#THIS HURTY HURTS | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

@zombiigrl / continuing from [ here ]

Sobs are gentle, at first ; but the wails that follow should shake the ground beneath him. Agony, loss, GRIEF, it was all amplified in that broken little mind of hers. Not a child throwing a tantrum, no, a woman at the mercy of a god that saw it fit to be cruel. She did not want to lose him, she did not want the comfort of him gone ; but Aizen, so clearly, would stop at NOTHING to possess once more what was his own. ❝ I - If you kill me, he WILL DIE TOO - ❞ As if it mattered. As Aizen himself had stated, he killed Gin once. SO HOW WAS IT FAIR? HOW WAS IT FAIR?! He had cast Gin to the wayside, slaughtered him like a lamb unawares, but NOW wanted him back? Truly, who ‘tween the two of them was treating the poor serpent as a toy ?!

❝ Please … ❞

WHO COULD EVER LOVE YOU?

how thin and frail this child seemed in his grasp, but there was nothing akin to the notion of MERCY within the monstrosity that stood over her. not with an eye blazing golden as the sun in his features, not with its twin brilliant and cold as the moon in the silver ring which broke the backdrop of rich amethyst. once, both eyes had been brown, richly warm as a glass of brandy held aloft in sunlight with the deep hues flaring from molten gold to dusky topaz to dark earthen tones. but no more. no more. the day of Deicide had forever marked the one known as aizen sousuke in many ways and what did he care now of what he portrayed himself as where others could see?

nothing remained for him --- so he had thought. so he had believed.

but he held little care for her, holding to her face, fingers pressing in and straining bone and flesh alike without hesitation as latent power threatened to sear and sink into skull and tissue from the grasp of black-clad fingers, grip powerful and held tight. the monster of one's dreams, the monster lurking in the dark --- had aizen sousuke so thoroughly cast aside what little humanity he held? had he forsaken it? only one thing could ever truly count as keeping him tied to such a state, only one thread that maintained him for who and what he was. but how could she ever understand that, this little child playing with dolls and trying to be quirky, to be macabre, when she knew nothing of what it was to truly be something fearsome? little dolls, little toys, nothing to cling to ---

only marionettes that would speak back what she wanted to hear, scripted syllables that meant nothing, were not the speech of the ones who were held beneath the bondage of her love, the chains, the torture of her supposed affections.how better he knew. such a keen gaze was a thing capable of dissection, of readiness to tear at her mouth, her lips, his the crow's beak to peck out eyes and tongue and soft tissues. dangerous, this beast, dangerous, piercing and seeing and gazing. how ready to tear her asunder. how ready to bite and snarl and rip.

there had been a beast in the seireitei and he did ever hope they understood how much he had shown that day in terms of good manners for he was a child of the rukongai, feral and vicious beneath the trappings of civility with which he dressed himself. how ready he was, how ready he remained, to shed it like an overcoat and reveal that the feral child lurked not far below the surface.

how his hands gripped at her and then a pause, eyes narrowing down at the girl held in his grasp. kurotsuchi mayuri knew of a way to undo the zombification---? ... good. very good. she spoke of how she would need her blood back and his hands pressed tighter, threatening, squeezing just that bit more as he bared his teeth slightly at the words. a cure --- he would willingly swallow down rancor and disgust if mayuri were indeed capable of curing the zombies this child made.

if he was capable of curing gin, then---

what then--?

❝ you say that as if that wouldn't be better, ❞ he snarled at her, ❝ as if that wouldn't be enough to ever prove that you DO love him. I KNOW GIN. better --- far, far better --- for him to be dead than ever under your control. you tell him what to say, what to do. that is not love. that is never love. ❞

a difference between them. nights of hands on skin, of mouths against mouths --- of watching gin shudder with pleasure, deep within what he learned was known as subspace. but ever afterwards, his hands soothing and applying lotion to marks, a warm yukata, praise and snacks and more, tenderly caring for the younger man in the aftercare which so easily proclaimed them one another's. his back aching, stinging, encouraging weals and scratches while he left bruises and bites. other nights that were more gentle, nothing but worship, but devotion, taking him in, watching the melting and loss of tension and sharpness to behold something gentle and soft that he ached to behold, chest and throat so full of love he would nearly weep to behold it.

trust.

always had it come down to that between them; trust. he trusting gin at his side, his back --- gin trusting him as their tastes expanded and broadened together. even when truly angry, aizen never neglected that aftercare. not even then.

so how could she ever claim to love him, to adore him, when she had never beheld gin in such ways?

how could she ever think that one small instance could not bequeath a perpetuating sense of loss and grief and sorrow, of regret, remorse, upon the shinigami who had so long ago laid claim upon ichimaru gin? did she believe that moment alone was enough to sever the ties which dwelt between the two men? did she hope that it was enough to make aizen turn away from him? did she wish that he would simply give her his blessings and permit her to just take gin? no. she did not know gin. she could NEVER know gin.

how could she ever know of the way his nose would scrunch at times? of the differences between his smiles, no matter how they all seemed the same to an untrained eye? of how he was not fond of dried sweet potatoes due to mistaking one for a persimmon once, leaving aizen to laugh about it later? how could she know of the way he could be adorable when sulky, when pouting, earning a touch of a hand to his face, a thumb touching that lip, kisses to soothe it away? how could she know of the way that he would lounge, teasing, swaying, daring those eyes of rich brown to follow him, his movements, his actions? how could she know of the way that his hands would slip into robes to steal a kiseru, something that had been a gift, something that aizen often found on his person when he desired a smoke?

how could she ever hope to know anything about ichimaru gin beyond her wish for a toy, a possession?

those sobs seemed to him the sobs of a child losing a favored toy --- not the sobs of someone suffering anguish, suffering loss.

he had screamed, screamed until his throat was raw, screamed until blood filled his mouth, screamed until his voice gave out in cracks and ragged moans. aizen had howled his grief into the dark, writhing and unaware of the earthquakes he caused. she wept because he was taking back a man who was complimentary to him, the moon to his sun, the silver to his gold. gin. jin. the differences in how they were written --... his silver. the moon of his sky.

and she dared weep because he asserted a claim, an understanding, an intimacy and a bond that her grubby little fingers dared to try and stain, that she would trample all over with her dirty little feet.

❝ you know nothing about him; all you wish is to hear him saying what you think he would say. love---? gods, but you remain so ignorant. but you say that mayuri is capable of curing him. how good to know that. thank you for telling me of that. ❞

hells --- he would even go to urahara for aid on this if he must. even him.

let her scream if she wished. let her howl her pain of having a toy that she so claimed to love away from her. HOW COULD SHE COMPARE TO THE LOSS WHICH HE HAD FELT SINCE THAT DAY WHEN HE HAD SEEN HIS OWN HANDS TEARING GIN APART? WHEN HE HAD FELT IT WHEN KYOKA SUIGETSU HAD BEEN THRUST THROUGH THAT CHEST? HOW COULD SHE EVER UNDERSTAND THE HORROR THAT CAME WITH THE INABILITY TO STOP STOP STOP STOP IT DON'T KNOW DON'T PLEASE RUN PLEASE DON'T--- DON'T! STOP---!

GIN. GIN--!

he had killed him once.

did she think that he would be incapable of doing it again if he must?

did she think that doing so would not affect him at all---?

❝ but if you ever look me in the eye and claim to LOVE HIM again --- i will kill you then. ❞

he was still tempted. he still wanted to.

but instead, aizen was shoving her back with a low snarl, uncaring if he gouged furrows in her flesh, her throat. he did not care. for just a second, darkness swirled in a flashing fluid display of inky blobs floating across the white sclera and the air around giselle gewelle was abruptly thickened as murderous killing intent was flashed at her; did it freeze the breath in her lungs? did she feel his hands at her neck, his blade piercing through her chest, her heart? did she feel that in that second? he would have no issue with it. he had killed long ago.

he could always do it again. he could always do it again.

then he turned and began to stalk off to go collect gin.