#aizen's birthday 2k23

[keikakudori]

No one else but Shinji Hirako can appreciate the occupational hazards that come with having The Perfect Lieutenant────competition for his attention not the least among them. Sosuke Aizen is handsome, but not intimidatingly so. No one catches him making mistakes. He is talented and puts those talents to helping others. It’s no small wonder he has as many admirers as he does, ready to throw their offerings at his feet when his birthday rolls around. Some the best that their money can buy, others made from the heart seeing varying degrees of competency. All in the hopes of seeing the spell of his smile cast their way. …Kind of annoying that Shinji has to wait in line!

Well, he could just leave the box on Aizen’s desk without a word like usual, but when it comes to this particular gift…it…bears some explaining.

❝ Happy birthday, Sosuke. ❞

The humble box fits neatly in Aizen’s large hands and has a bit of weight to it. Inside is a…clearly handmade tea cup, and not from those of an artisan, oh no. It’ll hold tea for sure, but it is slightly misshapen, crudely fortified in spots where the clay got too thin, the lip of the rim drooping. Painted sakura blossoms adorn the uneven surfaces of the cup────nothing more than pink splotches at first, but growing more confident and shapely as their journey around the circumference of the cup continues.

Only now does Shinji start to get a little bit self-conscious about his brilliant gift idea. Just a little.

❝ …’s a tea cup, ❞ as though it really needs clarifying. ❝ Hmph. Go easy on it, alright? Gin an’ I made it, we ain’t experts. I’ll…give ya somethin’ better later, how’s that? ❞

Compared to that day in the month of February which would often see one of the few days that Aizen would actively vacate the premises of the Fifth so as not to be over inundated by the enthusiasm of his admirerers, this one saw him remaining in sight and accepting gifts with polite smiles and dips of his head to those that came by to give him their well-wishes. Some brought flowers, others confessions, and still others sought to provide what they could. Some even went so far as to spend their meagre savings upon some book or item that he might appreciate, so he often found himself bestowed teas, calligraphy brushes, and ink sticks. Those ink sticks were always welcome things to his way of thinking, both for personal and professional reasons, of course.

Yet, admirers were not those that truly caught his eye; after all, the entire day seemed to have seen Shinji twitching as if trying to resist the urge to say something. Did his captain ever remain aware of it, the fact that a scant two weeks separated what their birthdays were? Aizen didn't remember the one his mother had given to him, young as he was, not always keeping track of the days as he'd clawed his way through survival in the Rukongai. And, eventually, it had been unimportant. But when he'd arrived at the Academy, they had spoken of how he needed a birthday, so he'd simply chosen that day in particular when he'd put in his application to be admitted. Nothing more than a feral foul-mouthed child, but quiet, ever so quiet.

How far he'd come from that boy that had stared with mute longing after the captain that helmed the division he was determined to join. A scant comfort there were almost none about who remembered or recalled how he'd been in those days. But the admirers didn't know that and thus neither did his captain. But how close their birthdays were, nestled so near as to nearly be able to touch. He'd gotten him a fair gift and then had expected nothing in return. It was petty, almost; he'd ever get the older man something he knew he'd enjoy, get him something practical that would be absurd to refuse beyond spite.

And always would those brown eyes seem ready to scold when the time came if Shinji seemed ready to refuse in turn.

But when the sound of his captain's voice came to him on his way back to his desk after getting up to refill his tea, he stopped and then peered down towards the shorter blonde with an inquisitive gleam in those rich brown eyes. That box pushed at him was quick to be grasped in one large hand as he turned enough to set the cup he'd been holding down before his attention returned to the box that had been so quickly pressed on him. With both care and curiosity, he worked the top off and found himself staring into it at ... a teacup.

It was absolutely handmade, little flaws and imperfections in obvious evidence that he noted as he carefully lifted it out, gazing at the patterned blossoms painted onto those sides ( -- Gin's work? It looked almost like it, going by the strokes of the brush. ) and around the whole of the cup. Even as Shinji said it was a tea cup, confirming his suspicions, Aizen found a lump of emotion filling his throat that he was slow to swallow down. Such a simple thing, a tea cup, but one made with some care. And it came from this man, the one that he had --... that he did love; it still lingered there in him, that emotion, and he found himself blinking a few times to try and clear away vision gone abruptly blurry.

❝ No--- ❞ he managed in a voice that throbbed with emotions that eddied through him and he cradled that little teacup close to himself with both hands. ❝ It's--... it's a wonderful gift, Hirako-taichou. ❞ Those eyes lifted upwards and for the first time in a long while, they were warmed to the shade of fresh caramel, gazing upon the older man with an undeniable fondness. ❝ Thank you. I --... like it very much. ❞

How that warmth filtered through him, displacing some of that growth of emotion that seemed more like vines that choked throat and chest; it burned away great swathes of it, made that tightness in his chest ease up all the more as his fingertips began to run over the rim of that little cup, feeling the way it drooped but not caring. It was a cup that had character, after all. ❝ It's---... it's a good gift. ❞

And for a few hours, he could behold this man once more with love. WIth love, instead of that growing anger, the coldness that spoke poignantly of what he could do to him ---... and how he would never see that blade coming. For a few hours ... yes, Aizen could indeed remember that softer, warmer emotion. The cup had stirred up so much in him, just by its own existence.

[godkilller]

❝ Happy birthday, Gin. ❞

The words accompanied the placement of three boxes - which had been an unintentional thing initially - upon the low table in his own quarters, knowing how well Gin seemed to prefer his rooms at the Fifth over his own at the Third. It was early enough before dinner (and oh, how Aizen had plans for said dinner) that he felt no shame in providing the gifts now. He had wrapped all three boxes in furoshiki, all three with distinct patterns printed on the soft, light silk that the captain favored when distributing gifts from his own hands. A rare enough thing, those gifts, and presented to specific individuals. But never had he forgotten Gin's birthday since they'd first met; every year on the mental calender he kept, he ticked the days down and waited with firm patience to present the gifts unto his partner.

The smallest box, of a long and rectangular shape, was wrapped in paper patterned with a pale motif of white flowers against a lavender background, the edges of the petals outlined with violet, a simple twine string keeping it neatly shut. The second one was larger, a square wrapped with dark green fabric that could make a lovely scarf if Gin ever desired it, with paler greens and yellows manifesting in the shape of koi. It was, despite its size, nearly as light as the smallest of the boxes. The third box was heavier, however, and wrapped in a cloth that rippled with patterns of silver and blue; both of which seemed somehow to match Gin's own coloration.

❝ I hope you'll enjoy them. ❞

The first box, the rectangular one, was a box with brass hinges on one edge, along with a tiny clasp on the shorter end to help ensure it remained shut. Within laid a kiseru in a bed of dark silk, long and elegant; something that would look at home within that hand bestowed with lengthy fingers. The mouthpiece was the traditional silver as was the bowl, but both had been decorated. There was a depiction of a serpent's tail entwining itself around the mouthpiece, the craftsmanship professing of dozens - perhaps even more - hours of dedicated work with tiny goldsmith's tools used to etch the scales into place; they were even beveled, catching and reflecting the light depending on angle, shadowed where they were not level with the metallic surface. The bowl and its portion of the stem held the rest of the snake, it left to circle up the stem and over it with its head nearly touching upon its own body, the scales here no less detailed but level with the surface so as not to have tobacco ash caught within and thus have to be cleaned out on a regular basis.

It was truly proof of handmade beauty, and the long lacquered section of the pipe was no less impressive for where the bowl and mouthpiece were but parts of the snake, the rest of the body was to be found there, where a brush fine as a few hairs had carefully defined the scales in gold that stood out against the sable field of the pipe itself, cunningly matching where the segments of the snake upon mouthpiece and bowl were set into place. Three pouches of already shredded tobacco were to be found tucked into the box as well, along with cleaning implements for Gin's sake, with four more stems, all painted as well with the same care and diligence set for later use tucked into bands of dark velvet against the lid of the box which was equally meant to be a case for it. The second box, the square one, held another yukata for Gin; where the last one had been an array of purples, this one featured an ombre of white darkening into indigo. Contrary to how the last one had been short enough to be named indecent if Gin were to bend over ( and how Aizen loved to see him bending over in it ), this one was longer, promising to end just above his calves. But it, too, was oversized ever enough to permit the younger captain to maintain his formlessness if he so desired. The white began along the neckline of the yukata and careful application with dyes saw the color starting to change as the fabric flowed downwards and would wrap around his body.

It began as a nearly subtle darkening of shade, white becoming a nearly translucent blue, before it was a powdery shade and advancing through the spectrum to a shade that'd match the bright summer skies. From there, it started to darken to twilight blues, reminiscent of fall evenings when the air was crisp and the leaves fiery shades or orange and gold against reds and brighter yellows, when the leaves would be changing hues. The sleeves, long enough to cover Gin's hands, were rich indigo blue, nearly black around the cuffs, as was the portion running from just above Gin's knees and down to the hemline. There was a cloud pattern picked out upon it, darker threads of silver grays standing out with a shine of their own, with accompanying waves about the lower edge of the yukata's form forming high cresting peaks. And there, in the dark indigo, a sickle moon was set to rest neatly over one thigh where it would stand out the most. It was accompanied by a sash the shade of Gin's own eyes,

When Gin's hands found that third box, though, Aizen's eyes seemed to sharpen all the more behind those glasses as he watched with anticipation, taking in the vision of those hands moving across the lid. This one was much more akin to a small box. Within were copies of some of Aizen's favorite English books, but if Gin were to pick one up and flick through the pages? He would find there were several notes and sheets of paper to be found in the pages, all carefully annotated by his own hand, his writing still distinct as ever; precise and utterly neat. There were guides on how to pronounce the words, phonetically, as well as translations that captured the spirit of what was being said on those exterior notes. Beneath those books? A far more special prize; jars of dried persimmons were to be found, at least four, sealed up and promising a sweet snack for the younger man to indulge in if he ever so wished to do so.

Finally, Aizen smiled and moved, shifting to lean closer to Gin before seeking a kiss and a soft murmur against his mouth. ❝ Happy birthday; I was thinking I'll take you out to dinner wherever you like. And afterwards, I would love to start off with a massage. I would like to spoil you, Gin, as much as I can. ❞

A pause, before Aizen's lips twitched into a faint smirk. ❝ Though, if you can't decide? ... we could always go back to the yakiniku restaurant. ❞

gin's birthday asks! open from sept. 9 - 16th.

AIZEN SOUSUKE WAS A THOROUGH MAN, GIn often teased him about never leaving a stone unturned -- and that sentiment carried on here, now, with this array of neatly packaged presents left in waiting. Gin lowered down to kneel and sit, fanning his haori out behind him and matching Aizen's own posture (he needn't be chided for slouching) at the table. Hidden gaze briefly surveyed the three gifts before turning back to stay honed on Aizen, as though curious to see what intent laid behind the gleam of those glasses. Difficult as Aizen was to read, this endeavor felt genuine -- not overly sweet akin to a honeytrap, as though the moment he went to reach for an offered box his wrist could be snagged.

No, this seemed... good. Aizen's presence felt warm, and any lingering undertones of expectation didn't feel so insidious as to taint the gesture being made.

❝ Lookit you, bein' all proper 'n nice. What've I done to deserve this? ❞ A languid reply to Aizen's well-wishes, initially, and Gin couldn't help but tilt his head at the matter -- a subtle tease inbound; here I thought I'd been misbehaving as of late, an unspoken murmur that prodded at Aizen's nape akin to scaled coils draped around that proud neck. They had their skirmishes, particularly given Aizen's more forceful desires and Gin's subsequent stubborn evasions.

Nevertheless, slender hands reached to delicately tug upon the first gift's wrappings, undoing the neatly tied twine with a single gesture. The paper crinkled gently aside, Gin wasn't childishly overeager and tearing across the pristine wrapping, no, he was slow and soft with his motions. The small box was a dead giveaway for what the gift within was before he even opened it with a flip of that clasp. Yes, kiseru-length in nature, he wasn't surprised by the gift -- but the craftsmanship and customization certainly brought Gin to a pausing halt.

❝ H'oh, tired of me stealin' yours, huh? ❞ A playful quip, smile wide, whilst fingers traced the texture of the serpent imprinted onto the pipe's bowl and mouthpiece. ❝ Where'd you have this made? It's awfully pretty. ❞ He knew of no craftsmen that did such work, at least in the Seireitei. There was no use for such a skill to craft a luxurious item in the Rukongai, either. So perhaps Aizen did it himself, which wouldn't surprise Gin if it turned out he had -- the man was a perfectionist and overachiever, of course he'd go and learn a new skill and master said skill on a mere whim.

Gin gently lowered the pipe down back into its nest of silk and clasped the box shut once more, knowing he'd soon revisit it once the other presents were unveiled properly, too. The second box beckoned, and once that, too, was tugged open -- well, Gin couldn't help but coo as he dipped his hands down both to tug the yukata out of its neatly folded state, lifting it about halfway upwards to admire the fabric and design.

❝ Ahhh, this one's so elegant. Gonna haveta bump th' kiseru down a notch on th' prettiness scale. Thank you. ❞ A light commentary whilst Gin immersed himself in inspection and subsequent admiration, enjoying those vibrant and beautiful gradients of color, the mountains, the clouds, that sickle moon -- a gorgeous design. ❝ I'll put it on after dinner, wouldn't wanna risk spillin' somethin' on this one. ❞

That said, Gin gently folded the garment back down, neatly smoothing the fabric to settle into its box once more. Set aside, he moved onward to the third and final gift.

❝ Oh, for a second I thought it was gonna contain a buncha your horny poetry. ❞ Flirting quips aside, Gin lifted up the books and their accompanying notes, translations, and aids in pronouncing the words inscribed in Aizen's neat and orderly handwriting. The task at hand seemed rather obvious, then. ❝ You'll haveta endure me tryin' to read these out loud to ya later, hm? ❞ Flashing a more cheeky grin at that, Gin proceeded to let out a little noise of surprise and excitement, setting aside the books in favor of reaching for those persimmon jars. ❝ Fuck yeah -- ❞

Was he already opening one up to snatch a snack for himself prior to dinner? Why yes, yes he was. A few chews in and the glorious sweetness savored, Gin beamed a brighter, less teasing smile the other man's way. ❝ These're great gifts, cap'n Aizen -- Thank you. ❞ The subsequent kiss that followed was soft, short, and Gin couldn't help but grin against those lips. He freshly tasted of persimmons, something he was sure Aizen wouldn't mind.

They lingered close afterwards as Gin let Aizen murmur his plans, another soft coo of intrigue at the mentions of a massage caused Gin to peek one eye open, peering through silver strands. How luxurious indeed, these birthday gifts.

But the mentions of a particular restaurant brought Gin to shift, as though wanting to squirm out from under the abrupt intensity of that gaze, retreating back a scoot or two. He proceeded to lightly smack Aizen in the face with the dark green fabric meant to work as a fourth gift; a scarf, thrown swiftly. Nothing terribly damaging, he doubted he'd even move those black-framed glasses a centimeter askew. ❝ -- you were doin' so well, too, before ya jus' had to get all smug. ❞

A huff, then a grin stretched back out as Gin moved to straighten up into a stand, swaying, hands delving to hide into the lengthy black sleeves of his uniform -- ❝ As good as yakiniku sounds, I got somethin' else in mind. C'mon, don't let up now, Sousuke... y'still gotta spoil me a lil more to get whatcha want. ❞

[keikakudori]

❝ Happy birthday, cap'n Aizen, ❞ Gin spoke with a smile, and to their peers this was merely an interaction between coworkers -- not uncommon to see a freshly-promoted captain still mingle with his previous superior, after all. Gin slowly produced from the depths of his lengthy black sleeves a book, not wrapped to obscure its identity, but at the very least fashioned with a neatly tied ribbon made into a bow. Leather, with fastenings to keep it shut. ❝ I gotcha this -- it's for your poetry. I noticed y'were runnin' low on pages for your typical diary escapades. ❞ A subtle tease, though Gin knew Aizen didn't write anything of actual substance into any sort of paper trail. Rather, maybe on occasion some erotic poems... but nothing so odd for a man of his tastes, surely.

❝ Ah, Gin --- thank you. ❞

Yes, there was nothing strange about witnessing a newly minted captain still fresh in his haori lingering about their former superior; but what a pleasant surprise this was. He'd gotten few gifts from Gin over the years and that meant that this had his attention in full. How his eyes gleamed as he looked down upon that book before large hands stretched out to take it in his own. The leather was soft as butter against his skin and his eyes moved over to the fastenings, the bow that it was wrapped in, before they rose again.

❝ What a thoughtful gift, ❞ he murmured in a fashion which fell underneath the umbrella term of mild. Yet there was something wickedly hot in his eyes for a second, a flash akin to the way a fish's scales would flicker with the gleam of sunlight before it vanished beneath the water once more. It wasn't anything that lingered, no -- but he was certain the younger man would catch sight of it.

His fingers brushed over the surface of that book again, studying it, before that touch went to the ribbon and lingered, thumb and forefinger rubbing languidly, even sensually, over the material as he studied it. Then Aizen's gaze rose towards Gin with something almost analytical in his gaze, as if something had energized his thoughts and mood both, mouth slanting into a measured smile as he tipped his head to one side momentarily, nothing more than a trifle or two of motion. It was a motion of thought.

❝ I will have to find reason to fill the pages up, won't I? ❞ Even as he spoke, his eyes were moving once more, visiting in brief glances to the marks which were apparent upon that pale skin, fading slowly into paler blotches as they healed. Strange, wasn't it, how those marks looked as if Gin had been bitten - and rather recently at that. Of course, this was nothing more than a display of mere solicitude upon Aizen's behalf as some might say. After all, Gin had plenty of reason to know otherwise.

Slowly, even deliberately, his hand stretched out and he was letting his fingers brush over a bruise. Nothing strange around their peers, no; his touch was given the way someone might touch such a spot with concern for what had happened. The brunet was something of a rather consummate actor, wasn't he? Nothing overt. Just a touch, nothing more. Then that hand pulled back, his gaze seeking out that hidden once with something gleaming in those pools of dark amber.

❝ I'm sure that I'll have the pages filled up soon enough. A most thoughtful gift; thank you, Gin - I genuinely appreciate this. I rather think I might have some inspiration to draw on later. ❞

And if his works included a few erotic poems that were inspired by someone, then that could be taken as a statement on its own. Yes, he had gotten few gifts from Gin over the years, but each of them held its own place of significance for him in his own life. Simple, useful gifts --- but his fingers were twitching, nearly, with the desire to find his calligraphy brushes and begin filling the paper within up, to bestow it with his thoughts. And as for the ribbon... well, if he could convey thoughts of how pretty it'd look around those wrists later ...

[keikakudori]

❝ Happy Birthday, sir! You are ... an ... age. And I think that's very special! I'm sorry I don't have anything to give you. ❞

❝ An age--- ❞ Ah, that was something that he was rather amused by and he had little doubt that Gin would find entertaining as well when he told it to him. Then a small wave of his hand, mouth curling into a smile as he leaned back in his chair, fingertips spreading wide. ❝ That's alright, Celeste. It's the thought that counts. ❞

[keikakudori]

--- As with a certain silver-haired superior's birthday, Renji sees fit to gift their leader the perfectly delicious { and large, if he does say so himself } cadaver of an adjuchas-class menos. Though, of course, not any that had actually been part of Aizen's army. Aizen should be very grateful, considering this is a large meal Renji put his energy into collecting for him and passed up on for himself in order to gift it. Besides, he went out of his way to retrieve it for the shinigami lord. In fact, as Renji presents it to the foot of Aizen's throne, the vertebrae of his tail click-clack along with the excited whip of the appendage. //Arrancar!Renji uwu

Ah, there were gifts and then there were gifts. This was, of course, in the latter category but it was rather entertaining to know that the redhead was in the nature of a feline; he found himself regarding the body of the Adjuchas which had been dragged in and presented to him, making him have to smile for a moment. Then out moved a hand and he was daring to run his nails under the Arrancar's chin, scratching it a few times. ❝ Thank you for the gift, Renji. I'll do my best to enjoy it. ❞ And figure out, exactly, what he'd do with this presented gift of a former adjuchas while he was at it.

[keikakudori]

"Happy Birthday, Lord Aizen...!!"

❝ Thank you, Tesla. I appreciate the sentiments. Would you care for some tea? ❞