#verse: fukutaichou tag;

[keikakudori]

what a lovely time for some tea and when hirako-taichou inexplicably somehow gets stabbed, maybe i’ll be nice enough to go dump him at the fourth for unohana-taichou to look after for a few days.

[blxxdcurdle]

Bleach verse: Tag pending

You were born in this midst of nobility, striking everlasting in the noble clan of the Tsynashiro clan. It was a dull life that you had been told countless times that should be seen as a blessing.

At your womb, you were born with a mom that loved you and a father who was hardly a father to you.

You were born as a child in nobility, destined to one day, become the real helper to this world.

If you could even call it that. Years past and your older brother was born. He was named Tetsu. He was also, like you, born into this society, and hated it. He would always come to you after sparring sessions. He would beg you to play chess with him or help him study the clan’s ways. You liked your brother. You had a special connection with him.

Then, your father started losing faith in you. This was all of sudden, but with Tetsu born and you defying him more and more, it was bound to happen eventually.

You couldn’t help but feel discern for him. All the intense times of training over the years. The times you felt as if the world had abandoned you, scorning you for not being noble enough.

Not being as brainwashed as you.

Beatings happened. Your father trained you so hard to the point where you started vomiting and he would even keep going then. You would come back with bruises.

Your mother, however, would sing you to sleep. She would sing you a lullaby. She would come to your door after such intense training and approach you if everything was alright. Her calm voice, her happiness, would always keep yourself going. You were always happy with her.

She, however, endured a lot of abuse with your father. Vases would break and the white walls of the Tsynashiro Clan would be torn. Your father was never the kind to hold back.

Time and time again abuse would happen. Your father doesn’t see it as abuse though, he sees it as a lesson.

You didn’t think though about telling him that. He would just beat you. Again and Again, as if it was some kind of lesson.

He was supposed to be a leader figure and yet, he did nothing that was supposed to be good as a leader. You watched your mother time and time again try to give to the poor. Even though your father saw it as against the law, it didn’t stop your weak and frail mother to help them. You saw that as strength. The strength that you did not have.

And yet, you wanted to have so bad.

You started going to Shino Academy. Father said that it was better this way. That you would get whipped into shape.

People looked at you like you were the plague in school. They knew who you were. They knew that you were noble. They hated you for it. They pelted rocks at you and other things every day. They scorned you for being the way you were.

They hated you because of who your father was. You admit, maybe you deserve this. Maybe you deserve to live with the shame of having him as a father. The way he even presents himself pisses you off.

And yet, he gets away with everything. Everything, because he’s a noble.

You hate him more in this school. You are away from him but it’s because your father can’t stand you that you’re here. He wanted you to straighten up. He wanted you to be converted into the clan. This experience though has stray you away. It has made you hate your father more. If that was bloody possible.

You’re mad, and even the Soul Society cannot calm the anger building in your soul.

Until a man approached you from the school. He was one of the people in the Gotei 13. He was a tall, blond man, with a good nature.

Out of all the Gotei 13 members that had come here to visit, he’s the only one who has struck a cord to you.

His name is Yagi Toshinori. He is a member of the fifth division. He’s a current third seat and you find him appealing. He is not like the others, he is pure. He has every ounce of the opposite energy to his father.

He is what a true member of the Gotei 13 should be.

You go with your day and he gives a bright grin at you, “You know, Chizome.” He jumps from the ledge, landing in front of him, “When I was your age, I could hardly practice Kido without blowing it up in my face.” Laughter fell from his lips, low and wholeheartedly. He slammed his thick hand onto your shoulder, “If you keep working hard, you’ll get there. You might be able to join me, Aizen-fukutaichou, and Shinji-taichou in the Gotei 13. We’ll be happy to meet you.”

Those are names you haven’t actually heard too much around. In fact, you don’t know if you even have seen them once. If Toshinori speaks well of them, that had to mean something.

But you’re essentially worried about how corrupt this society. This was a little too good to be true.

Little did you know, your instincts were correct. There were many, many people out there that played shams for the Soul Society. They acted like they were doing right, but they did not do what your mother did, risking her life to make the Rukongai district a better place.

You decided that during your off days of school, where your terror wouldn’t stop, that you would personally decide to start going there.

You would help your mother with society, but you would keep it away from your father.

Things were better that way. You needed to be there for your mother while you were away from his scornful and punchable face.

So, you went to the Rukongai districts, distributing food to the others. Giving them smiles, giving them hope. You see an older male doing the same. With purple and black robes dressed. You look in disdain, thinking of him as another noble, but he presents himself as someone he wasn’t. You look angry. You do not understand this man. You don’t understand why he looks essentially like a noble but is giving back to the poor. You don’t know why, but it boils your blood.

Then, he calls out to you, “Hey, you’re Tokinada’s son right?”

And your anxiety reeks out at that. You hated it whenever someone compared you to him. You hated it when someone would bring up your father. You don’t like the sound of that name. You despise it as if your father was your shadow.

You look at him with red eyes, glaring. You look nothing like the typical Tsynashiro because of your genes of your mother. Your mother is the reason. It was hard to bear your brother who looked like your father. You had to stop yourself from hitting him in your final days in the mansion.

You give a small wave. You don’t know how to respond. Your first instinct is to punch the man hard in the face. You didn’t like hearing things about your father ever.

However, if he looked rich, you didn’t want to be on the receiving end of an arrest. That means you’d have to see that fake Captain Commander you saw at your opening ceremony as a student. He gives you the same vibe everyone else does in the damn Soul Society. He’s responsible for the Rukongai district. He was what was wrong with the Soul Society. He was the problem.

You couldn’t help but wonder what exactly would happen that would be beneficial to the Soul Society if that old bearded man was dead.

The man talks with you for a bit, he seems nice, but you ultimately rule him off as acting. No one close to nobility could be that kind. No, he could not.

He introduces himself as Hozuki Yaijime. A man that was a part of Central 46. In all honesty, you just wanted the guy to stop talking.

Until, he said something that shook you to your very core, “You mother was a fantastic woman. I never had the pleasure, but Tokinada spoke often highly of her.”

Highly? Was?

What the fuck?

You snatched his collar so fast that it causes the bystanders to take a step back in fear. They are scared of you. They’ve been acting like that the moment that old bastard said his name.

“What the hell are you talking about?” You spat. Your anxiety had finally burst. Your anger as well. You hated this. Tokinada speaking highly of your mother boils your fucking blood. It boils it to no end, “Spoke highly? The bastard used her as a sex tool. He used him to birth my brother and I. I hate him.”

Yaijime is stunned by your words. You are angered, but he lets out a sigh, “I’m sorry. I know Tokinada hasn’t been the best…”

Your fist slams into his face, knocking him into the ground, “You’re sorry? You knew what he did to me? You assholes never will understand. That man, I live in his shadow every day. I live in it every day. He beat his wife and kids, and yet, gets exempt from every rule, all because he’s a damn noble.”

Yaijime is on the ground. A hand rising to his face to wipe the blood off of it. You are stun. It’s not phrasing him, “I didn’t know he did that to you, and I’m truly sorry.” He lets out a sigh, “You’re lucky I’m one of the nicer ones of Central 46. Word must’ve not gotten out to you over this situation. I’m sorry you have to know this, but your mother was stricken with an illness a few weeks and she’s…” He lets out a sigh, “no longer with us.”

Your entire world falls down. Your eyes are widening in agony. Denial rose into your system. Your heart pounded louder and faster as if you were ready to burst.

“No, you can’t be saying…”

“I’m sorry, my boy, I’m afraid I am. Your mother fell ill in the Rukongai district and passed a few days later. Your clan tried to help but it was…”

You understand now.

They let her die.

You storm off, hearing Yaijime calling out to you, telling you to come back, but you’ve had it. You’ve had it with this situation. You’ve had it with this wastehold of a society.

You are beyond mad. One of the only ones you loved, gone. Dead just like that.

You run and run for what seemed like hours. You did not want to return to that school. Fuck it, you can’t look at it right at all. You cannot, not after this. Not after knowing your father caused all of this. Sure, you don’t have proof, but you know your father doesn’t give a rat’s ass about him. You are still essentially a child. You have no combat skills, you have nowhere to go.

“You seems in distress.”

You jump out of your emotions and turned to look at a brown-haired man with glasses standing there, giving a sympathetic smile.

“Tsyuanshiro Chizome, am I correct?” The man asked, keeping the soft smile on his face.

“What the hell do you want? I already received word that my mother is dead.” Your words are nothing but scorn. You hate this. You hate it all. You don’t know what to do.

“My name’s Aizen Sosuke. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I came to tell you that your notion of believing that your father is responsible for your mother’s death is true. And look, your father never told you. He wanted you to realize that your mom was weak. That your mom doesn’t deserve to live. He used her and threw you out like you were nothing.” He takes a few steps forward towards him. You know all too well that it’s true. You had to know,

Your “father” had been dead to you since you started here at Shino and now, he was nothing but a memory, “My father killed my mother.”

“Yes, he sure did. That was a terrible tragedy. My men are actually investigating the situation, and they have discovered your mother died by your so-called father’s hand.” The brown-haired man’s grin faded, staying at you, “I can tell you have no purpose, Chizome. So, I want to offer you something…” He offers a hand for you to reach out, “I hate Soul Society too. You needn’t hide that from me. I can see the corruption clear as day, as do you.”  He continues, “So, my offer is to join me. I have a plan that can make sure people like your father do not see the light of day ever again. You can only do that though and train.”

“How am I even supposed to go back there?” You ask through your short breaths. It wouldn’t be the first time someone betrays him.

Aizen’s eyes narrowed, “You go back there to spite them. You train yourself as hard as you can. You are already stronger than most of the students there. You are better than them. They don’t see what we see. You needn’t worry though, You can graduate in the course of four years with your skill, and when that happens, you may come to my division.” He adjusted his rectangular glasses, giving out a smirk to you.

You hesitated, wondering who he was, why he was doing this? Why did he want you on his side? Why was he talking to you like this? Just how? You don’t know what else to do. Only he is offering you a chance.

“You can get back at your father for taking your brother away. For taking your mother away. You can get away from them all. You can bring true change to this society by joining me.”

And that day, changed your fate and changed your path. You agreed to his destiny. You sold yourself to that society. You gained a Zanpakuto that did stuff the moment you licked the blood. It froze people for a short amount of time depending on the spirit energy.

Those years past and when it came down to it, you saw that Yaijime figure again, and you watched Aizen slaughter him as you killed more and more Central 46 members. It was invigorating. You enjoyed the Sneetches of blood. You enjoyed the very fabric of their society falling and falling.

This is what you were born for. You were born to kill. You were born to stain the Soul Society red. You enjoyed this. Aizen was right, this society was doomed to fall under his reign where he would no longer have to associate himself with the Soul Society and create a new one. A world like the one Soul Reaper he met that one night.

Destiny begins here, and it would end with you at the end of Toshinori’s mercy, and hopefully, at your brothers’ as well.

[izuru-ru]

tagged by: @zetsumei-shuuto​ <3

tagging: uhhh all y’all, and @meishutori​ @kmuguruma​ @kazeshinigami​ @lucxns​ @xyuuken​

basic

name: izuru kira aliases: kira-fukutaichou i guess?? gender: male, with feminine attributes. fleetingly nonbinary but he always settles on being a boy. age: about 120 date of birth: march 27th place of birth: the nursery in the Kira manor hometown: just outside of the seireitei, on some private property spoken languages: Japanese, trying to learn english sexual preference: bisexual, mostly men occupation: shinigami, poet, crybaby

physical traits

eye color: blue hair color: blond height: 5′8″ scars: little ones on his arms burns: nah overweight: nah underweight: lolllll yup

favorites

favorite color: gray favorite hair color: none? favorite eye color: anything but his own favorite song: “Head On” Jesus and Mary Chain (modern au) favorite movie: The Shining (modern au) favorite tv show: he doesnt have cable favorite drink: sake and soda favorite book: Love in the time of Cholera

have they?

passed university: does shin’o count had sex: yup had sex in public: sorta gotten pregnant: nah kissed a boy: hooo yeah kissed a girl: yup gotten tattoos: nah gotten piercings: nah had a broken heart: many times been in love: of course stayed up for more than twenty four hours: yeahh

are they?

a virgin: nope a cuddler: clingy baby, yes a kisser:  yes scared easily: it depends on what’s doing the scaring jealous easily: YEAH trustworthy: yes submissive: absolutely dominant: if so prompted in love: yes single: nope

family

siblings: none parents:  Kagekiyo Kira, Shizuka Kira, both deceased children: no thanks pets: (verse dependant) either a zoo of kitten and puppies, or Rose’s cats which he kind of shares. in his modern au he couldn’t be bothered.

[keikakudori]

Before he passed out, Hirako Shinji considered the possibility that he would not wake up. He had watched this thing grow inside Sousuke; a heavier shadow around his eyes, or a darker, muskier scent about his nape. He had always recognized a predator, no matter how soft and cuddly their cub. But at some point, too soon, he had under him a full grown wolf. He had expected blood lust. He expected something darker and feral under the obedient guise. He expected those teeth and claws to turn... any day now. Any day...

Or perhaps it had already happened.

When he woke, and his eyes focused on the smudge of red delicately split upon the slices of apple... the first thing he thought of was how dangerous. How dangerous it was for beasts to reach maturity, for it to become aware of the young, for it to start wanting to lead.

He knew Sousuke made decisions without him. He knew Sousuke followed him when he wasn't invited, poked around where he shouldn't, and asked questions that were better left unsaid. He scolded some, allowed some, and pretended to be blind to some -- an imprecise game to setting out a fishing line, waiting for it to snag on something; waiting for Sousuke to slip up, and show Shinji what he was made of.

Then came Gin. Ichimaru Gin, the prodigy. A blip of disturbance on the water, shaking loose the wire that had been wrung tighter and tighter between them. Shinji had to admit that he liked new blood, that every quarter when new recruits streamed in, he couldn't help but feel the excitement in his bones like cherry blossoms. He remembered bringing a whole branch of plum tree blossoms to Sousuke in one of these elated moods, as March was just giving way to April, and the newly posted assignments for young Shinigami made him want to forget whatever disagreement there had been between him and Sousuke. He could even forget, for a second, his vigilance; pretended for just one moment that all was well in the Fifth, that Aizen Sousuke was his trusted fukutaichou, that they would go on to lead and nurture their squad members as an example of a fine-tuned union...

Until the red shattered such idle illusion. The red came always too soon he could dream of the plum blossoms blown off the treetop by a gust of angry wind before the cherry blossoms could come in, landing in a pool of still water turning it into blood.

He should've said something then. When he was informed that their (former) Third seat had been removed in a trial of combat after attacking their new recruit, in what was possibly a fit of jealousy or arrogance. He knew then. When he looked into Sousuke's face -- his oh so very dutiful fukutaichou with sharp razor teeth hiding under his softly outlined face -- he knew that the dead man's fate was sealed too long ago, on the very day his hand touched the molten sunlight of Shinji's hair. Such blatant and lazy infraction, he could've easily handled it himself. And he did. But not soon enough before Aizen Sousuke could catch a glimpse of the offense. So a man's fate was sealed. He died never knowing that Shinji likely saved his life on that day many moons ago. Yet such rescue could only be temporary, and every day afterwards was borrowed time for the man until...

He should've said something. Shinji remembered his fingers tensed when he was asked to weigh in on the legality of the combat. He could've said something then... And yet. Doing so would've likely implicated Gin. At the time he could only imagine the new recruit being an ill-fated pawn in Aizen's evolving game of chess. How certain was he anyway? What evidence did he have of Aizen's culpability? What could he prove? Was it worth it to drag the kid into this whirlwind of their cat and mouse, fox and hound...?

So his fists relaxed. So he chose silence. So he chose regret.

But not yet. Not until. And not for a few more years.

"What time is it...?" Time was yet fluid now, hadn't solidified into this cutting thing to flay them to the bones. He sat up, wincing at the muscle tension in his abdomen. "Yer not spending yer hours on the clock just sittin' here cuttin' fruits fer me..."

He looked at the red bunnies coming into shape in Aizen Sousuke's hands. Such random and seemingly childish thing to do for his smart, handsome, upstanding fukutaichou. He remembered the last moment before he lost consciousness, looking into those burgundy eyes... Sousuke caught him, then?

"Ya didn't ditch Gin with th' whole Division just fer this, did'cha? Or is it an excuse to show off to th' cute ladies at the Fourth~?" He picked up a slice, resting the bunny on his palm carefully. The thinly sliced red peel felt fragile between his fingers. The fruit itself was cold, but something of it felt warm. Perhaps it was the brush with death, or the weakness after mortal injury... Hirako Shinji found his conviction wavered in the small gesture of some decorated healthy snacks. He had watched these changes happening in Aizen Sousuke, something dark and somber expanding like his growing shoulders, of which Shinji was ever wary. But then there was this. These, small, bright and joyous things like the golden flesh peeking out from under the sliced up peel -- fragrant and full of light and promise.

Had he been wrong about Sousuke? Had it truly been an unexpected and reckless dare that led to the fatal encounter between his former and current Third seat? Was Sousuke's nonchalance not justified? Had Sousuke's rage, after all, not been to protect him? Had Sousuke not saved him when he had the perfect chance to leave him for dead? Did Sousuke not catch him when it counted?

Could he had been wrong about Aizen Sousuke?

"I feel fine. Don't worry yer pretty lil' head 'bout me." He reached over, putting his apple free hand on top of the brunette's head and gave it a light ruffle. Hirako Shinji popped the slice of bunny-shaped apple into his mouth. The skin broke crisply under his teeth; sweet, tender flavor coated his tongue like honey. " -- Ya caught me, didn't ya."

How he wished he could be wrong.

ask prior

the possibility of shinji not waking again had been there, it was true. he had not been awake to see it, to see those eyes of melting brown sharpen for just a second as aizen's hand had hovered over his throat as if debating tearing it out. for just that moment, that one instance, aizen had weighed that within himself. he was not a man unfamiliar with murder but what held his hand was something else; something that could have been named sentimentality. or, perhaps, another emotion which had begun to pall within him, growing twisted and darkened from the lack of what he wished for ever so much. darkness had been creeping in around the edges for a long time now, a darkness birthed from his growing desperation at the understanding that he could not, in any capacity, manage to make this man let his walls down and LET HIM IN.

it had grown galling, this confinement, a thing which had made him feel more and more the need to try and break those walls down. patient chipping at them had not done as well and he had grown bolder these last few years, bolder in many ways. it was not always his wrists that wore those imprints now. but still he would allow the shackles of those bruises to weigh him down, keep him there, hold him simply by their weight. if he rubbed at them from time to time when no one was looking, then that was alright.

he had managed this long but nearly a hundred years with no change no matter what he did -- ah, how it tore at aizen in its own way. did hirako shinji remain willfully indifferent to what his neglect of aizen was doing to the younger man?

yet -- it had changed, recently, in recent months. aizen had changed.

the change could be pinpointed to a singular source; the new third seat of the gobantai whom aizen had willingly taken under his wing. a youth by the name of ichimaru gin, a child who had wrecked all of the previous records of the academy in how fast he had gone through the requisite six years of curriculum in but twelve months. an amazing thing, perhaps alarming to some. aizen had been quiet on his own time there, had halved it, but there had been the war time efforts as well. no one had finished a full six years in his time, as far as he thought of it. how many of those classmates still lived? he didn't know. he had no idea of who remained but that did not matter for a new source of interest had come into his life. a child who aizen would smile at when they three filled the office, would praise his quick wit and sharp observations. as if perhaps he was not a predator after all. whatever shinji thought, one thing was clear; aizen had become fond of this young man who'd stormed into their division not so very long ago.

there was something about their new third seat that called to aizen, an understanding between the two of them that went unspoken: rukongai's survivors always understood one another. shinji would not understand that sensation and that feeling coming as he did from a family established within the seireitei itself. how could he ever hope to understand what aizen and gin were able to comprehend about one another in that unspoken way. the rukongai's mark was strong, both of them bearing those marks of the rattle-bone fight for survival. how could the blonde ever know what it was like to have to fight tooth and nail to survive in the nastier districts of the rukongai? aizen had understood when he'd heard the number; sixty-fourth. he had but only recently spoken of the one he had come from to gin. an eightieth. a miracle that he had survived an eightieth, wasn't it? he hadn't said that but he knew gin would understand. why wouldn't he? they understood one another and they knew the laws of that savage place. the weak are protected or the weak are killed; there is no other way for it to be.

they understood one another and there was more than that to it as well, at least on aizen's behalf. he had never understood what had been missing. not until this boy had arrived at the fifth. oh, yes -- kaname knew that he wasn't as prim and proper as he comported himself to be, but ... it wasn't the same. the other shinigami all but worshiped him as a god and aizen could see how brittle and fragile the man was. the barest trace of anything approaching irritation would send him into a frenzy of apologetic fervor. no it wasn't the same at all and so many others merely took him in at face value. even hiyori, a friend he'd never anticipated having, was sharp and brusque without ever knowing the truth of him. kaname, hiyori, others he knew -- ... no. they didn't see him. for kaname he was a savior. for hirako shinji, he was a source of suspicion. for hiyori and the rest, he was but a hard-working fukutaichou who seemed undervalued at times. none of them knew him. none of them understood and he himself had not known what was lacking until that meeting underneath the sickle-thin moon that had hung in the sky, not until there had been a penetrating flash of blue.

and aizen sousuke had gloried in the revelation of what it meant, at last, WHAT IT MEANT TO BE SEEN AND UNDERSTOOD.

but he did remember those plum blossoms, the mood of the older man that day oddly infectious and delightful; he had placed them in water, had sought to see if he could transplant the branch to part of the grounds and if it would survive. he had done his best and it had done so. it had survived and aizen was diligent about attending to it as he was about the paperwork which would fill his desk. but there was, too, those times when he did what he was not supposed to. if he sometimes forged his captain's lazy scrawl of a signature upon paperwork that wasn't truly important in regards to logistical resources, then that didn't matter too much. for all of the suspicion that was leveled towards him by the older man, even if it was not spoken aloud, aizen found it strange that shinji would trust him with this much in return. strange -- but gratifying. and he had done as much as he could for so long now to try and show the older man that his trust was not misplaced. that he was truly loyal to him and more.

how he had tried and tried until he had begun to understand that nothing he did would ever be good enough. he had tried -- and it had never worked. and thus that darkness, something which flickered in his eyes, something that could make him sharper, a little cruel. hirako shinji had seen it on that day when aizen had walked in upon that situation, his eyes going flat and sharp as he had focused in on the third seat. the old man had signed his own death warrant on that day. never had aizen been sure if he had been deliberate or not in ensuring that he would walk in on it, as if to proclaim that shinji might indeed be touched by those hands. or perhaps it had been to irk him. whatever had happened, he had smoothly and deftly turned him towards that courtyard and had FED HIM to ichimaru gin; he had removed the problem with ease and had seen the boy's skill for himself. how pleased he had been.

how did you find our third seat?

no good at all! wasn't even worth my time.

i see. nothing pleases me more than to hear that.

a boy that was allowed to follow around behind the man who wore the wooden badge of fukutaichou, trotting along on those smaller legs to keep pace with the longer strides of the brunet. a boy whom aizen had defended gently when he had stated of what had been wrought. and how those brown eyes had remained focused in on shinji, sharp for once. yet he had seemed to gentle around the youth, had seemed to turn to him as if ready to teach him. and if there was indeed a fight of cat and mouse, it was unseen so far. perhaps it was. was he the hound or was he the fox? cunning and sly, it was likely best to call him the fox. a quick thing he was, sharp and swift. so he had been forcing that contentment in himself as time had gone by. the chain still held him and the collar still was on his neck. for now, aizen sousuke's fangs and claws were muzzled and blunted. but he still saw the way that the older man would look at him at times.

wondering. suspicious. calculating.

nothing at all like eyes of piercing blue that had cut him to the quick and made him willing and almost eager to keep the new inheritor of their third seat around.

his hand moved out after setting the knife down to put a large hand upon shinji's shoulder when he saw him trying to sit up, the warmth of palm and fingers left to soak through the fabric the blonde was draped in. ❝ stop. i don't think that your body will appreciate it if you sit up just yet and i imagine that you'll be asking for painkillers if you try to do that too soon. ❞ with the hands that had held knife and apple, he moved to gather a few more pillows to help prop the older man up rather than allow him to sit up and possibly tug on the sore body even as he heard the comment about the fruit. a smile flickered to his lips as he arranged the last couple of them and then moved to once more take his seat and the apple in hand, starting work on another slice and putting the apple down to carefully work on the almost childish thing he was doing.

the cuts were made along the back of the slice and then the knife moved, sliding under that taut skin to remove it and leave the ears standing up just a bit on display, done with careful efficiency while he listened to the older man speaking up while his mouth twitched again into another of those quick smiles.

❝ i think i charmed them enough into being willing to let me remain here and watch over you. besides, gin has things well in hand. i made sure of that before i left to come keep an eye on you; if nothing else, he can turn to the junior officers for help if need be while i'm not there. ❞ he said it calmly enough but perhaps it might raise an eyebrow. so young but the faith that aizen expressed so simply was pointed. the faith he had in the new third seat -- what would hirako shinji make of that? what would he make of the young fukutaichou that heeled so faithfully after him? what would he make of aizen sousuke expressing such sentiments? a predator could indeed be a predator -- but what was to be said of one that willingly acted so tame for the hand which held his leash?

but he didn't expect the ruffle to his hair, the thick brown strands parting easily for those fingers that could wrench him into obedience. he knew what their tugging felt like, what meant keep going or stop or just like that --- he knew all of those subtle and nonverbal signs that the older man had taught him over the years. aizen had been an eager pupil, hadn't he? of course he had. he'd done everything he could to make this man see him. to let him in. he had worked hard. he had friends, of course, people he would smile with, laugh with. true, aizen didn't tend to go out drinking with those people, but he would always beg off of such things. the ruffle was -- ... was warm to him, leaving him to blink a few times as he glanced up to shinji, his hand half lifting as if to straighten up that shaggy mop from where it'd surely been left at least a little disheveled by the gesture. but, ah -- the fruit juice so instead his hand lowered again and whatever darkness was there was gone as he gazed at his captain with surprise and something quietly fonder in his eyes before they dropped again.

❝ ... yes, ❞ he said softly. ❝ i did catch you. i've always been there to catch you, haven't i? to protect your back? ❞

( why can't you trust me--? why can't you just, for once, trust me--? why can't you ever LET ME IN? why can't you see me--? why can't you---? )

❝ you may feel fine now, but i imagine that's the painkillers doing their job. besides, i don't feel like getting a lecture from unohana-taichou if you decide to try making your way out of the fourth too soon. ❞

which was a bit rich coming from him; aizen was a terrible patient. he always worked on escaping as soon as he could. but if he wanted to escape his captain -- surely he could've left shinji as he was. surely the older man would understand that. he had woken up, after all. and the ruffle to his hair brought another feeling to him --- a strange understanding. an understanding that made him want to squirm in the seat he sat in now.

( ... i cannot kill you. not now. for all of your indifference towards me, for all of the suspicion you level at me without just cause, i cannot. i cannot. why do you do this to me? what have i ever done to you? why can't you let me in? why can't you see me?

all i want is for you to see me. all i want is for you to-- )

shame--? regret? whatever it was, he found his eyes going back to his hands before he worked on finishing off making those apple slices as decorative as they were, two more being set down on the plate once he was done with them and nudging it a bit closer so shinji would not have to reach so far as his eyes remained on his hands for another moment, shoulders slumped a trifle and making them seem not so broad as they were becoming.

❝ ... you scared me, ❞ he finally said. ❝ i know how tough you are, hirako-taichou, how strong -- but you scared me. why wouldn't i have caught you? i've always been there at your back, haven't i? i thought --... i thought, just for ... until the medic arrived ... i thought that maybe... ❞

his voice trailed off and his head bowed a bit more.

❝ ... i am glad you are awake, ❞ he said very softly over the noise of the machines that counted out the biological feedback of the older man's pulse and more. ❝ ... very glad that you are awake. i ... ❞

what else was he supposed to say?

[keikakudori]

[Slaps a report on his desk. "READ THIS! MAKE IT SOUND GOOD!" There was a please in there somewhere...?? //tbtp shenanigans

random asks | always accepting!

                this isn't the first time he's had hiyori barging into the office to make use of his services, so to speak, but the sudden barreling of the petite blonde to his desk only for her hand to smack down the paper on top of what he had been working on was enough to make the brunet jump in response, brown eyes flashing up to her face with a wide-eyed stare in momentary astonishment.

                ❝ good afternoon to you too, hiyori-san, ❞ he said with a blink at the young woman. there was a moment to peer at the paperwork which had been woefully and irreparably smudged by the jolt he’d gotten from her sudden arrival, lips pursing briefly at the sight before he shrugged with a sigh and then considered her and the paper he’d basically been handed to overlook before taking it in his fingers.

                it was not the first time he’d done this, of course, and would not be the last either. aizen was patient, however, humming softly as he read over the report that’d been handed to him in such a way before he glanced towards hiyori with a smile.

                ❝ it sounds good so far, but let me. ❞

                and he moved to snag a blank copy of the form she’d brought to him and began to carefully put together the parts which were what needed the improvements. even as he did this, there was a murmur on his behalf.

                ❝ would you care to go get some tea together this weekend? i’ve heard there’s a new tea shop opening up and i’d be delighted if you’d go with me. ❞

[keikakudori]

Staaaaaaareee. “Ya drink a lotta tea. When d’ya take bathroom breaks?”

❝ ah? ❞ he looked up from his work with a muted blink of surprise, the brush he held oh so neatly lifting from the paper. ❝ i do take time to do so, especially when i need to get up and stretch my legs for a time. it works out rather well, after all. ❞

then he smiled in slight amusement. ❝ besides - with the hours i pull here in the office for hirako-taichou's sake, i find myself very much in need of tea on a constant basis. ❞

[keikakudori]

“  you’d accept a caress from the same hands that leave you bruised, just to feel warm.  ”

memes for that specific brand of ships

          there was a weaving of sunlight in the office today, the shoji doors pushed open just barely  to allow a chill breeze to wash through the room. today was one of those days in which the second-in-command of the fifth was slow in his work, slow for many reasons all his own. the frigid wisps of breezes slipped freely through the bangs that hung over his forehead, teasing gently at stray hairs, and he was simply focused in upon the brush he held. a slow day of work for already it promised to be cold and the cold ever distracted aizen in some ways; he preferred the sharp chill of winter for many reasons. winter, when he could slip through the views of others, with the long hours of the dark there to keep him shrouded from eyes of searching hazel, eyes that would narrow at him from time to time when he was sure shinji didn't know he was looking, the way his mouth would downturn for a moment at the corners as if he had caught wind of a smell that aggravated his senses. but oh -- winter was beautiful. he did enjoy seeing ice and the way snow would blanket the seireitei, muffling it, masking the blood that had seeped through it long ago. beneath the veil of ivory powder, one could almost believe that it truly was as good as it claimed to be.

          almost.

          but yes, aizen had many reasons to appreciate the cold months of wintertime and how he might smile some days for reasons all his own -- not the least of which was the fact that he could often wear moesode beneath his shihakusho, snuggling down into the warm fabric as he pleased. it seemed to send his admirers into fits of swooning when he wore such things as these kinds of layers or when he might show up wearing a scarf that was patterned in some strange way or another. the cold did always seem to bring out their admiration when he dressed warmly as the cold filled the air and he finally rose to go close the doors, sleeves falling back slightly from the warm fabric which covered his hands, his wrists. and aizen was glad for that, for it gave him a chance to wear his uniform with longer sleeves, long enough to cover his arms down to the heels of his hands.

          so up he got, at last, moving to slide the shoji doors shut. when he turned around, gin had somehow slipped in past him to perch in his favorite chair by aizen's desk. it didn't surprise him to see the younger shinigami there in his usual spot, mouth curled up towards his ears at the corners and it drew a smile of his own as aizen took him in with a single glance. he had known gin was around since earlier, but whatever he'd been up to - visiting his classmate, perhaps - it did not bother aizen to see that gin had made himself comfortable as the air began to warm with the circulation of a fan washing over a space heater to help fill the room with the sweet smell of camella oil and more. today was a slow day, a day where his wrists ached quietly from the cold and from other reasons as he moved to sit down once more, staring down at the paperwork as something painful and heavy curled in his chest. it took a lot to make him ache anymore, the mornings after, but he was aching today.

          it was not in the sense of the physical word, but an odd pang filled his chest and his throat time and time again. aizen knew what he would see if he but slid the moesode up along his forearms and the older of the two in the office at current had no doubt that gin would know as well, for the silver viper always seemed to know which days were the worst days when a night prior had been … busy, for lack of a better phrasing. he had seen them this morning when he'd stirred, awakened by the lingering presence of gin at the door to his choice of room in the barracks. aizen did not speak of the dapples of blue which settled upon his wrists and while he had never expressly forbidden commentary upon them, it was seldom that his right hand - for already gin had displaced kaname in these last few years - spoke on them either. instead, aizen moved a hand and set a plate of persimmons within gin's reach, having absently gone to pick up such snacks earlier for the both of them.

          aizen had never tried persimmons before gin had entered his life. and now--? now, he was partial to them.

          and yet, gin was here, perched to his right where he usually favored to be, as if ready and willing for a hand to lift and direct him with a command. they were still learning one another and aizen could admit that their learning was taking time for while he did not seek to reign gin in, not entirely, he was pleasantly indulgent of him all the same. so those brown eyes turned to the youth, studying him as he found himself studied in kind. perched and observing him with a flicker of blue visible from beneath his lashes, a blue that seemed focused upon him -- or perhaps upon what aizen had not fully revealed. nine years since the night he had seen this youth under a spring moon, the silver light making him feel as if he were gazing upon a spirit of the forest instead of a shinigami like himself. whatever he had seen in gin, he had been gleefully satisfied. yes -- rumors abounded where this boy was concerned and aizen had been validated in his assertions when he'd seen how easily gin had dealt with the third seat.

          it had been surprising at how easily shinji had accepted the youth, eyes flicking to where aizen had set a hand upon gin's shoulder, to the smile on aizen's face, to the way they stood together. it was always easiest to make such moves if he used a person's lifestyle against them. the old man had been a hoarder of information, eyes cold and hard, and aizen knew -- he knew what he'd overheard from the older man one day when he'd gone to take something to shinji. so no -- he was not surprised his captain did not ask too closely, did not look too deeply, into the death of his subordinate. two birds, one stone -- a benefit for both of them in the end. a benefit for aizen for he had taken in the scraps of information the former third seat had curated, a benefit for shinji because one threat to him had been removed. aizen was not hesitant about removing threats to his captain, even if he remained one himself. such was how it went. but he tried. he wanted and he tried.

          aizen sighed, once, and then carefully lowered the calligraphy brush to the inkstone, dipping the pale bristles into the freshly made ink. aizen enjoyed doing things with his own hands and he always had. a streak of creativity dwelt within him and even simple things like this could please him in a way and sometimes soothe. such little things, creativity.. making ink was one of them and he would spend his carefully curated funds on getting well-made inksticks for himself -- the older, the better. to grind them down was a ritual of sorts, and how neatly he wrote. there were such things as regular pens to be found, but aizen was a traditionalist of sorts. he preferred the smell of fresh ink, the weight of the brush in his hand.

          it was lighter than the weight on his wrists.

          sometimes aizen preferred the quiet but today he was finding himself agitated by it. the concept of talking did not appeal and there was no wind to speak of, no white noise to drown his thoughts out. their excursions, himself and gin and kaname's, were starting to produce fruit. out in the rukongai, no one cared if souls went missing. it was enough to make his lips curl with contempt in the days following the experiments, understanding that they did not care about the lost souls, these shinigami, these individuals that were there to usher the dead along to their next stage of life. there, in the rukongai, living memories faded away slowly for some, quickly for others. but not for those like him, who'd been born into it. silence. too much silence and he was debating going to put on a record, to fill the room with the airy rippling of the jazz which shinji had grown fond of - and, unbeknownst to him, aizen as well - when gin suddenly spoke up.

          he spoke up and aizen did his best not to freeze up for some reason he dared not name.

          sometimes, gin's observations cut to the quick and aizen's hands stilled in the middle of reaching for the paperwork. he knew it was a tell, but gin enjoyed to test the boundaries, to see what was a button to poke, where the tender parts were. here, in the twilight fading of bitterness and devotion that had turned sour, turned -- turned into something dark and cruel - aizen truly found himself tender. so it was that he didn't expect gin's hands to suddenly move for him, shoving up the sleeve of his uniform, of the garment he wore beneath the shihakusho, to stare at the chain that he was bound by. the links of it were rusting, rusting away, a leash he was no longer content to be held by, and aizen took in the way those small fingers moved as if he would touch -- and his arm pulled back before contact could ensue, leaving him to reach and slide the sleeves back down. there was no need for him to look to gin's face as he did so.

          don't leave marks, he was always told. sometimes, sometimes, he disobeyed. more often than not, lately, aizen chose to disobey, no matter that shinji would brush him off. but the aching today was especially poignant, for he'd seen that rare softness in his captain last night, the way those eyes of olive brown had regarded him, the way fingers had seemed to brush his cheeks -- a softness that'd stirred the same feeble flicker of hope within aizen as it always did, that maybe -- maybe this time, this time, he had begun to bridge that distance between them. and then they'd shot suddenly to gunmetal gray, steely, as the man he called his captain pulled back and away from him, turned away, had flicked his hand in the way he did and had pulled back from the younger shinigami. pulled back and aizen was sure, so sure, that his captain could not be so blind as to not see what the pulling back was doing to him in kind. how could shinji not see it, not see how much his withdrawal affected the brunet every time he did so--? perhaps that was why it felt like the bruises were far more common of late. as if his captain sought to contain him. and yet he would pull back when aizen tried to reach out to him.

          he kept pulling back.

          no matter what aizen did, shinji kept pulling back from him, puling away, pushing to keep that distance between the both of them. how could his captain not see it, not see the yearning, not see what he so desperately desired and dreamed of and wanted--? a connection. a closeness. a nearness between them that he could only call want, hope, desire -- born from an emotion which had curled gently in his chest for so long but now the pool from which it bloomed was going stagnant, growing rancid within him. how long could one sustain themselves upon false hope, upon having the realization time and time again that no matter what they did -- it would never be good enough? never be enough for them--? for when he found those oft-hidden eyes of blue on him, aizen realized just what it meant for him to be seen by someone, even if the someone was a dangerous little viper that seemed eager to coil himself around aizen's wrist, as if he would shield the skin from accumulating the bruises which were not always there -- but they had been there today.

          how many times of him seeing shinji seem to overcompensate for those moments of seeming affection, of seeming care, only to feel something in him break again and again every time his captain turned away from him--? he'd found himself snared by an arm before he could leave last night, rare for aizen to be the first to go, had been dragged back down to the futon for a time and had made his escape later to his own quarters, had laid down and slept fitfully, restlessly, tossing and turning and waking up again and again in starts of awareness. so he sat there now, sandy-eyed, head pounding, staring down at his own wrist where it had been exposed before his eyes lifted to gin. how long could a resource be tapped until it was no longer available for the one that mined for it--? gin had not been here for the bulk of their -- whatever they were to one another. not lovers nor partners. whatever hirako shinji and aizen sousuke shared, it was nothing so kind nor romantic nor respectful -- at least, not from the older man, no matter how much his adjutant tried over and over and over to make it be otherwise.

          ❝ -- i don't tend to find myself very warm anymore where those hands are concerned. ❞ he had spoken at last, breaking the silence which had dropped heavily into place between himself and gin. gin understood him where others did not -- he asked questions, saw what even kaname missed. kaname, who was afraid to disappoint him, to speak against him, who used him in kind as aizen commanded him in turn. ❝ … i don't think i've felt warm under their touch in a long, long time. ❞

          gin seemed content to wait, to let aizen speak at his own pace, his own rate. that was perhaps one thing aizen adored about this young man. that gin was content to sit back and allow aizen to collate his thoughts, as if waiting to see what answer he would get to his questions. even as aizen's fingers moved to curl over the fabric, he found his mind turning things over. he wanted to keep that man and he wanted to break him. break him the way he'd been breaking the brunet down over long years. a rage, a pain -- pain, from something that could have been so gentle and warm turning dark and vicious. what did it take for him to be seen by a man he wanted to see him in turn--? what did it take to make those eyes look at him and truly behold him--? he had allowed the mask to slip from time to time, watching the way the gaze which landed on him would take in the teeth, the claws. only a brief showing of them. only brief. and yet he would be called in to keep him warm.

          yet all aizen felt now was cold. cold, cold, cold -- cold from indifference, cold from distance. cold, when once those hands had warmed him. oh, true - his body responded to them. he was well-trained. he knew what looks meant, the way a hand might move, the slow curling of fingers to beckon him closer, closer, to come close and dip to press mouth to mouth, as the hands would lift to fist into the locks of brown were he on his knees. he knew. he knew what look meant to bend and what meant to kneel, what meant for him to lie back or roll over or -- he knew. just as he knew the rule: don't leave marks. how absently aizen tugged at the fabric now, the fingers of his opposite hand curling into the warm fabric as he stared into the distance.

          ❝ … i think, gin … it's time we begin to move things along. the timetable. … i find myself curious to see what will happen next. ❞

          and he did not see the souls that would fall under the sway of his hogyoku. he did not see the potential for other shinigami to fall in its wake. his eyes looked ahead, forward -- towards a back that was thin. he knew where the muscles of that body were at their strongest, upon his back and abdomen. how well he knows the feeling of that body against his own, the scars his fingers have touched to for years upon years. of how it can tense, of how he was never sure if shinji would see how he would hunch in on himself more and more, head bowing to hide the burning in his eyes -- not of glossy wetness but something else, something he yearned for, craved, something he needed to feel. how could his captain not see it--? how could he ignore it--? but shinji was not here now. meetings today, leaving the second- and third-seat to play captain and right hand. a precarious thing, that. aizen filled that role easily. so did gin. as if they were already woven together, but shinji did not seem to pay heed to it.

          ❝ --... i think it is time to begin seeing just how far we can push things and see if the experimentations will win through or not. and i think... ❞ his fingers drummed once over the surface of that desk. a desk where more than once, he'd had a thin frame bear its weight down upon his own, a frame his legs knew the slotting fit of, the frame where he would find bruises upon his inner thighs when it could be rough. but not always. he remembered when shinji had been gentler. almost kind. it only made him want to swallow now, to find himself besieged by doubt -- even now. even now.

          ❝ i have the perfect candidate in mind. ❞

[keikakudori]

"Such elegant handwriting, Aizen-san~"

random asks | always accepting!

                  it wasn't often that someone was given a chance to behold aizen sousuke making a scroll; the mulberry paper was crisp and clean when he began, the brushes set neatly to the side, the ink ground out so it would be fresh. he always tended to make a little more than actually needed, just in case; his fingers sometimes left with a dusting of sooty coloration if the ink stick was fresher than others. but he always invested in the more aged ones; older ink sticks were always the best quality and aizen was beloved by a few shops who would always do their best to keep such things in stock for him. his inkstone was well used and still he had been spending time working on this today, having seen the man with those wavy locks of blonde come by the office to speak with his captain about something or another. otorobashi rojuro was a newer captain, not long into wearing his haori but he seemed friendly enough with his captain.

                  for now, however, he looked up briefly, the bristles of the brush leaving the paper as he finished the latest stroke of motion that came with the writing he was doing to peer sideways at the older man, a hum escaping him as he reached over to dip the brush into the ink that awaited him. a gentle thing, that, his hand easily flexing to gently press any excess to the slope of the inkstone before he leaned back over his work, speaking quietly as he did so.

                  ❝ thank you, sir. i do my best to keep everything neat when it come to something like this. ❞ calligraphy was about boldness and confidence, after all. one could not hesitate in what they did or where they put the brush. he considered the paper for another moment before his hand descended to write out another character, the bristles seeping their contents onto the parchment. ❝ it's a skill i've worked on maintaining for some years now. i thought you'd seen a few of the scrolls i've made before now? ❞

                  the strokes of the brush were calm and placed with precision with each motion of his arm, carefully being driven by way of his own movements. nothing to speak of, he could have said, nothing truly fancy. but it was a delight to watch, perhaps. this man did his work so very well and these scrolls were such coveted things. still, here the young man sat with shinji's absence from the office hanging over him and while he could have been doing paperwork -- one might dare say that he, the golden boy of the fifth and of the seireitei, was slacking. what a marvel that must have been for others to see. aizen sousuke, indulging in something personal when his captain wasn't around to squint those olive eyes at his lieutenant? perhaps it was so. or perhaps he had done all the work he deemed necessary already while he served as acting captain.

                  he didn't speak up until he had finished placing down another line of characters, glancing up towards rose as he did so.

                  ❝ was there something you needed, sir? i'm afraid hirako-taichou isn't here right now but i can do my best to assist you in the interim if there's something you required him for. ❞

[keikakudori]

well tit for tat lmao 💋

The first 5 Asks to send 💋 get a kiss ( 2 / 5 )

                it was intentional. that was true enough as he might say later if asked. after all, aizen sousuke could be a very deliberate man when he wished to be such. and how his hand had lifted today in this warm summer evening, with the sun pearly golden behind the low-hanging clouds which left the light diffused. he had chosen it, deliberately. had chosen her. fifth-seat, his old spot. how interesting. not that he minded. aizen had stepped here to a goal which had become his from the first time he’d seen that man there in the grounds of the academy.

                becoming his captain’s right hand only pleased him. or it had -- once. it had once been everything he’d wanted -- ... until the ache. until the weight on his wrists.

                but how he had smiled at her, casual and gentle, the warmth of the sun apparent in the curl of his mouth while he’d gently showered her with compliments. after all, aizen did have an excellent turn of phrase available to him and he could be quite complimentary. how delicate she seemed, how tenacious. yes, he could certainly appreciate that. an innate tenacity worked well in the fifth division and aizen could assure that. but more than that was how he tracked the presence of another while he roved their way.

                it was deliberate.

                it was fucking petty.

                and he could admit that much. he could admit it even as he leaned down, his fingertips gently under her chin, watching the color rising on her cheeks and how easily he murmured that she was very beautiful like that before he dared to steal a kiss, ignoring the spindly form that had swept around a corner just a few seconds prior. but his lips were warm and she was left to be bathed in the heat of his presence, a soft and gentle thing, the scent of his cologne. like the summer lightning on the horizon, like petrichor, like tilled earth warmed by the sun, something fiery but sedate. just like him.

                ❝ forgive me, fuyuno-san. a moment of impulse on my behalf. but you are so lovely i could not resist. ❞

                his hand swept away from her chin in a slow lingering of motion, leaving the impression of his finger’s warmth behind, as if he would brand her with his touch. such warmth it was, such heat -- and how he could be. he tilted in a gentle bow to her, then stepped around her and calmly met the half-lid stare focused on him -- hard and suspicious as ever. perhaps it was petty -- perhaps even cruel -- but there was an ache in him that would not relent. it would not relent. it would not relent.

                his chest was heavy and this ache would not relent. maybe he’d send her some food she enjoyed as way of a proper apology.

[keikakudori]

"did shunsui do something bad?" ( at vice captain aizen )

              ❝ ah, well -- i don’t know if it’s bad, per se... ❞ 

              does he fidget underneath the gaze of his old kido teacher--? not quite. aizen seldom fidgets anymore but thee is always something about ukitake that can make him open up more fully to him than he does to his own captain sometimes.

              then again, jyuushirou ukitake is one of the few men that aizen sousuke  genuinely respects. one of the few people for that matter. but he’s seen his captain grinning all day long and that typically means that something has occurred which will mean a profound headache is to be had at some point during the day.

              ❝ i -- did overhear something about koi last night, though, when i believe he and hirako-taichou were sharing drinks. ❞

              or so it had sounded like where they’d been out upon the engawa and he himself had been still busy with paperwork. once shunsui had slouched into the office, his captain had seemed to be lured over with the prospect of sharing a cup -- or five bottles -- of sake. so it’d seemed when aizen had been ready to pour shinji into his futon.

              ❝ that or i imagine that yamamoto-soutaichou might, er ... be doing some yelling later. so i don’t know if it’s bad, but ... he and hirako-taichou may have gotten up to something. ❞

              how cute the loyalty to one’s captain could be.

[keikakudori]

"Hmm~" He watched the movements of an expert calligrapher. Aizen obviously had spent a lot of time practicing his craft. Rose could respect that, as a fellow creative. "I have dabbled in the odd bout of calligraphy myself," he mused good-naturedly. His violet eyes follow the flow of the strokes. "And goodness, watching such a scene makes you yearn to create yourself, doesn't it?" He smiled, burying his hands into his frilly sleeves, as though they might live a life of their own and start creating right then and there.

"Certainly, I've seen your work before; expertly done." He confirmed with a slight nod. "You must have been practicing the art for quite a long time?" Or else perhaps his hands were simply made for this, the way Rose's had always been meant to play music.

"Hm, no need," he shook his head, casting a cursory glance past the lieutenant and into the empty captain's office. "It was more of a friendly visit.." One couldn't always be strictly business. Though, in the case of Hirako Shinji, it seemed he rarely could. Ah, his poor lieutenant seemed always to have to spur him on. Rose couldn't think ill of Aizen for spending some of his time on small joys, such as this.

ask prior

such compliments and comments weren't unusual to hear, of course. aizen's calligraphy had been spoken of for some time now and the young brunet did his best to ensure that he would always produce a clean set of lines. it was his nature and aizen's skill with the calligraphy brush was considerable, ensuring that he would be seen with a consummate skill that could never be deterred from. still, he glanced upwards once more when the man spoke of wanting to create as well, leaving him to focus upon the other man for another moment with those large brown eyes that seemed to be bestowed with an innocence that was all natural. the captain was one he didn't know very well, but aizen did enjoy getting to know new people, it was true.

for now, however, he was focused upon him, setting the brush down carefully and finding himself being drawn into a conversation that he didn't expect. all the same, when the other man spoke of it only being a friendly visit, he was more relaxed after another moment with a hint of a smile curving over his mouth. no, there was nothing strange to be seen here --- merely the fukutaichou of the gobantai, leaning over a scroll he was in the process of making, the lines of ink were one and all made with careful precision. his hand moved to set the brush carefully upon the inkstone.

❝ i've been practicing since the academy. it's something that i've learned to enjoy over the years. people seem very impressed by the skill i have with it and i suppose i've been impressive enough over the years to make them comment on it more often than not. ❞

he wasn't bragging; aizen didn't tend to brag, no. he was simply humble, this being instead the pride of a man who had spent much time on a skill that he'd felt he'd begun to master over the years. calligraphy took precision, and aizen had mastered the three main styles; kaisho, gyousho, sousho -- all three of them were at his disposal and he took great care with them. aizen had practiced for many, many years with the calligraphy and he knew that he had quite a range of capability with it. he was known, too, to be willing to share what knowledge he possessed with those who were seeking to improve on their own skills with ink and brush alike. but still -- recognition was always a pleasant thing. and if there was something of what he thought of as a black market regarding the discards of his potential poems, flaws, things of that nature ... well, what could be said about that?

people were strange.

still, those sharp brown eyes didn't miss the way rose glanced towards the office and if aizen himself gave it a disparaging look, that was to be expected as well. he was, after all, not his captain's keeper ... but most people were sure that if they needed to find shinji if he was not around, then aizen would lead that person to his captain the way a bloodhound could track a scent over miles. he'd heard people murmur questions of whether or not he'd put some kind of kido tracker upon the blonde, yet aizen had only smiled at them. how he knew where shinji was at any given time was always a curious question, but nothing truly strange seemed to be waiting for things. no, he just knew.

❝ would you like me to hunt him down for you, sir? he was on the roof the last i knew, but a bit of time searching and i'm sure i could turn him up for you, if there's anything that you need to talk over with hirako-taichou. ❞

that -- or rose was likely to ask him out to have drinks. aizen wasn't sure yet.

[keikakudori]

mini tag dump since tumblr seems to have forgotten all about my tags. ignore this.

aigin [ MY LUNGS ARE PUNCTURED—YOU TAKE MY BREATH AWAY ]

aishin [ I WANT MY HEART TO SHUDDER AT A TOUCH ]

ichimaru gin [ most honored poison of my heart ]

aizen sousuke [ the beaming sun itself; something dangerous and yet captivating ]

kaname tosen [ i knew a man once / who fought like he could cleanse the world with the blood on his knuckles ]

[ verse: blood war ] as I cannot be the hero let me be the monster and lesson them in fear in place of love.

[ verse: fukutaichou ] it is still too early to believe; what's truly frightening is the betrayal you don't see.

[ verse: soul king ] all the stars will fall from grace with your name engraved in the dust of their deaths.

[ verse: muken ] you said i killed you so haunt me & drive me mad; only do not leave me in the abyss where i cannot find you.

[ verse: vizard ] can you still feel the battles on my skin stitched across my back? am i rebuilding bone by fragile bone?

[ verse: wanderer ] i need something different. I don’t know what it is but I need something new.

[ verse: hueco mundo ] there is a massacre ready behind his eyes & war written on his body.

[ verse: sternritter ] when the silence of absence deepens

[keikakudori]

small tag dump.

[ verse: fukutaichou ] it is still too early to believe; what's truly frightening is the betrayal you don't see.

[ verse: soul king ] all the stars will fall from grace with your name engraved in the dust of their deaths.

[ verse: vizard ] can you still feel the battles on my skin stitched across my back. am i rebuilding bone by fragile bone?

[ verse: blood war ] as I cannot be the hero, let me be the monster, and lesson them in fear in place of love.

owo verse tags verse tags