, his messy silver hair matching the tangled mess of his brothers brown locks as if the two men keeping guard on his room had spent every single moment of his six hours of unconsciousness camped out on the uncomfortable hospital chairs on each side of his bed.
It comforted Ulquiorra to think that Zero and Dekota may have watched over him with that kind of intensity, but he knew such a thing was likely not true and he did not dare to ask for fear of shattering the comfort he was finding….the comfort that he needed now more than anything.
He was using that comfort as a petty shield; a barrier to stop himself from thinking about the gravity of what had happened….of what could have happened if no one had been there to save him.
The gravity of what could still happen if this man who knew what his car looked like, where the security cameras of the theatre where placed and god only knew what else was not caught and happened upon Ulquiorra again.
He could see it, small cracks in his shield of comfort forming as his mind betrayed him like a miscreant and replayed what he could remember of his parking lot beating over and over again as if trying to burn it into his retina to never be forgotten or out of his view for a moment.
“When can I go home?” The doctors had told him before they had handed over the mirror, but anything said after the performer had seem his altered reflection had faded into nothing, but white noise and a garbled cacophony of facts and figures he could make no sense of.
Still, it wasn’t as if he cared for the information anyway. He just needed something-anything rather- to stop his mind from progressing with the morbid looping movie of his life.
“A few more hours and we will take you wherever you want to go,” by Dekota’s almost furious head nod Ulquiorra could see through his unswollen eye that Zero was doing the talking for both brothers whereas Dekota seemed content to stand silently on his own side of the bed and keep a gentle thumb moving over Ulquiorra’s knuckles, a surprising show of calm for a man whom Ulquiorra would have thought would be declaring his undying hatred for the violent soul who landed Ulquiorra in the uncomfortable hospital bed, “they just want to make sure your concussion is all clear.”
“Once it is you have two choices and we have both agreed that you get no say in this so arguing is not in the question. You can either come home with either of us, or set up a bed on your couch for us because we are not leaving you alone, not until you heal and he is caught.”
And just like the cracks in Ulquiorra’s shield disappeared for the time being and he was able to forget for just a little bit longer.
