Megan, this is for you.

[effervescible]

More to come later, but here's what I spat out in a post-contest-fic fit of hard lemonade-fueled weirdness.


Rukia stomped into Ichigo’s room, fuming with anger. He didn’t have to look at her to know that—it was everywhere in her reiatsu, which pulsated hotly like a volcano.

“YOU!” she shouted. “This is YOUR FAULT!”

“What is?!” He desperately searched his mind for a memory of anything he’d done that could make her this angry and came up with nothing. He decided to take preemptive measures. “I’m sorry. Whatever I did, I’m sorry.”

“Oh, it’s nothing you did,” she scoffed. “But it’s still your fault for not stopping it!”

“Okay,” he said, bewildered. “What is?”

She glared harder. “Your horny bastard of a sword, that’s what.”

Okay. He was lost. “My WHAT?”

“Zangetsu,” Rukia growled. “He is NEVER coming near my zanpakutou again.”

“Sure, fine, whatever,” Ichigo said. “But WHY?”

“Because,” she said with exaggerated care, tapping him in the chest with each syllable. “Shirayuki is PREGNANT.”