Fic: (Bleach) - Masks
Apr. 29th, 2009 04:47 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
regasssaTitle: Masks
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
regasssa
Summary: Written for the Anonymous Hump Day meme
Pairing: ShinjixAizen
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Bondage, non-con, penetration, swordplay, violence, slight oocness?
Disclaimer: Kubo Tite owns Bleach, and I think he would cry if he saw this; I do not own these characters and make nothing from the use of them except for securing my own personal ticket on the train to hell u.u.
The mask is familiar. Too familiar. A loose thread that he hadn't planned for and did not expect, and he's lost his scissors. His weapon, Kyoka Suigetsu, has been taken from him and heartlessly destroyed; it is only part of the punishment he faces since his capture.
Gin and Tousen have already faced their execution. There is no part of him that regrets their involvement or their destruction. They too were simply playing pieces; the Rook and the Knight that had defended him valiantly at the end of the game as Seireitei Queened its Pawns, turning them into valiant fighters, another unpredictable turnaround, and the one which had been his undoing.
How did he get in here? Surely there were guards preventing entry into Senzaikyu. He was supposed to be alone here, supposed to suffer the long wait that preceeded his own execution, his Kido drained from him until he was no different than a powerless infant, quivering with fear. He was too proud to break down like that.
But his execution was something that he had been expecting; not this Hollow - not this one.
"Hirako-taicho," he addressed, and he turned his head away, looking out of the slanted window; turning his back on the Hollow even though he felt the creep of fear climbing the back of his neck at doing so. He had an image to uphold; he had never once in his life feared anything. He did not fear his own death. But Hirako Shinji had suffered more than a hundred years in this form, and he was unpredictable. Unpredictable things did deliver him an ounce of fear. "You are an unexpected guest."
"I would offer you a cup of tea," he went on, in the grating silence that followed. "But as you can see, I have no tea to offer you."
Still the silence persisted. Perhaps Hirako had become one of those Hollows that could not speak. But there was something strange about that; a Hollow would have attacked him by now. Not before...he had always maintained the power to cripple any opponent into submission before it could even approach him. But now all that had been taken from him. Why wasn't it attacking? Certainly because there was some of Hirako Shinji still inside it; a part of him that wanted to watch him in silence and see if he squirmed.
No...Shinji's eyes were black, their pupils shone gold, and at his side, as always, was his sword. Just like his Arrancar. Just like Kurosaki Ichigo. The Pawn that had become as strong as a Queen. He turned his head just enough to look back at them and confirm his suspicions, and then away again, exhaling. Why should he be so afraid? If his death came sooner, perhaps he would be grateful to his old Shinigami captain. Or perhaps he could even take advantage of the situation and find a way out.
"I know you're capable of speech," Aizen said, his mind's eye on Hirako, even if he did not actually look. "There's no need to hide it from me any longer."
The voice of the Hollow was undeniably also that of Shinji, but it echoed and grated as though his very throat were made of bone. "I haven't decided what to say yet, Aizen."
There...that made him feel much more at ease. He dropped his eyes to the empty windowsill, then stood up. Really? What was the point?
"Since you don't feel inclined to speak, perhaps you'd prefer to leave?"
"Leave? When I have you alone after all these years, Aizen?" The repetition of his name brought back the thrill of fear he'd been feeling before. His deeds were finally catching up to him -- he had expected to die before this one managed to do so, and he was not at all pleased to be proven wrong.
"Is that a threat, Hirako-taicho?"
His captain had always been quite patient, thoughtful, with a modicum of control -- and of course, so perfectly suspicious. This was a different Hirako Shinji; one that had been burned. "Revenge is quite below you, isn't it?"
"Some parts of me want it much more than you might think."
"Is that so?"
Shinji approached, and Aizen looked him over. His hair was shorter, not even reaching the length of his mask, and the clothes he wore were tidy and tight-fitting. Without the mask, he would still be unrecognisable...except perhaps for the stupid expression he had always worn.
"The things you have done, Aizen, the people you have hurt. I've been wondering how best to punish you for that... Death is a release, pain is no more bothersome to you than the buzzing of a fly. But you've always been proud, Aizen, and I know how to break that now. I've spent years deliberating it."
"You don't frighten me, Hirako-taicho."
Shinji tutted. "Now that is a lie, Aizen... You used to be so good at that. Hmm... Well, maybe you just have trouble lying to me."
Aizen's eyes narrowed. Shinji had stopped in front of him now; he was smaller, but he may as well have been the size of Konamura for all the comfort that gave him. He truly was afraid now; the hairs at the back of his neck were standing on end, and for the first time he truly realised what it meant to feel weak and defenceless, like a mouse cowering in a corner as the cat loomed in closer. This wasn't how he was supposed to feel; not at any point between his birth and his death. It was an unforseen circumstance, and it frightened him.
"Now see what you have created, Aizen Sosuke."
He did not even see Shinji move. Was this how far he had been reduced? Bled dry like a sponge; squeezed and squeezed until there was nothing left inside him? He had never even suspected what that might feel like...but this punishment...it was a punishment that was fitting for someone who had used his powers as he had. Who depended on them.
His head hit the ground; the stone grazed his cheek, drawing a bloodied mark across the elegant line of his jaw. His own teeth sank through his lip, bloodying it.
"I thought you said that pain wasn't enough of a punishment for me, Hirako-taicho. Are you just going to beat me about a little until you feel better?"
Shinji closed the distance again. One hand curled around the front of the white ceremonial robe he wore, the other moving to the back of it. "That would be far too easy, wouldn't it?" The fabric ripped with remarkable ease, the clothing splitting easily around his body as Shinji pulled, and now Aizen began to suspect what the true meaning behind this was.
"You wouldn't," Aizen hissed. This was fear; the kind of fear he inspired in his enemies. Cold and terrible, shiver running up his spine kind of fear. The monster in the mask that was not - could not be Hirako-taicho closed a hand on the back of his neck and squeezed tightly, forcing him to look down into those awful black eyes. "Hirako Shinji would never do such a thing."
"No, but you forget that I'm not just Hirako Shinji. I am, after all, what you made me. The blame for this resides with you and you alone, Aizen."
The Hollow carried him back at arm's length, dropping him onto the floor in front of the long window, and then it crouched in front of him, forcing him to truly know his own nudity, his own weakness. And with that, the certainty of what it had planned for him.
"Neither am I just a monster. A part of Hirako Shinji wants this too, otherwise, it wouldn't be happening. We're just that kind of guy."
He opened his mouth to say once more that he was not afraid, but the Hollow was ahead of him. White fabric from his kimono was forced into his mouth, pushed well back until it was all he could do just to breath around it. It was dry and rough and not at all pleasant, but worst of all it took away one route of fighting left in him. To be forbidden to speak... He reached up, but Shinji stopped him, taking both wrists into a vice like grip.
"There is nothing that you can say now that can make this stop, Aizen."
A little anger spiked within the fear, but not enough to overcome it. He was truly afraid. This...this was impossible. It wasn't meant to happen. It shouldn't be happening. Hirako was playing outside the rule book; outside all of the things that might or should. He couldn't have predicted it, and that, combined with the sheer horror of being defiled. Him! Aizen Sosuke. He was a God!
His hands were held together in one strong fist while Hirako worked to open his own human shirt and the too-tight human trousers that he wore with it. It was a moment in which his panic was allowed to inflate, to turn into something monstrous all of its own. His pride was being whittled away as the fear sprang up inside of him like an animal startled from its sleep. This was a battle he had been unprepared to face, and the fear...the fear was something he had not been ready for. How could they, the people that he had incited this same feeling within, have lived under the effects of it for so long? It made his heart race, and he felt as though he couldn't breathe even if his airways were clear. And his skin...his skin rebelled against his control, slick sweat chilling in the air, making him shudder.
He felt himself wanting to beg for it to stop, but the gag did not permit him to inflict such a blow to his own pride. It was a small thing, one he clung to with all his might. He might lose so much, but he would not beg like a dog for this to stop. Even if he desperately wanted to.
"I haven't unsheathed my sword in decades. It's because I've been saving it for you. Aren't you happy? I'm so thoughtful."
Aizen didn't look as Hirako unsheathed his sword. He knew it well...it's name. He had seen it fight only once or twice -- Hirako Shinji didn't use his weapon unless he had no choice. The sound of it grating the wooden sheath it sat in burned his ears. It was a simple sword, and he had never seen it released. That was perhaps even more frightening -- as a Captain, Hirako Shinji would have had a Bankai. He had never seen it.
Which drew the question...in their battle -- why hadn't Shinji intervened? Was it because he was neither alligned with or against him?
It didn't matter. Shinji was going to kill him now. That was all that mattered in the end. He would have preferred a public death, with everyone watching, with his pride still intact. Murder in the dark, at least, would throw Seireitei into fresh disarray. There was an evil streak still left in him which cherished that thought.
But the position that Shinji's body was forcing him into... This wasn't setting him up for a killing blow; rolling him onto his back like a turtle, pinioning his legs into a brutal position, folded up between them. He could probably throttle Shinji with his knees if he tried...
He found himself gagging on the fabric as he inhaled in shock. The hilt of the sword was suddenly pushed up against him, and black, ruthless eyes fixed on him for a moment, making sure to record his agony as it was pushed, without any further preamble, right up into him.
He was barely aware of his own screaming - his body ripped through with a pain he had never known, and his head exploded in red and white and black stars. He thought he might simply pass out. His usually acute mind was not up to the challenge of thought processes under that kind of punishment; and he had been stabbed and slashed in training more often than he would admit to. This was nothing like that. It was not a good pain.
Even Hirako seemed revolted by what he had done. He did not look at his work at all as he pulled the sword back out of him -- a process that involved a fresh wave of agony, and blood spattered hot and wet over his thighs.
The gag was still half-choking him -- perhaps if he inhaled it he would die. It would be better than living through a moment more of this. The Hollow mask leered down at him, a vile monster, stoically observing his pain, even if Aizen could tell that Shinji himself was not watching; that he could not watch. Even after a hundred years of planning, he could not change the kind of man that he was. Not even a Hollow sharing his soul could do that.
Yes, there was pain in his voice as he spoke, "You made it happen this way, Aizen...it has to be like this.."
Shinji was moving again, pushing something new, hard and unyielding against his tortured body, pushing inside where the hilt of his sword had been, despite the agony that almost overwhelmed him as the fresh wounds were torn apart some more.
It didn't stop there, though he had known it would not. The Hollow began to move, or Shinji did, or they both did. He wasn't sure which of them was in control of the body, and really it didn't matter. Whichever it was, it was finding pleasure in his deep and blinding agony. The grunts against his ear sounded more and more rasping, and though he turned his proud jaw away and closed his eyes as tightly as he could, hissing out his own shattered breaths through his bared teeth, he could not stop hearing the familiar sound of Shinji's voice just underneath them; ever present.
Shinji, whom he had wronged so badly that this kind of revenge was the only way? No. Shinji was the monster, not him. Shinji had chosen to do this, not him. It hurt...the agony was snarling and clawing its way up his spine now -- his eyes hurt, even, where he squeezed them shut. Still Shinji did not stop; if anything, folding him even more painfully so that every thrust drove into him like a steel spike, right down into his gut. He screamed again, this time hearing himself as though from faraway; it was more like a wail. This was Aizen Sosuke. This was what he had been brought down to. But he was not the monster here.
Some part of him felt justified by that single explanation. Some part of him that thought it might be able to live through this terrible blow to his pride believed, truly, that Shinji would suffer far more from this act than he. He was probably right, and it would carry him through. Even though he could not help the tortured, gagged cries that were wrung from his throat, even though every spike of pain was worse than the last...
He survived until Shinji came, at least, until fresh pain burned at his ruined insides like acid. Then, relievingly, it was over, and as he looked up, the mask crumbled like dust, showering him. He reached for a piece as his ex-captain pulled away, standing up on wobbly legs, closing it tightly in his hand, feeling the firmness of the shattered bone against his palm. A memento...
Shinji was redressing, now, apparently, determined not to look at him. It was a shame...he wanted to see that frown, the pain in his eyes at the realisation of what he had done. Just for a second.
"I will survive this," he said, once he'd pulled the wet wad of fabric from his mouth. "You think that you've won, Hirako-taicho, but you forget that I'm a God."
"You are not a God, Aizen. If you had respected me as your Captain, I could have told you that a long time ago." It didn't matter what he said -- Shinji had looked, just for a second, and Aizen had seen all that he needed to see in his expression. Even after everything, he had won. Poor Shinji...and to think, he had done this to himself.
He head for the door, leaving Aizen where he was, pushing it open. "The guards are elsewhere...I'm leaving these open for you."
It was agony to force his abused body to move, but he did it because he had to. "Why would you do that?"
"Because..." and Shinji hesitated now, still not daring to look back. "Even though I despise you for what you did to us...I must also thank you. This draws a line under what I owe you, Aizen. When you leave here, I expect you not to cross my path again."
"I shouldn't bet on it, Hirako-taicho."
Shinji's answer was so quiet he almost didn't hear it. He might have been smiling, but perhaps it was too soon. "Don't worry..." he said, "I won't."
Author:
regasssa Summary: Written for the Anonymous Hump Day meme
Pairing: ShinjixAizen
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Bondage, non-con, penetration, swordplay, violence, slight oocness?
Disclaimer: Kubo Tite owns Bleach, and I think he would cry if he saw this; I do not own these characters and make nothing from the use of them except for securing my own personal ticket on the train to hell u.u.
The mask is familiar. Too familiar. A loose thread that he hadn't planned for and did not expect, and he's lost his scissors. His weapon, Kyoka Suigetsu, has been taken from him and heartlessly destroyed; it is only part of the punishment he faces since his capture.
Gin and Tousen have already faced their execution. There is no part of him that regrets their involvement or their destruction. They too were simply playing pieces; the Rook and the Knight that had defended him valiantly at the end of the game as Seireitei Queened its Pawns, turning them into valiant fighters, another unpredictable turnaround, and the one which had been his undoing.
How did he get in here? Surely there were guards preventing entry into Senzaikyu. He was supposed to be alone here, supposed to suffer the long wait that preceeded his own execution, his Kido drained from him until he was no different than a powerless infant, quivering with fear. He was too proud to break down like that.
But his execution was something that he had been expecting; not this Hollow - not this one.
"Hirako-taicho," he addressed, and he turned his head away, looking out of the slanted window; turning his back on the Hollow even though he felt the creep of fear climbing the back of his neck at doing so. He had an image to uphold; he had never once in his life feared anything. He did not fear his own death. But Hirako Shinji had suffered more than a hundred years in this form, and he was unpredictable. Unpredictable things did deliver him an ounce of fear. "You are an unexpected guest."
"I would offer you a cup of tea," he went on, in the grating silence that followed. "But as you can see, I have no tea to offer you."
Still the silence persisted. Perhaps Hirako had become one of those Hollows that could not speak. But there was something strange about that; a Hollow would have attacked him by now. Not before...he had always maintained the power to cripple any opponent into submission before it could even approach him. But now all that had been taken from him. Why wasn't it attacking? Certainly because there was some of Hirako Shinji still inside it; a part of him that wanted to watch him in silence and see if he squirmed.
No...Shinji's eyes were black, their pupils shone gold, and at his side, as always, was his sword. Just like his Arrancar. Just like Kurosaki Ichigo. The Pawn that had become as strong as a Queen. He turned his head just enough to look back at them and confirm his suspicions, and then away again, exhaling. Why should he be so afraid? If his death came sooner, perhaps he would be grateful to his old Shinigami captain. Or perhaps he could even take advantage of the situation and find a way out.
"I know you're capable of speech," Aizen said, his mind's eye on Hirako, even if he did not actually look. "There's no need to hide it from me any longer."
The voice of the Hollow was undeniably also that of Shinji, but it echoed and grated as though his very throat were made of bone. "I haven't decided what to say yet, Aizen."
There...that made him feel much more at ease. He dropped his eyes to the empty windowsill, then stood up. Really? What was the point?
"Since you don't feel inclined to speak, perhaps you'd prefer to leave?"
"Leave? When I have you alone after all these years, Aizen?" The repetition of his name brought back the thrill of fear he'd been feeling before. His deeds were finally catching up to him -- he had expected to die before this one managed to do so, and he was not at all pleased to be proven wrong.
"Is that a threat, Hirako-taicho?"
His captain had always been quite patient, thoughtful, with a modicum of control -- and of course, so perfectly suspicious. This was a different Hirako Shinji; one that had been burned. "Revenge is quite below you, isn't it?"
"Some parts of me want it much more than you might think."
"Is that so?"
Shinji approached, and Aizen looked him over. His hair was shorter, not even reaching the length of his mask, and the clothes he wore were tidy and tight-fitting. Without the mask, he would still be unrecognisable...except perhaps for the stupid expression he had always worn.
"The things you have done, Aizen, the people you have hurt. I've been wondering how best to punish you for that... Death is a release, pain is no more bothersome to you than the buzzing of a fly. But you've always been proud, Aizen, and I know how to break that now. I've spent years deliberating it."
"You don't frighten me, Hirako-taicho."
Shinji tutted. "Now that is a lie, Aizen... You used to be so good at that. Hmm... Well, maybe you just have trouble lying to me."
Aizen's eyes narrowed. Shinji had stopped in front of him now; he was smaller, but he may as well have been the size of Konamura for all the comfort that gave him. He truly was afraid now; the hairs at the back of his neck were standing on end, and for the first time he truly realised what it meant to feel weak and defenceless, like a mouse cowering in a corner as the cat loomed in closer. This wasn't how he was supposed to feel; not at any point between his birth and his death. It was an unforseen circumstance, and it frightened him.
"Now see what you have created, Aizen Sosuke."
He did not even see Shinji move. Was this how far he had been reduced? Bled dry like a sponge; squeezed and squeezed until there was nothing left inside him? He had never even suspected what that might feel like...but this punishment...it was a punishment that was fitting for someone who had used his powers as he had. Who depended on them.
His head hit the ground; the stone grazed his cheek, drawing a bloodied mark across the elegant line of his jaw. His own teeth sank through his lip, bloodying it.
"I thought you said that pain wasn't enough of a punishment for me, Hirako-taicho. Are you just going to beat me about a little until you feel better?"
Shinji closed the distance again. One hand curled around the front of the white ceremonial robe he wore, the other moving to the back of it. "That would be far too easy, wouldn't it?" The fabric ripped with remarkable ease, the clothing splitting easily around his body as Shinji pulled, and now Aizen began to suspect what the true meaning behind this was.
"You wouldn't," Aizen hissed. This was fear; the kind of fear he inspired in his enemies. Cold and terrible, shiver running up his spine kind of fear. The monster in the mask that was not - could not be Hirako-taicho closed a hand on the back of his neck and squeezed tightly, forcing him to look down into those awful black eyes. "Hirako Shinji would never do such a thing."
"No, but you forget that I'm not just Hirako Shinji. I am, after all, what you made me. The blame for this resides with you and you alone, Aizen."
The Hollow carried him back at arm's length, dropping him onto the floor in front of the long window, and then it crouched in front of him, forcing him to truly know his own nudity, his own weakness. And with that, the certainty of what it had planned for him.
"Neither am I just a monster. A part of Hirako Shinji wants this too, otherwise, it wouldn't be happening. We're just that kind of guy."
He opened his mouth to say once more that he was not afraid, but the Hollow was ahead of him. White fabric from his kimono was forced into his mouth, pushed well back until it was all he could do just to breath around it. It was dry and rough and not at all pleasant, but worst of all it took away one route of fighting left in him. To be forbidden to speak... He reached up, but Shinji stopped him, taking both wrists into a vice like grip.
"There is nothing that you can say now that can make this stop, Aizen."
A little anger spiked within the fear, but not enough to overcome it. He was truly afraid. This...this was impossible. It wasn't meant to happen. It shouldn't be happening. Hirako was playing outside the rule book; outside all of the things that might or should. He couldn't have predicted it, and that, combined with the sheer horror of being defiled. Him! Aizen Sosuke. He was a God!
His hands were held together in one strong fist while Hirako worked to open his own human shirt and the too-tight human trousers that he wore with it. It was a moment in which his panic was allowed to inflate, to turn into something monstrous all of its own. His pride was being whittled away as the fear sprang up inside of him like an animal startled from its sleep. This was a battle he had been unprepared to face, and the fear...the fear was something he had not been ready for. How could they, the people that he had incited this same feeling within, have lived under the effects of it for so long? It made his heart race, and he felt as though he couldn't breathe even if his airways were clear. And his skin...his skin rebelled against his control, slick sweat chilling in the air, making him shudder.
He felt himself wanting to beg for it to stop, but the gag did not permit him to inflict such a blow to his own pride. It was a small thing, one he clung to with all his might. He might lose so much, but he would not beg like a dog for this to stop. Even if he desperately wanted to.
"I haven't unsheathed my sword in decades. It's because I've been saving it for you. Aren't you happy? I'm so thoughtful."
Aizen didn't look as Hirako unsheathed his sword. He knew it well...it's name. He had seen it fight only once or twice -- Hirako Shinji didn't use his weapon unless he had no choice. The sound of it grating the wooden sheath it sat in burned his ears. It was a simple sword, and he had never seen it released. That was perhaps even more frightening -- as a Captain, Hirako Shinji would have had a Bankai. He had never seen it.
Which drew the question...in their battle -- why hadn't Shinji intervened? Was it because he was neither alligned with or against him?
It didn't matter. Shinji was going to kill him now. That was all that mattered in the end. He would have preferred a public death, with everyone watching, with his pride still intact. Murder in the dark, at least, would throw Seireitei into fresh disarray. There was an evil streak still left in him which cherished that thought.
But the position that Shinji's body was forcing him into... This wasn't setting him up for a killing blow; rolling him onto his back like a turtle, pinioning his legs into a brutal position, folded up between them. He could probably throttle Shinji with his knees if he tried...
He found himself gagging on the fabric as he inhaled in shock. The hilt of the sword was suddenly pushed up against him, and black, ruthless eyes fixed on him for a moment, making sure to record his agony as it was pushed, without any further preamble, right up into him.
He was barely aware of his own screaming - his body ripped through with a pain he had never known, and his head exploded in red and white and black stars. He thought he might simply pass out. His usually acute mind was not up to the challenge of thought processes under that kind of punishment; and he had been stabbed and slashed in training more often than he would admit to. This was nothing like that. It was not a good pain.
Even Hirako seemed revolted by what he had done. He did not look at his work at all as he pulled the sword back out of him -- a process that involved a fresh wave of agony, and blood spattered hot and wet over his thighs.
The gag was still half-choking him -- perhaps if he inhaled it he would die. It would be better than living through a moment more of this. The Hollow mask leered down at him, a vile monster, stoically observing his pain, even if Aizen could tell that Shinji himself was not watching; that he could not watch. Even after a hundred years of planning, he could not change the kind of man that he was. Not even a Hollow sharing his soul could do that.
Yes, there was pain in his voice as he spoke, "You made it happen this way, Aizen...it has to be like this.."
Shinji was moving again, pushing something new, hard and unyielding against his tortured body, pushing inside where the hilt of his sword had been, despite the agony that almost overwhelmed him as the fresh wounds were torn apart some more.
It didn't stop there, though he had known it would not. The Hollow began to move, or Shinji did, or they both did. He wasn't sure which of them was in control of the body, and really it didn't matter. Whichever it was, it was finding pleasure in his deep and blinding agony. The grunts against his ear sounded more and more rasping, and though he turned his proud jaw away and closed his eyes as tightly as he could, hissing out his own shattered breaths through his bared teeth, he could not stop hearing the familiar sound of Shinji's voice just underneath them; ever present.
Shinji, whom he had wronged so badly that this kind of revenge was the only way? No. Shinji was the monster, not him. Shinji had chosen to do this, not him. It hurt...the agony was snarling and clawing its way up his spine now -- his eyes hurt, even, where he squeezed them shut. Still Shinji did not stop; if anything, folding him even more painfully so that every thrust drove into him like a steel spike, right down into his gut. He screamed again, this time hearing himself as though from faraway; it was more like a wail. This was Aizen Sosuke. This was what he had been brought down to. But he was not the monster here.
Some part of him felt justified by that single explanation. Some part of him that thought it might be able to live through this terrible blow to his pride believed, truly, that Shinji would suffer far more from this act than he. He was probably right, and it would carry him through. Even though he could not help the tortured, gagged cries that were wrung from his throat, even though every spike of pain was worse than the last...
He survived until Shinji came, at least, until fresh pain burned at his ruined insides like acid. Then, relievingly, it was over, and as he looked up, the mask crumbled like dust, showering him. He reached for a piece as his ex-captain pulled away, standing up on wobbly legs, closing it tightly in his hand, feeling the firmness of the shattered bone against his palm. A memento...
Shinji was redressing, now, apparently, determined not to look at him. It was a shame...he wanted to see that frown, the pain in his eyes at the realisation of what he had done. Just for a second.
"I will survive this," he said, once he'd pulled the wet wad of fabric from his mouth. "You think that you've won, Hirako-taicho, but you forget that I'm a God."
"You are not a God, Aizen. If you had respected me as your Captain, I could have told you that a long time ago." It didn't matter what he said -- Shinji had looked, just for a second, and Aizen had seen all that he needed to see in his expression. Even after everything, he had won. Poor Shinji...and to think, he had done this to himself.
He head for the door, leaving Aizen where he was, pushing it open. "The guards are elsewhere...I'm leaving these open for you."
It was agony to force his abused body to move, but he did it because he had to. "Why would you do that?"
"Because..." and Shinji hesitated now, still not daring to look back. "Even though I despise you for what you did to us...I must also thank you. This draws a line under what I owe you, Aizen. When you leave here, I expect you not to cross my path again."
"I shouldn't bet on it, Hirako-taicho."
Shinji's answer was so quiet he almost didn't hear it. He might have been smiling, but perhaps it was too soon. "Don't worry..." he said, "I won't."
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2009-04-29 03:34 pm (UTC)This is beautiful, somewhat heartbreaking, and altogether a fantastic piece of writing. I must add it to memories.
Can I just say I love the chess metaphors near the beginning, and that the breaking of them both is just... nya! Perfect!
I just wish there was more!
(no subject)
Date: 2009-04-29 03:47 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-04-29 09:57 pm (UTC)The only problem I had, is that I still thought Shinji would address Aizen by his first name, and not his surname.
Really great writing, though, ashkdjfhsdkjhkgf.
(no subject)
Date: 2009-04-29 10:06 pm (UTC)I know x.x The thing is...well...I haven't written Aizen before. And I don't know what it is about Sosuke... Hum. Something I should get over, maybe, lol.
Thank you! Soamazing. You know I'm on AiM now, right?
(no subject)
Date: 2009-04-29 11:56 pm (UTC)OH, I did see that post!
My aim is o3robin; I'm really weird about IMing people first and sometimes I don't even remember. My buddy list is too long orz.
(no subject)
Date: 2009-04-30 12:03 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-04-30 12:06 am (UTC)I haven't watched the anime at all past like episode 60; I'm a manga boy.
(no subject)
Date: 2009-04-30 12:14 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-04-30 12:17 am (UTC)I'm sure he never meets Byakuya for longer than a few seconds. I think he'd probably call Rukia "Kuchiki-san" because he's just so overly polite. Like you said, he refers to Orihime as "Inoue" (Inoue-san, even? idk), and he refers to Chad as Sado-kun.
Of course, he refers to Ichigo as "Kurosaki" with nothing else, to be a dick about it. So I think he'd probably be the same way with Shinigami captains.
TL;DR I'M SORRY
(no subject)
Date: 2009-04-30 12:49 am (UTC)I WANT A WEBSITE WITH THIS STUFF ON IT. X.X
(no subject)
Date: 2009-04-30 12:52 am (UTC)That would be totally helpful, I agree!
(no subject)
Date: 2009-04-30 08:50 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-04-30 09:06 pm (UTC)