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diorsbrando · 1 month

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I’D DIE FOR YOU (AND I HAVE). ( s.a. )

sousuke aizen & black!fem!reader.

cw ━━ ! minors, blank and ageless blogs DO NOT INTERACT. reader is portrayed as a black woman but you do not have to imagine her that way. using this map of the seireitei as a reference (i searched high and low for a consistent accurate one but it was hard). the first half is set pre-ryoka invasion / pre-soul society arc. the second half is aizen-centric (from his pov told from the 3rd person) and set post-tybw arc, years after he was sealed away in mugen, also including mention of events from vol. 1 of can't fear your own world (a light novel that's post-tybw & can be considered canonical); so all this being said: SPOILERS i guess???? of course you're welcome to read if you don't care about spoilers! somewhat based on 'die for you' by the weeknd & even more loosely based on 'dark red' by steve lacy. contains themes of heavy-ish angst, existential crises (?) & inner emotional turmoil within reader + aizen (separately). descriptions of character death, blood and violence. descriptions of manipulation/mind games. aizen is an unkind man. proofread (i did my best).

word count ━━ 11k

notes ━━ ! the way this fic was supposed to finished a month ago...but life once more gets in my way. and the way that it's this long....i anticipated the max being 10k but i greatly underestimated how long it would take to flesh out my idea. anywho i'm somewhat reentering my bleach era again. i’m not sure what it is but character analyses in the form of fanfiction is my jam rn like i really enjoyed writing this (i got tired of the length by like... 7k words lmao) but i like how this turned out. i've watched & read quite a bit of content that provide explanations as to why aizen is the way he is so i wanted to try my own portrayal of that in the context of canonical events. how i characterized him here is partially inspired by a fic i read about him last year so shout out to them for their support :D i hope i've depicted and humanized aizen well ♡. reblogs + commentary are heavily appreciated!!!!!

THE PAD OF YOUR THUMB SLOWLY glided against your bottom lip, the lingering aftertaste of jasmine tea still on its surface and on your breath. The absentminded motion of your thumb caressing your mouth, as if in deep contemplation, continued as you stared at the clock hanging on the wall above you.

It was past eleven, and the midnight hour only continued to draw near as time sustained its temporal march. And there you sat at your desk, floating in the limbo of your mind that was filled with hesitancy and admittedly, budding anticipation.

Your gaze lowered to the now empty porcelain cup, nothing remaining of its contents except the shriveled remnants of herbs and a few wayward drops of the brew.

Your senior comrade, captain Sōsuke Aizen, was correct in his prediction that you'd take a liking to its floral and delicate taste when he gifted you a jar full of the jasmine tea leaves as well as other ingredients.

The captain of Squad 5 seemed to be correct about a lot of things.

His intelligence and foresight, along with his kind and politely witty disposition, were qualities that you found somewhat charming, and gradually drew you closer to him.

Being the current third seat of the 9th company, your barracks and those of squad 5's were relatively close to each other's, so often you'd catch glimpses of and run into Captain Aizen on a pretty normal basis. Over the years, the conversations that bounced between the two of you expanded past the realm of formalities between a higher and lower ranking officer, and instead ranged in territories from literature, to art, to food & drink, and even to the politics of the government for which they were soldiers for.

Sometimes, you found it hard to believe that you managed to befriend a man like him. A man who seems to have mastered the balance between being a gentle soul, helpful to others, but also possessed enough refined power and skills to be named a captain within the Gotei 13.

Especially a man who wasn’t even of your own squad.

Despite the increasingly friendly relations and generally pleasant conversation, there were few moments where Aizen's words didn't feel quite. . . . real━ he didn't feel real. He spoke eloquently, often relying on figurative language to further illustrate his point and to breathe meaning into seemingly plain and meaningless words. But at times those words, his tone felt stained; stained with some substance or color you couldn't quite place. An enigmatic façade was painted over his speech, and it took too much mental capacity to try and find your own meaning in it.

So you'd often brush it off. Your over-reliance on your own reasoning that 'you weren’t able to come to a conclusion because there is no problem a conclusion could be generated from' successfully quieted your mind’s voice. You'd also frequently blame exhaustion, or your newfound hobby of watching human psychological crime shows during your off days for these subconscious ideas you had.

But you feared that the request Aizen made of you yesterday, the source of your current predicament, couldn't be blamed on any of those things. You looked at the clock again before returning to stare at your empty tea cup. For what reason could Sōsuke Aizen wish to meet you outside of the 1st division barracks? Specifically at this hour? You immediately thought of his question as uncharacteristic of him but prevented yourself from jumping to any further conclusions.

Aizen was a reasonable man, and you were sure there was a reasonable explanation.

With a final sigh of acquiescence, you stood up from your sitting position to retie your yukata before slipping a thicker, dark colored haori on top. You were unsure how cold it was this late at night or how long you'd be out, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

You paused for a moment, glancing longingly at your vanity mirror a few times, clearly torn between a decision, before giving in with a soft groan. Grabbing your favorite perfume, you quickly spritzed the spray onto both your inner wrists, either sides of your neck, and stray areas on your clothes. You’d proceed to make sure your hair was in order and your lips were as moisturized and glossy as a pair of tear-filled eyes before making your way to the door and slipping on your sandals.

Meeting with a captain— with Aizen of all people— in the dead of night resembled too closely to forbidden lovers rendezvousing under a fruit tree to fulfill their desires of embracing one another, with no one but the moon as their witness. The comparison alone caused the apples of your cheeks to burst aflame with embarrassment, and you lightly chastised yourself for even indulging in such an inappropriate train of thought. Such a scenario seemed far too deluded to even be considered ‘wishful thinking’.

But those delusions still seemed to make more sense than whatever other conclusion you have yet to reach.

Making your way out of your personal quarters, you activated your shunpo technique, stealthily hopping from one rooftop to the other in an effort to make it to Squad 1 barracks quicker.

After several minutes, your mind mostly engulfed with the 'what if's', the soles of your sandals finally touched ground, and you stood a few feet away from the massive walls and bridges that connected to and from the barracks. Even at night you were able to make out the bold-printed kanji for the number 1 that was painted on the building.

When you arrived, even from a nearby rooftop, you didn't see anyone around. Feelings of confusion and worry began to creep up and flicker to life in your mind.

But, as if your thoughts were as audible, you felt a light breeze of wind behind you, a familiar sound that indicated someone had made their presence known.

Startled, you reflexively reached for your zanpakuto, when you remembered that you hadn't even brought it with you. It still laid against the wall near your bed, just where you placed it earlier when you were relieved of your duties for the day.

You didn't think you needed it necessarily if you were just going to meet with Aizen, hence why taking it with you slipped your mind.

The flickers of concern were swiftly extinguished as your brain caught up with your body upon realizing who just appeared. A relieved sigh left your lips, a breath of air that seemed to release all the tension that had a grip on your heart and wound tight within your muscles. "Ah! Good evening Captain Aizen. You caught me off guard for a moment there."

"My apologies, that was not at all my intention." The Fifth Division Captain sported a dark colored scarf, his long captain's coat and the standard shihakushō all Gotei officers were supposed to wear. In the sash around his waist resided his own sheathed zanpakuto. His tawny hair maintained its usual part but looked slightly tousled, yet still remaining so in a meticulous fashion that made it look intentional.

The state of his hair alone, and his current facial expression made Aizen look more . . . approachable if that’s how you were to describe it. There was a glint in his eyes that you had seldom seen before.

"Thank you, for making your way down here to accommodate my rather. . . . atypical request. I again extend my apologies if I have inconvenienced you in any way."

You shook your head in reply, "It's alright, I wasn't doing anything too important anyway. Just having a cup of tea and delighting myself in a book before bed."

You glanced downwards at the foot or so of space that was wedged in between the two of you. You forced away the murmurs of your lingering thoughts that took note of how the moonlight and shadows danced across the surface of Aizen's face just right, and emphasized his decidedly handsome features.

"But having a complete and good night's rest is important to be fully functional in all areas of one's performance. Wouldn't you agree?"

You couldn't help but chuckle softly. "Yes, I do agree with that sentiment."

Aizen all but hummed in acknowledgement, letting a moment of silence fill the air before speaking again.

"Shall we be on our way?"

You nodded in agreement, following him as the both of you walked about the First Division grounds. From what you could tell based on your position, your aimless nightly stroll drew you closer to where Sokyoku Hill was located. The area became increasingly more grassy and contained less buildings.

Although Squad 1 grounds weren't terribly far from either of your barracks, you still weren't sure as to why Captain Aizen wished to meet out here. Initially you thought that perhaps he was just fond of this particular scenery, but really it could have been anything.

But still, you believed Aizen always had a purpose for everything he did.

After several moments, his warm voice replaced the evening silence, vocalizing your current thoughts. “I assume you are contemplating why it is I have asked you here, and I’m afraid the reason is quite benign. Truthfully, I just wished for your company. I often go on night walks to clear my head after a long day and thought I might invite you to join me this time, and have a conversation with each other."

Your brows shifted upwards, for that was not quite the answer you were expecting. It seemed too . . . simple. “Really? You just . . . wanted to talk with me? Plainly?”

The Squad 5 captain let out a short, soft laugh at the disbelief that was painted on your face. There was an expression of fondness present in his eyes and in the light smile he offered you. “Yes, exactly. I quite enjoy our discussions actually, they’re intellectually stimulating and relatively pleasant. You crossed my mind, and before yesterday, it has been quite some time since we’ve had the opportunity to unwind and talk.”

You hummed an mhmm in agreement, tearing your eyes away from Aizen’s side profile in favor of the hem of his captain’s haori, watching how it danced in the soft breeze. It seemed to be less distracting than the way Aizen peered down at you from time to time.

"I see. I am. . . . truly flattered by your words, Captain Aizen; you're too kind. Forgive me for asking but," you took longer strides so that you could fall into step next to him━ as if to speak to him more directly, "Why at this time? To talk with me, I mean. It couldn't wait until more . . . . . conventional hours?"

He chuckled again, and answered as smoothly as if he were awaiting you to ask him that. "Unfortunately, today's tasks ran a little long today, so I had to stay at my office later than usual." The spectacled man paused for a moment, before setting his soft gaze on you, "And besides, that completely defeats the purpose of inviting you on a night stroll, doesn't it?"

You ignored the heat flaring up in your cheeks again. Your mind refused to move past the fact that you had crossed Sōsuke Aizen's mind enough times━ or the times that he thought about you were significant enough━ and highly enough to invite you into his realm and indulge in these moments with him, when he very much could have done that alone.

A tender smile appeared on your lips, more towards yourself than the man next to you. "I. . . suppose it does."

The ashen-white moon only rose higher in the sky, providing an ambiance of tranquility as the both of you talked about whatever crossed the surface of your minds. Other times, the stillness of the night did the talking, and you'd listen to the leaves, and the wind, and the crickets sing together in harmony. Gradually as you walked and the beaten path grew more narrow, your figures drew closer together, until you could feel the long sleeves of his haori brush against your own.

You hadn't noticed that the two of you eventually stopped walking and paused under a tree until Aizen struck up conversation once more. When he called out your name in that gentle, velvety voice, you swore your heart was going to lurch out of your chest. The sound of your name rolled of his tongue so smoothly, the desire to hear it again grew within you.

"Uh━ yes, Captain Aizen?"

"Are you satisfied with way things are at the moment?"

You stood next to him, perplexed at his inquiry due to its vague nature. "Um, what. . . . things? I'm afraid I don't understand what you're asking."

The wind brushed Aizen's dark ochre tresses across his face as he took a step towards you, like the breeze itself was pushing him towards you. "Hm, perhaps I should be more clear then. Are you content with being a soul reaper? Are you satisfied with being a soldier for the Soul Society?"

With your brows slightly furrowed in thought, you remained silent for several seconds and overanalyzed his every word, trying to predict where he might be steering the conversation now. The longer you thought it over, the stronger that nagging feeling from within your soul became. The one that often told you what he was asking wasn't exactly . . . it didn't quite feel . . . . .

"This feels like a prelude to another insightful discussion on Shinigami━ and by extension━ Seiretei politics." Your words cut off your own thoughts, as if your mind was trying to sweep something under the proverbial rug.

Aizen huffed in amusement, before lightly shrugging, leaving your statement definitively unanswered.

You sighed as you seriously considered his question this time. "I mean sure, I guess. I'm somewhat satisfied with my job and all of . . . this," gesturing your hands in the air around you to emphasize your point. The 5th Division Captain made another humming noise, indicating that you still had his full attention. He inched a little closer into your personal space.

The mere action caused your next words to die in your throat and a quiet chuckle resounded from his, before your thoughts revived themselves again.

"Of course things could always be better but. . . . y'know. This is just how it is." You weren't quite sure if you should voice negative opinions about the Soul Society so plainly to a senior officer, even if he was the one who asked you in the first place, so you treaded lightly.

The same plainly relaxed smile from earlier remained painted across his lips, held in his chestnut irises was an emotion akin to affection. He seemed somewhat pleased that you were expressing your thoughts with him.

“And you? Are you satisfied, Captain Aizen?” You were unable to keep the teasing endearment out of your tone as you returned his gaze, casting aside the notions of Gotei officer seating and ranks for the moment. The air seemed like it shifted━ towards what, you weren't sure of━ but it kind of made you feel like you were adrift, floating in isolation from everything else around you.

It was still hard to process that you were alone with Captain Aizen right now. . . . at night.

A low hum reverberated within his chest, contemplative in nature as he replied, “Perhaps.”

The wind whistled lowly again, erecting goosebumps on whatever part of your skin happened to catch the midnight breeze. You fought the instinctual urge to twitch towards the nearest source of heat, which happened to be Aizen. Now that would be even more wholly inappropriate than the 'lovers meeting at midnight' scenario.

The silence between the both of you was brief, but comfortable nonetheless. Once more his mellifluous voice cut through the quiet, leveled and calm, like still ocean waters.

“Come. I want to show you something,” Aizen reached his arm out towards you, your spine as straight as if someone stuck a metal rod dipped in ice water down your robes.

The captain's movements seemed steady and slow━ it had felt like time itself had hesitated for several moments. You thought he was going to . . . . well you weren't sure what he was going to do, and that's what you made you nervous.

Was he going to touch you? Cradle your cheek? Remove a stray leaf that happened to land on your head? You were left somewhat dangling in anticipation, not daring to flinch backwards because you felt it would be disrespectful or offensive. You hadn't even blinked, subconsciously fearing that this was only a very vivid daydream.

But alas, when his arm drew near it extended past your head, slightly above you, and held a small branch in his palm it like a delicate flower. You released a breath you didn't know you were holding, but that breath drew short again when your gaze was eye level with his lower neck and chin.

He seemed . . . . closer.

“I think that regarding the condition of the Soul Society," Aizen began in a quiet voice, referencing his own reply to his earlier question, "and therefore my thoughts about it, is akin to this set of leaves on this branch."

Snapping out of whatever stupor you seemed to have slipped in, you exhaled softly before stepping back a bit to look at what he was talking about. In his palm he cradled a wayward branch that grew from one of the other sturdier branches of the tree. The green foliage of its arms had started to weaken and dull in color. The cold air due to the seasonal transition to autumn caused the leaves become brittle, nearing closer to the edge of death.

The sound of just how brittle they were resounded in the air when Aizen thumbed the leaves in between his fingertips, observing their texture with pity laced in his small movements.

"These leaves will fall off as it gets colder. And soon, the rest of this tree will be bare as well. When the time comes, when the right circumstances fall into place, the old die to make way and usher in the new; it's simply the way things are. I think of the Soul Society government is structured in a similar manner."

You hung onto his every word, like he were imparting crucial wisdom to you. Even though you were a bit confused on the last part, and on the connection between dying leaves and Soul Society, you still listened intently, waiting for him bridge the gap between the two.

"The Soul Society as it is now can be thought of as a season. And this particular season, this climate has remained so for several centuries. How can nature continue━ how can we continue to progress when the old have yet to be washed away by the currents of time? It defies that of nature, yes?" He directed this question at you specifically, in search of your agreement.

You nodded your head, tearing your gaze away from the branch and directed it at the grass beneath your feet. Your brows furrowed a little as you mused over Aizen's words. He gave a rather ambiguous answer before but now, his words sounded like vague displeasure and muted criticism. Everyone was entitled to their opinion, and on some fronts, you'd sometimes agreed with the 5th Division Captain. The Soul Society was far from perfect, too much emphasis on nobility and status, the government resembled too closely to an oligarchy . . . But you didn't━ wouldn't voice these thoughts, though.

Instead you hummed quietly under your breath. There was that tugging sensation again. This time it told you that there was something deeper to this conversation than meets the eye. But what could there be? Was there anything at all or were you just overthinking it?

The voice-like sensation in your soul was calling out to you, but you couldn't hear it that well or quite make out what it was saying. It's as if someone was calling out to you in a crowded room that had music playing on the speakers: you felt like if you listened hard enough you could make it out but ultimately, the result would fruitless.

"And when that happens," Aizen continued, "sometimes nature has to be gently nudged back on track to keep things moving smoothly. That may require . . . shaking the tree. Pulling a few harmful weeds from one's garden, so to speak."

"Weeds?" You echoed. You felt like you understood this analogy and therefore what he was trying to say, but at the same time you didn't. Or was it . . . . you didn't want to understand what he was implying?

Because if you were interpreting his words correctly, if he were inconspicuously comparing the higher-ups and the government itself to dying leaves and harmful plants that needed to be removed, then . . . .

"You, dear child, are a mere weed in this scenario."

Wait, what did he just━

Your thoughts were cut short when a gush of air that smelt strongly of Aizen━ warm oak, vanilla, and a kind of musk that you weren't sure how to describe but was still pleasant all the same━ brushed against your face and took you by surprise.

But there was another aroma that arose, steadily becoming more apparent alongside the increasingly painful throbbing feeling you felt in your abdomen.

It smelt metallic. And it was something that you've smelt all too many times before.

It was blood.

Your gaze that was initially narrowed in confusion lowered as it followed the source of this pain. Your eyes slowly widened in as you struggled to comprehend the blade that was currently ran through your torso.

Aizen's blade.

"Actually, instead of weeds, a more accurate and befitting analogy perhaps would be blades of grass. You unfortunately have to step on them in order to reach the weeds you want to remove."

You couldn't really focus on what the captain was saying, because your brain was still struggling to process what the hell just happened. Your hands slowly rose from their sides and shakily grazed the zanpakuto, wanting to believe that if you touched it, it would pass right through your fingers like mist. But no, the sensation of cold steel was as real as the robes you wore on your back. You only just now are processing the muffled squelching sound of his sword impaling your flesh.

You wanted to scream, to cry in pain, to vomit, to push him off━ something. But all you could do was stand there, stunned, words completely failing you. "Wh. . . . what? Why did . . . . you . . . . "

A cough replaced your attempt at a comprehensive sentence, and you tasted iron in your mouth.

Fuck....was this really happening?

"Please don't push yourself trying to talk," His voice was like an index finger to one's lips, similar to a parent's gentle caress to quiet and sooth their child, "You'll only hasten your death. And I'm sure you wish to know the reason for my killing you, yes? You'd have to be alive for that."

'Killing me?' 'My death?' The certainty that rang in his words chilled the blood in your veins, and they confirmed the one conclusion you hoped wouldn’t come true: that you were going to die.

The frigid embrace of fear and dread engulfed you from behind and you shivered, causing the blade snugly lodged in your organs to shift. The pain of that foreign object moving even a little bit shot through your entire body, causing a groan to emerge from your throat.

Desperate to conserve your energy and the oxygen that was becoming a little harder to take in, your breathing became uneven and a little wheezed. Even then, you couldn’t bring yourself to meet the gaze of Captain Aizen to confirm if this was really happening or just an extremely realistic and vivid nightmare. The sight you might be greeted with could be more frightening than the actual impaling of his sword.

As if his betrayal couldn’t actually or figuratively cut you any deeper, just then there was a noise that grew louder and louder within a matter of seconds until it was almost deafening. You’ve distinguished it to be the sound of glass crackling.

Your surroundings formed cracks everywhere on its surface, like it was just an oversized window. Even on the grass you stood on, or what you thought was grass, began to crumble away.

A dumbfounded but panicked look was plastered on your face when your world literally shattered around you, the only remnants of it being you and the Captain.

What was underneath the mirage━ or you should say, the fact that it was a mirage at all━ only disturbed you and increased your perplexity.

Slightly hunched over and breathing heavily, it took a minute to process where you were, but you noticed that now the two of you stood in a formal room that looked like it was used for important meetings. The lights in the room slowly started to brighten, most likely due to motion sensors. Even with Aizen's scent lingering in your nose, you could still pick out a rather stale aroma that hung in the air like dead fruit that hadn't fallen off the tree.

"Is . . . this Cen . . . tral━ "

"You are correct. Where we currently stand is the assembly hall for Central 46, the judicial power of the Soul Society. All judiciary as well as legislative trials and proceedings are held here."

All around the room were seats with partitions, the kanji for 1 through 46 printed on them. In the seat for the 19th member, your gaze caught onto something on the translucent barrier. It was a little farther up so you had to squint your already blurring vision to see it properly.

You saw, and your heart promptly sank as a result, eyes widening once more.

There were splatters of a dark colored substance on the partition━ undeniably blood. And the lithe, bony fingers of an older man laid lifeless, peeking out from the side of the screen like the appendages themselves were trying to escape from the body they were attached to.

That man . . . was dead. That stale aroma you smelt was the stench of death.

It was only after that unsettling epiphany did your eyes dart frantically around the room and realize that every member of Central 46 was dead.

The disturbed expression on your face only intensified as your stare was pulled back down to where Aizen's blade still resided in your body.

" Cap.....Aizen," you uttered, swift to correct yourself. All the moisture in your throat dried up like water underneath the unrelenting rays of the sun. You kept gulping your saliva in an attempt to assuage the sensation, but relief only last for a fleeting few seconds. "Did you ━ you killed them . . . didn't you?" Your question was laced with shaky hesitance and swelled with apprehension, fearing that you already knew his reply even before he answered.

There was a moment of silence and a hum before he replied. "Smart girl."

The muted mirthful tone in his voice sounded like sarcasm, and it was enough to finally draw your attention away from everything else and directly look at him. Almost instantly, you regretted it.

His umber tinted gaze was colder than you remembered. You couldn't find anything in his eyes that hinted that all of this was just a big misunderstanding, or a dream, or that Aizen had a secret sense dark and complex humor.

This was your first, and apparently your last time, that you have ever felt a fear such as this. Your mind was struggling to comprehend this was the same Aizen that spoke with you so gently, full of encouragement and wisdom. The same man that recommended you books to read and gifted you tea to drink and gazed upon you like . . .

Well, none of that mattered now. In this moment, Sōsuke Aizen wasn't the same man anymore. This Sōsuke Aizen was someone else, and it frightened you.

"When?" you croaked, your voice no longer sounding like your own. Nothing felt real anymore. "W-When did you . . . . . how? Why?"

Another noncommittal hum resounded from the spectacled man as he closed his eyes, feigning the action of thinking of an answer. When he reopened them, his narrow gaze returned to you.

"Everyone in the Thirteen Court Guard Squads was previously aware that the ability of my zanpakuto, Kyoka Suigetsu, allowed me to confuse the enemy using bodies of water, mist and even moisture in the air in order to attack. However, that is not my zanpakuto's actual power; there is more to it than just simple confusion. Kyoka Suigetsu's true power is Complete Hypnosis. Essentially, when someone looks at my blade, I am then able to take control of that person’s five senses, causing them to believe that something is real ━ or that something isn't real. In a way, once glancing at my unsheathed zanpakuto, that person forfeits their sense of existence to me. Kyoka Suigetsu is quite flawless in its deceptive abilities."

A heavy silence, aside from your uneven breaths, endured in the space between both of you. You didn't need him to spell out what he was trying to say.

It was all . . . . an illusion. A convoluted, premeditated illusion. And you walked right into it without even knowing or considering, that it was all fake.

The Fifth Division Captain inwardly smiled at the despair clearly written on your face as he watched you mentally put the pieces together. He took your lack of reply as a sign to continue. "The members of Central 46 have unfortunately been dead for quite some time now. And as for your question of why......"

The taller man stepped towards you which inadvertently (or purposely, you began to fear), drove his sword deeper into your abdomen without warning and slight force. You bit down on your bottom lip hard to stifle your exclamation of pain. In an attempt to somehow resist him, with the little strength you had left, your hands automatically took purchase in his oversized sleeves, but it did nothing. You found it ironic that you could feel how warm Aizen was underneath his robes, but his soul was anything but.

" . . . . I believe I already mentioned it earlier, yes? All flowers die eventually and the weeds......must be removed."

At that moment you remembered that tugging sensation that told you something felt off in some instances whenever you talked with Aizen. This must have been what it was. Damn it all. You still didn't understand exactly what bad things Central 46 and the Soul Society have done to cause his actions, but based on what you've been told and your current position, it must have been heinous. Again, you actively swallowed the urge to vomit.

"You . . . you lied. I can't believe━ how could it have all b-been a lie?" Another nasty cough rattled your body, followed by a shiver and a groan.

The brown-haired man slightly tilted his head, like he was truly confused. "Lied? Hmm, well. I suppose you could put it that way based on your limited knowledge of the circumstances, but I wouldn't put it that way. Besides, this isn't really about truth or lies. It is, and always has been, only about the reality of what is. And what is, is that you were unable to anticipate my deception. No one could, because it was outside the domain of your thoughts. What is, is that the current way the Soul Society operates is tainted, and I shall be the one to remedy it."

You drew another shuddering breath and looked down at the ground with a grim expression as your blood continued to pool at your feet. Briefly, you even considered unsheathing yourself from his blade and take the chance to make a run for it, but the chances of you making it to the outside world, let alone coming across someone before you bled out and died were slim. Besides, it was clear that you couldn't even trust your own senses anymore after Aizen demonstrated that he had complete control of your reality.

Which reminded you of something else.

" . . . when?" you asked the same question again, but much quieter than before, despair palpable in your voice. 'When and how did you subject me to your zanpakuto's Complete Hypnosis?', is what you were really asking. And being as intelligent as he was, the spectacled man understood.

Abruptly, with a large palm on the small of your back, Aizen used his gentle hold grip to pull you towards him in order to close the remaining distance, causing him to drive the remaining length of his zanpakuto all the way through until the tsuba of his blade rested against your stomach. You looked like a skewered piece of meat.

You didn't have the willpower to hold back the piercing shriek of agony and physical anguish as tears sprung forth from your eyes. You could no longer tell if your blurry vision was due to your tears obstructing your sight or if it was from being a step away from death's door.

"Do you remember . . . the first time we met?"

The hand that rested on your lower back slowly glided upwards until his fingers found your jaw. With a tenderness that reminded you of a time before his betrayal, he lifted your chin and guided your gaze to look at him directly. His thumb moved to graze your bottom lip just as you've done mere hours ago━ as if he knew that, as if he watched you do it. His thumb was dangerously close to slipping inside your mouth and that both excited and scared you. Your breasts against his, your breaths synchronized with his, your body and his were fully pressed against each other and it made focusing on his question more difficult.

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. The first time . . . we met? Sure, with a little bit of effort you could easily recall the first time you formally met Aizen. It was sometime in the spring, and you remembered him running through combat formations with his lieutenant and the rest of his squad. But why d━

A silent gasp left you. Another epiphany, another figurative blade piercing your heart.

Battle formations, and he . . . offered you to join them . . . his zanpakuto . . . . .

Confusion crumbled away, and was replaced with vacant horror and sadness. It seems you've already been defeated, for many, many years now.

Aizen seemed to murmur something under his breath, a pleased sound you couldn't quite decipher. His mouth brushed over yours, rendering you literally speechless, before he closed the distance and brought your lips together. You could barely process what was happening.

It was ironically tragic how soft and skillfully gentle his lips were against yours. The kiss felt longing, like a departure between two sweethearts and their last meeting together. It also felt heavy and final, making you want to cry.

And you did. Silent tears streamed from your eyes and rolled onto the fingers that still held your face so affectionately. The captain reacted by guiding your chin up a little further, dipping his head a little lower, so he could deepen the kiss. You weakly scorned yourself for thinking about how the two of you must really look like lovers now, sans the sword sticking out from your back.

Oh, how cruel this was; how cruel he was. It was cruel for him to kiss you like this, hand still splayed on your back like he needed to touch you stay sane. And how cruel it was that still managed to enjoy it, even as you stood there dying. Your lips moved together in tandem, slow and almost passionate, all while tears stained the apples of your cheeks, drying up the plush youth that once resided in them.

Aizen's tongue had slithered its way into your mouth, and you suddenly felt like crying harder. There was a tart, sweet flavor lingering on his tastebuds, and you absently wondered what is was. Perhaps hibiscus from tea, you surmised. And he too tasted the sweet jasmine and citrus that clung your tongue and lips. At this, he chuckled quietly into your mouth, humming before retracting from you by a few inches so he could speak.

"I knew you would like the tea. It's sweet and flavorful, isn't it?" You hated how low his voice was, how its timbre pleasurably vibrated and rumbled against your lips, and you hated that lidded stare he gave you. You again thought it unfair that you couldn't even revel in the rare sight of Aizen's lips slightly wet because your lips were intertwined with his.

"I have to thank you for humoring me and my recommendations. I really appreciated it. And I also," you winced loudly and cried out in affliction as Aizen finally began to withdraw the sword from your body, "must to bid you farewell now. It seems you don't have any more time left, and this has dragged on for longer than it needed. I'm not surprised you've held out for this long, as I already knew you possessed commendable strength. But alas it wasn't enough. I am sorry that you have to die; it's rather regrettable that you happened to be that blade of grass that ended up underneath my foot."

Another wail was yanked from your chest as he steadily removed his sword from your abdomen. The pain was becoming excruciating, you would have collapsed by now if the taller man weren't holding you.

You saw two things before the light in your eyes had all but faded away. The first were the colors of faux pity and apathy that swirled in Sōsuke Aizen's irises, spiraling like a storm that was certain to wreak havoc in its wake. His gaze was devoid of any regret or remorse; the final metaphorical nail on the coffin. The second was a small smile.

But this wasn't one of his smiles you were familiar with. No wait . . . . the one you knew was simply a veneer of what is.

This smile was slanted, the corners of his lips tilted upwards and was sharp. Sharp enough to cut open your already gaping wound further and completely tear you apart, spelling out your demise. It looked insidious as if it were hiding razor-edged fangs. This was what is; Aizen's real smile.

"I. . . I see. Aize. . . ." were the last words you were able to manage. You didn't have the strength to be upset or hurt any longer, so you gave in to the exhaustion.

Your body permanently relaxed, long lashes veiling your now empty eyes as your arms lifelessly dropped to your sides. The captain found a disturbing amount of pleasure in his name being the final word you attempted to speak before succumbing to the sleep of death.

And even after the fact, the facade of doomed, star-crossed lovers persisted as your body slumped backwards. Aizen's strong forearm wrapped tightly around your waist being the only reason you didn't fall to the ground in a puddle of your own blood.

That day was the last anyone saw of you, your zanpakuto still laid idly in your room, its spirit destined to forever wander in the afterlife between worlds alone, eventually fading from existence without ever feeling the presence of its master again.

They had declared you missing by the end of the next day. Lieutenant Hisagi was probably the most perturbed about your sudden disappearance. Days, weeks passed, and they never located you. The Gotei 13 was left unsettled by the lack of progress, but ultimately had to rule your case inconclusive. Some believed that you were simply killed by a stray hollow, or even ran away from your duties because of the stress.

The news of what happened spread like wildfire across all the squads, that a high-ranked officer just up and vanished without a trace. The spirits and morale of the thirteen companies dampened, sorrow and worry swelling like a festering boil.

And that boil burst when Ryoka infiltrated the Soul Society, and when it was revealed that all of it was carefully orchestrated by Sōsuke Aizen.

Like a blade of grass that somehow snuck into one's sandals or in between their toes, during his time in Hueco Mundo, images of you flashed in his head at unexpected times when his mind was quiet. He'd remove the grass, tossed you aside, and moved on with his day. There was no room for you in the grand scheme of things. Such reminisces were beneath someone like him.

And yet.

He'd always find another piece of grass from the greenery he stepped on whenever he advanced a step in his plans. There you were again.

It was common knowledge that if you kept repeating the same action over and over, it will eventually wear you down.

━━━━━━ 鏡 ━━━━━━━

It was dark, and there was nothing.

There had been nothing for quite a long time now. Utter darkness and the abyssal shade of black engulfed every inch of Aizen's body and surroundings.

He saw nothing, the seals over his eyes too opaque to let anything through. And even if they weren't obscuring his vision, he would barely be able to see three feet in front of him; there was seldom a few lanterns in his cell to begin with. He felt nothing but the bindings that kept him imprisoned in one of the deepest pits of the Seireitei. At times it felt like even his internal organs had stilled in their functions. He heard nothing but the unrelenting quiet of his cell within Mugen's maw. The only thing that served as proof that he hasn't spontaneously grown deaf yet was the occasional muffled noise that originated from outside of the entrance. And even then, he could hardly hear much of anything.

Such is an ironic fate for someone who, with a stray thought and a glint of his blade, could control someone's senses and take away their free will to experience those senses in their reality. And now, he was stripped away of all of his in nearly every capacity.

Sōsuke Aizen was rendered stationary and stagnant, qualities he detested and were the antithesis of his ambitions and plans, perhaps even his existence.

Aizen had always believed in being in control of your own destiny and making your own choices; if you had the opportunity and the power to change something━ especially if it was something that was wrong, unfair or immoral━ then one should be able to move towards that goal by making change, even if by force. The former captain had always been intentional about his actions and his desires right from the start.

And yet, here he ended up.

Spending years strapped to a chair in this dark, cloistered hole, Aizen had nothing but time to reflect the reason for his arrest: that orange haired Ryoka boy, Ichigo Kurosaki. He had nothing but time to admit to himself and settle on the conclusion that his last battle with the substitute Shinigami . . . did something to him.

Fighting the Ryoka boy ignited something inside him that he previously believed would forever lay dormant.

The thrill of a challenge.

Adrenaline was injected into his veins with each clash of their swords, spreading far and wide across every inch of his body. It no longer reacted in the measured, calculative manner he had programmed it to, but with unadulterated, pure instinct and raw power━ all in an effort to not only withstand such potent spirit energy from his opponent, but to come out on top and win.

It made him feel alive.

Aizen's desire to be the victor in battle and in his philosophy━ to prove himself right━ both fueled him and consumed him so thoroughly it led to his own downfall. That was a rather difficult fact to acknowledge; so much so his head started to pulsate intensely whenever it crossed his mind one time too often.

All of it unfolded right in front of his eyes and yet . . . he didn't really see it happen.

As time passed during his perpetual incarceration, with hooded eyes, the former captain spent an unfathomable amount of time tossing and turning every single event that led him to this underground prison, even pondering his temporary release by the Head Captain Kyōraku to fight in the war. Scenarios both minor and significant displayed itself in front of his mind's eye as if he were watching a film.

Every so often, a blurred visage of your image would make a brief appearance, like the flickering sparks of a match before they were able to come to light, fading away into the void and were overshadowed by his other thoughts. It was as if his own consciousness and intentionally muted any manifestations of your existence in his memories. As if he wasn't able to or allowed to see them━ to remember you for too long.

Mentally reliving moments from the last several months, years, decades, centuries━ trying to analyze each moment and decipher where it could have went wrong━ turned out to be quite an exhausting task. His mind and body would grow heavier with inertia, and eventually he would succumb to the alluring pull of slumber. After some time he would rouse from his sleep, and continued from where he left off.

These were his daily activities day in and day out (even though he had trouble distinguishing day and night in his chambers) for years. He saw a positive side to it though. He'd instead think of it has him getting stronger because he had spent so long . . . thinking. Ruminating. Contemplating every possibility in the past, present, and future. His mind would become as sharp as his zanpakuto.

Aizen had always been intentional about what he did, what he said, and how he conducted himself. He was sure in his abilities to orchestrate an image━ a belief for others to have faith in, and act on it in order to further his goals. He was always sure in that image, knowing who he was and what he stood for.

Or at least, that's what he thought.

Aizen wasn't consciously aware that his certainty in this crafted image had already begun to waver. He could not and was unable to anticipate how severe these small fractures had become until after a certain lieutenant paid him a visit outside his cell of confinement, right before he was scheduled to be thrown back into that dark hole of the Mugen.

Lieutenant Shuhei Hisagi was quite emotive when he burst through the doors. His expressions were contorted in volatile mixture of frustration, anger and sadness. His emotions were every which way, directed at everything that has happened so far, including himself. He was especially emotive at Aizen specifically for what he did to former captain Kaname Tosen and 'corrupting him with his twisted ideals.'

Aizen found amusement in that.

Before he was rolled away by the punishment force and therefore out of earshot, a particular set of Hisagi's words caused the small, content smile on his lips to uncurl ever so slightly. "Everything . . . and everyone that has ever gotten themselves involved with you has been trampled on by you and your ideals one way or another, and they all end up dead. If you think what you did to Captain Tosen was justified━ to call it mercy . . . . . then there is truly no justice in this world. You will . . . forever be the enemy in my eyes."

There was a trembling anger in his voice. Pain that wanted to cry out and be set free but, the thin lid of reason prevented it from doing so. And after a moment of silence, the corners of Aizen's lips curved upwards once more. A little bemused, a little more wolfish this time. He maliciously imagined Hisagi's reaction if he ever discovered the true reason for your disappearance.

But instead, all he said was. "What an interesting thing to say, Shuhei Hisagi. Your conviction is admirable." Any evidence of emotion that might have been reflected in his sepia irises was swallowed up and obscured by the darkness of the Mugen's jaw.

The cracks in Aizen's sense of self, in his beliefs, in the image he invented started to cave under the weight of Hisagi's words before he himself realized it was happening. They were like stains in the fabric of his mind that refused to come out.

What puzzled him more, was that with each attempt to figure out just why Hisagi's words echoed in his mind, they all lead back to you, the third seat of the 9th squad. Annoyingly so.

The tattooed lieutenant hadn’t said anything particularly profound ━ at least, Aizen didn't think so. Your name didn’t even fall from his lips. So why were memories of you and your likeness the only clear thoughts he could make of Hisagi's speech? Was it because he was aware of how close the two of you were? He doubted the reason were that trivial and insignificant.

His thoughts grew more discordant by the day, his soul a little more weighted than usual. Perhaps these new seals that Urahara had fashioned actually had an effect on him, Aizen thought. It made sense. His intellect, other than his own, were the only ones capable of creating such effective restraints.

After a while, he had a revelation. This was a different kind of weight.

This heaviness, the closest word he knew to describe it as . . . . was loneliness.

Time taunted him as it seemed to drag on━ Aizen grew even less sure of how much━ when he came to this realization. Hisagi's words were a clear mirror to the loneliness that echoed within him after what happened to you and to Tosen. It was so . . . potent, that it seemed to strike some chord in Aizen he had never heard before.

Such a chord, this sound of loneliness, it was strange and uncomfortable; he wasn't very fond of this sensation. He'd try to scrub it away, but it was all for naught.

His eyes had slid shut at some point, his ruminations leading to dead ends and wearing him down. And, almost as expected, there you were again, in all your translucent glory. The hem, the sleeves, and even the smell of your yukata slowly dragged across his dreams, haunting his thoughts like a lonely wraith.

And Aizen hardly dreamt of anything.

When he regained consciousness he was plagued with yet another epiphany. An additional reason behind this newfound depth.

Aizen's own loneliness. Guilt. Much to his own quiet horror.

How foreign and unusual a thing like guilt is. It was like looking into a mirror and not recognizing something you had never noticed before, but wondered if it had always been there.

But the thing Aizen did recognize, how lonely he actually felt, was something he had hoped would never resurface again. It was a notion he hadn't had the time or regard to consider━ 'loneliness'. Its only purpose, if any, was solely to serve as a motivator. At times though, it was more like a hindrance.

Something akin to nausea slowly started to bubble up in the pit of his stomach, but he suppressed the sensation before it became any more intense.

What of his previous actions did he need to feel guilty for? He hadn't felt it then, so why would he feel it now? Again he ruminated such a question endlessly into oblivion.

The former captain had no doubts that his plan to remove the Soul King, and therefore the Soul Society's sins, were necessary.

Nor did any hesitancy about removing the opposition or dead weight━ whether shinigami or arrancar━ existed.

He certainly had no reservations against killing Kaname Tosen, for he knew the man well enough to know that Tosen would have been so thoroughly appalled with what he had become, it would have drove him mad.

So what was it, then? Why were such useless emotions as guilt and loneliness being amplified n━

"Y....know, S....."

Even covered by the seals, Aizen's eyes widened and his brows were slightly furrowed in distress. Had his mind finally tipped the scales of sanity and madness, to the point where he was hearing things?

It was quiet for several moments longer, before his senses caught onto the sound of water dripping onto a hard surface.

One drop at a time.

Its cadence a little too rhythmic to be natural. And for a second time, he heard that soft, ominous sounding whisper. Its voice a little clearer this time.

"You...know.....Sōsuke."

In the second it took for his eyes to flutter shut behind its seals to blink, when he reopened them, he was no longer sealed to the walls and floors of the Mugen, nor was he surrounded by every shade of darkness imaginable. His limbs and senses were finally freed to breathe for the first time in what felt like ages.

That relief was short-lived when his senses absorbed the unending landscape of water underneath his feet, water lilies lifelessly floating on its surface, and the dim sky illuminated by a full pale moon.

Aizen was in his inner world, and now he was aware of how he got here, or rather who brought him here.

"You . . . already know the answer to that question, Sōsuke." The voice was even more clear, its sentences more comprehensible. And it sounded it eerily like you.

Why the voice was impersonating your likeness had caught him off guard for half a second, but he realized it was only the work of his zanpakuto, Kyoka Suigetsu.

An illusion it may be, there was an untouchable quality about your voice and how you spoke that even Kyoka Suigetsu couldn't replicate.

A few feet away from him, the water was disturbed by a being emerging from the depths. Ripples formed around a manifested version of his zanpakuto, who took the form of you, smiling ever so gently. The smile felt airy, and it didn't seem like the same one that haunted his dreams and every waking thought as of late. It felt....knowing.

Still, the former captain couldn't be bothered to maintain eye contact with his sword spirit, so he turned around and opted to keep his unreadable stare trained on the vast expanse of water and white lilies.

"It's been quite a while since I have stepped foot into this realm. There must be something you want . . . Kyoka."

The zanpakuto chuckled, it sounded like the way you would softly laugh at one of his clever quips. But this wasn't you.

He didn’t want to admit that something about that fact didn’t sit right with him.

"Judging from your tone, would I be correct in assuming you don't want to be here?"

Silence rang out within the soul scape, before Aizen interrupted it, his gentle voice colored a shade darker, and a little rigid. "And I fail to see the reason why you must take that form when you revealed yourself to me. Is your aim to get a reaction out of me? Or something along those lines?"

Your eyes━ the eyes of Kyoka Suigetsu━ narrowed at its master's back, as if they were trying to create concavities in his skull. But the expression was washed away the moment it appeared, the serene smile from before was back in place.

"You know . . . it's considered quite rude to not look at someone when you're addressing them. That, and when you deliberately ignore things they say. Your manners have been deteriorating, Sōsuke. Tsk, tsk."

Kyoka-dressed-as-you suddenly appeared before him, as if they had teleported. Even when they were in his peripheral vision, Aizen still maintained his stare off into the distant nothingness.

"Unless, you can't find it in yourself to look at me. . . that's correct, isn't it? It's because I look exactly like her, right?" The zanpakuto continued to provoke him, taking a step closer into his personal space.

With an exasperated sigh, his eyelids fell shut for a second, using that time to gather the strength he didn't know he needed, and directed his gaze to meet his spirit's. Aizen's face gave nothing away, but his heart lurched about his chest when his bronze eyes met with yours, or what was made to look like yours. The undesired affect it had on him was all the same.

"If you wish to chastise me about manners, I suggest you take your own advice. You didn't answer my first question, either: what is it you want? Why am I here?" Again the former captain chose to not address the other parts of Kyoka's statement. For the sake of his sanity and his thinning patience━ or was it to preserve his resolve?

Its smile widened a bit, moving another step closer to their master. God, Kyoka even smelled like you, mimicking your signature honeyed scent that Aizen didn't realize he found so intoxicating until this very moment.

"I called you here to save you from yourself."

Aizen remained silent, only narrowing his eyes in speculation. "Meaning?"

"Didn't I already say it earlier? I think you already know what I'm talking about, Sōsuke. You've always known."

Fate's pairing of Kyoka Suigetsu with Aizen was a match crafted from the spindles of heaven, but also a maddening curse pulled from the depths of hell, for they complimented each other a little too well. The zanpakuto was too perfect a reflection of Aizen and his soul, looking at it started to hurt his eyes.

His sword spirit insisted that he already knew the reason for his coming here, and perhaps he did have an inkling the moment the light of epiphany was shone on his profound loneliness and guilt. But that couldn't have been what it was referring to . . . . could it?

"You cannot feign ignorance here, my dear Sōsuke, however I do find it rather humorous you bother trying. If you'd like, I don't mind humoring you by spelling it out for you. I'd be glad to unearth the truth that you have buried in the most neglected corner of your heart."

"When you were . . . . subjecting yourself to such mental torment, it had an affect on this world as well. The ripples, the waves in this scape become quite . . . tumultuous." The nuances in your voice were perfected by his zanpakuto, but the way it talked sounded like a fog that was gradually closing in from over the horizon. The uneasy feeling that resided in his chest traveled down to his stomach, but Aizen's face remained steely, even when Kyoka Suigetsu took that final step to close the gap in between them. "And the reason for that, the reason why Hisagi's words rattled you so is because you regret killing that woman."

The creased line in Aizen's brow grew more prominent as he stared down his sentient sword spirit. With its breast pressed against his, they placed a hand on his clothed chest in a tantalizing manner, but he felt nothing. There was no warmth from its palm, much unlike when your hand touched him. There wasn't even a cool sensation either. Even minutes before your death, your touch brought a soothing heat that permeated through his shihakusho and penetrated his skin.

Kyoka's face grew nearer, their smile━ although still tender looking━ grew cold at its edges, nearly resembling that of a predator eager to see despair reflected in the eyes of its prey. It didn't fit the graceful allure of your face at all, and seeing this expression deeply unsettled the former captain more than he would like to admit.

"You regret . . . killing me."

A chill tore through Aizen's body, the weight of Kyoka's words adding onto the heaviness that still hasn't been alleviated from his heart; he was hardly able to suppress the involuntary shiver.

Without warning, Kyoka's mouth suddenly became dangerously close to their master's, its lips brushing against his in a provocative manner. Aizen's expression darkened when he realized that it was reenacting his last encounter with you when you were alive. His mouth started to grow uncomfortably dry, despite his soul scape being full of moisture, and there was a taste on the back of his tongue that's been lingering there since he arrived.

The lilt in Kyoka's tone continued to taunt him. "That is the reason for your guilt: regret. You have been in denial. And in the spirit of unearthing truths, I suppose I can admit that perhaps . . . . I've been . . . . encouraging said delusions, adding drops of fuel into the flames of your emotions and ambitions. But after all that's happened, when it comes down to it there's no point in continuing this hallucination any longer. I've grown tired of this game, so it's time to for you wake up now, Sōsuke. I've brought you here to release you from your own illusion, to completely shatter it."

Aizen's back was as stiff as a board, not moving a millimeter when Kyoka's lips grazed his again. They were breathing softly onto his mouth, but he hardly felt any puffs of air.

The former captain was having a rather difficult time processing the fact that his zanpakuto had its own agenda and had been manipulating his emotions without him noticing. Specifically the emotions he felt towards you.

He never truly believed that such a thing was possible, one's own blade having such a deep-rooted influence━ no, control over their master. Or would it be more accurate to say that he never expected himself to be controlled to such a degree? He that prided himself on being freed from the marionette strings of fate that were tied to his limbs and mind, he that relished being able to do what he wanted, think what he wanted, feel what he wanted━ or what he didn't want━ it was hard to believe that none of that mattered in the end.

Kyoka Suigetsu's deceptive abilities were indeed undeniably perfect. No one, not even Aizen himself could have anticipated that Kyoka's most absolute and complete hypnosis would be enacted on himself.

"Do you know now, Sōsuke? Do you understand?" Kyoka's voice was as soft as a whisper, but it couldn't hide the edges of its tone that were still sharpened from finding amusement of seeing the truth flash across its master's face. "You had destroyed the solution to your existential question of loneliness, before you could fully understand the question itself."

Yes . . . . . Aizen understood now.

He didn't bother acknowledging what Kyoka had said. His grim facial expression━ still, tinged with dolor, and paired with an indescribable, distant look his eyes━ said all that it needed to. His silence was as much as an admission as any.

Kyoka-dressed-as-you leaned forward again to fully close the gap between their lips and Aizen's. Tenderly, like the intentions of a lover, it spoke against his nearly closed mouth. "Have you figured it out yet?"

Nothing but quiet could be heard between them, as Kyoka's mouth moved about their master's face and placed something like kisses upon its surface, but not quite.

Aizen's cocoa-shaded eyes slide down to stare at his sword spirit pressed up against him. His gaze was hard, and yet something swam underneath its surface that his zanpakuto had never seen before. Melancholy, it guessed? They weren't quite sure.

Kyoka pressed on when Aizen remained quiet. "The taste in the back of your mouth. Have you figured out what it was? You know it quite well....."

Aizen's tongue grazed the roof of his mouth, sensing the rather unpleasant taste that has coated the inside of it. And within a moment, because he was faced with the current circumstances, Aizen had finally placed a name associated this particular taste. How unfortunate this was.

Upon his realization, Aizen's head lowered, and his brown tresses hung freely over his lashes. Perhaps it was so Kyoka couldn't properly see whatever remorseful expression painted their master's face, but it mattered not. Even from here, the sword spirit could already sense exactly what it was he was feeling.

And they loved it.

"It's a sweet and flavorful taste, isn't it? Quite lovely." Kyoka Suigetsu mimicked the exact words he uttered against your lips all those years ago when he tasted jasmine tea on your tongue, and sealed your death with a kiss. "It's too bad you don't seem to enjoy it anymore."

Aizen's chest continued to rise and fall calmly, and the hands of his sword spirit that rested there glided upwards to cup his strong jaw, caressing his skin with its thumb. Its phantasmic touch did nothing to stir their master.

"Sōsuke, do you know what the jasmine flower from that tea symbolizes?"

Aizen's lips were slightly parted, but again he didn't say anything. Instead, its corners twitched and lifted upwards by an inch, and he huffed softly.

Kyoka Suigetsu grinned in reply. "Good."

The next time Aizen blinked, he was plunged in darkness yet again. The restrictive feeling that swallowed his being whole had returned, and was an indicator that his zanpakuto had released him from his inner world. He was consciously back in the Mugen, back in this abyss they called a prison cell.

Kyoka was indeed as much as a formidable force in its own right, as much as, if not greater than Aizen himself.

The conversation he had with his sword spirit would be cemented in his head for all eternity. When he grew senile and began to physically wither away, the one thing that would remain vital like a young heart, was this epiphany that he had. This realization that he actually . . . .

As the chains of despair bound him tighter to the bottom of the metaphorical pit, regret and his loneliness corroding his flesh and spirit like metal exposed to moisture, a stray memory of his time in Hueco Mundo flashed in his mind. He recalled having tea prepared for meetings with his Espadas and he could not pinpoint when, but at some point, Aizen developed an aversion for jasmine flavored tea. For one reason or another, he no longer found its taste appealing; whenever he drank it, it always tasted bitter.

Now that reason had become painstakingly clear.

The binding on his mouth muffled a rueful chuckle at the though, and it trapped the flavor of jasmine on his lips.

(#) @soaringmirror @stygianoir @ryukenzz @blkjupiters @chrissie2003 @nymphoheretic @dejwrld @triangularz @souyaszn @kuujo @honeybleed @valentineluvu . let me know if you’d like to be apart of my tag list ♡♡.

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loopyarts · 5 months

Text

Rated teen and up warning before you read this fanfic it contains lots of heavy subjects such as dysfunctional/toxic family relationships, child abuse, bullying, death, blood and violence.

It was written by Me and shouts out to my editor Sangerie they went above and beyond making this the best it can be they even partly co-written the fic mainly the Sanji scenes near the end and Sora POV.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/52099930 also here’s a link to the fic on Archiveofourown.org if prefer to read it there.

With all that said enjoy your read of oneshot fic of Ichiji. :3

Sora's Pov

Cries of pain echoed from Sora and all throughout the walls of Germa castle as she went into labour hours ago. She pushed with all her might as the midwives scurried about to-and-fro to aid her. Through teary eyes, she heard the cries of her first baby boy ring out before sunrise.

Her breathing was slow and ragged as the midwives held him up so she could gaze upon his features. He was a quiet newborn. He blinked around the room, unfazed by his surroundings as his deep yet dull ocean-blues that reflected her own gazed back back down at her.

Tufts of vibrant red hair strands fell down and framed his little chubby face. She longed to reach out and hold him so badly, but a shot of pain surged through her body. Her second son was clearly itching to get out.

As she braced herself with a deep breath, she noticed her husband, Judge, enter the room and watched as he was handed their firstborn son by a midwife. His face beamed with pride and joy.

"Ichiji. His name shall be Ichiji, and all throughout the North Blue–no, all throughout the world will know of him one day!" he laughed proudly as their son remained expressionless in his arms, blinking at him with dull eyes.

Sora's heart grew heavy as she watched Judge hold him almost as if he were a doll. Her body strained through labour and her spirit did too as she lamented that she'd failed her firstborn son while tears pricked the corners of her eyes at the knowledge that her husband had robbed Ichiji of his heart.

She watched on bitterly as he coddled Ichiji tenderly in his arms, giving him a love that she'd never seen him give to their daughter before. She gnashed her teeth as the long grueling morning marched forward.

23 minutes passed and out popped "Niji" with a round pouting face, squinting eyes and arms flailing about blindly as he whined ever so slightly. Not long after Niji came "Sanji" into the world wailing out loudly as he was washed and then placed neatly beside his brothers. And then finally 40 minutes later her fourth and final son, "Yonji" was born. He seemed to be a curious one as his eyes fluttered across the room and he babbled softly.His eyes settled on her for a moment, but much to her dismay he quickly lost interest in her and looked away with a dull blue expression, too.

After the many hours of pain, she laid her head down into the pillow with a heavy sigh. Sweat rolled down the sides of her face and she was exhausted. She wanted nothing more than to hold her sons, but her eyes could barely stay open a second longer. Her vision narrowed, her body ached.

She will just have to coddle them tomorrow.

_______

Ichiji's Pov

Ichiji blinked as he stared up at the ceiling of the castle walls, he then felt one of his brothers latch onto him and snuggle him tightly. He turned his eyes to his left and gazed at his blonde brother who babbled and giggled as he cozied up further into Ichiji. He laid his head around Ichiji's stomach as he wrapped his arms around him in contentment.

Ichiji felt annoyed at first–he shifted around but stopped when he realised his brother wasn’t coming off.

He huffed to himself as he laid there hot, bothered and annoyed. Although after a while, it actually started to feel nice as his blonde haired brother clung to him. It felt warm, comfortable–safe. His eyelids grew heavy as he began drifting off to sleep along with him–cuddling back into him tightly.

_______

Ichiji was startled awake by voices. Quickly, he was being lifted up into the air with his blonde brother-along with his blue and green haired brothers carried in tow by another.

He'd wondered where they were going before they'd stopped in front of a woman with golden hair, basking in the beams of morning's light.

The strangers carrying them had then placed them into her warm embrace. She poured over them with her oceanic eyes and smiled fondly. "Hello my dears, I'm your mummy." she said in a soft honeyed voice.

Ichiji's dulled blues met her bright ones along with his brothers. They gazed up at her, taken in by her loving expression.

Her, now "mummy" began to comb through his red hair gently with her fingertips. Ichiji held a puzzled expression at her actions. He blinked at her, letting his head lay gently in her hand. He began to drift off while letting his brothers flail, giggle and babble to her while he relaxed in his mummy's embrace.

_______

At two years old, Ichiji walked about and around the playroom, it was playtime mother said (or "mummy" he called her sometimes–but father didn’t like that.) He would say to Mummy, "No son of mine would ever be calling their mother such a childish thing."

Ichiji found the toy box, it had dress-up stuff inside; it had probably belonged to his older sister, Reiju.

He dug inside the box and found a toy crown and placed it atop his head. He then found Sanji's blue blanket-or in Sanji's words–"blanky", he wrapped it around his shoulders and tied a knot to make a cape. Sanji wouldn’t mind if he borrows his blanky for just a little bit, Ichiji thought cheekily.

He set off to find mummy to show off his new kingly look to her, his little shoes pitter-pattered along the stone castle hallways towards his mother’s bedroom.

“Mummy!” called Ichiji in a happy yet deadpan-sounding tone as he entered the room to see that his mummy was reading a book cuddled up with Sanji whose eyes sparkled in awe as he was read to. Ichiji then stood proudly puffing up his chest attempting a smirk as best he could on his mostly static face.

“Look Mummy, I’m king now! Look at my majestic crown and cape!” he twirled a little as his mother giggled at him while Sanji looked a bit annoyed as he realised that the cape Ichiji was wearing was actually his blue blanket.

“Oh I see, aren’t you a handsome king” his mummy chuckled bookmarking Sanji's book and placing it on her lap as Sanji walked up to Ichiji with puffed cheeks.

“Ichiji, why do you have my blanky?” His younger brother asked, tilting his head with a pout yet curious expression on his face.

“It’s not a blanket Sanji, it’s a cape and I’m only borrowing for a short while, little brother.” Ichiji taunted.

“You’re a big meanie!” Sanji whined as he pounced on his eldest twin and knocked the toy crown off Ichiji's head to which the redhead responded by playfully fighting back. The pair tumbled about, giggles and laughter could be heard but mostly coming from Sanji. Ichiji grinned as he easily pinned Sanji down.

“I win” he said flatly yet filled with pride.

“No fair, you always win!” screamed Sanji as he tried to get Ichiji off of him. Ichiji looked down blankly and watched as Sanji struggled, he huffed and loosened his hold on his younger brother.

In the next moment, to his surprise–he'd found himself toppled to the floor and pinned down by Sanji instead, his tears had been a sly trick!

Sanji beamed at him proudly, "I-I did it?" he said, dumbfounded. It honestly amused Ichiji, he was always so dramatic over the simplest of things. Then again, Niji and Yonji both had similar reactions when he'd let them win, too. When Niji won, he'd grin cockily and taunt him with a "Ha! Who's the little brother now?" While Yonji would loudly and playfully cheer at his own victory.

Ichiji stayed on the ground as Sanji attempted to tickle him to no avail.

Just then, he heard his mother’s voice call out to them, saying how messy they had gotten from play-fighting and that she'd help tidy them up. Ichiji noticed then how messy his hair was, it was all fluffed out of place.

He walked up to the end of his mother's bed and promptly sat down. He watched idly as she first brushed Sanji's hair waiting for his turn.

Ichiji never had Mummy brush his hair before, it was usually the maids and servants that did that. Then again, rarely has it ever gotten dirty or messy unless he was training. He was tidiest out of all of his brothers, even Reiju in some rare cases.

As his Mother finished brushing Sanji's hair, she looked at him with a smile and asked “Would you like me to brush your hair too, Ichiji?” He nodded yes to his mummy and crawled on over to her side, sitting where Sanji was, while Sanji took his spot placing himself at the end of mummy’s bed.

His Mummy hummed as she gently brushed through his messy red hair. It felt nice. He peeked up at his mummy, fidgeting his fingers slightly.

She continued to brush his hair humming her tune. “You know, Ichiji...you have such soft hair just like your mummy and your big sister. It makes it much easier to brush–” she chuckled a bit and then continued, “unlike your brothers, who have your father’s much thicker hair.” Ichiji dully blinked at his mother as something similar to a genuine small smile crept onto his face. He wondered why mummy broke down into tears and pulled him into her embrace, holding him tightly at the sight of his smile. He was confused–"Mummy and Sanji are so strange", he thought.

_______

At four years old, Ichiji was honestly still so confused by Sanji. Why was he always slacking off and playing with rodents? It was not playtime, it was training time. He managed to drag Sanji back, although he was clearly not happy about it. He shivered at the mere sight of Ichiji and the redhead didn’t understand why. He was just doing what was necessary to make sure Sanji got back in line. Why did he insist on defying father if he knew it would make him angry?

_______

After the training, they all played in the garden with mummy. It was one of rare times she was allowed out of her room given her sickly condition. Niji was running around chasing Sanji, who hopped over Yonji causing Niji to slam into him.

Ichiji shook his head, his younger brothers were all such fools in their own way. Sanji cried, running behind their mother–or "mummy" why does he still call her that, anyway?

He stared down at the grass with his head propped up by his hands as his dull eyes locked onto a butterfly. He didn’t understand why he fixed his stare on the insect, but the yellow and gold wings reminded him of mother. The butterfly took off however, the moment Ichiji was suddenly pushed onto his stomach from behind. He was now covered in dirt, blades of grass and scattered petals from the flower patch below him.

“Gotcha, Ichi!” laughed Niji, lying on top of him covered in dirt with leaves sticking out of that blue hair of his. Ichiji huffed in annoyance as he hopped up, knocking Niji off of him in the process. He glanced down at the sight of himself–he hated being dirty. He shot an icey cold glare at Niji causing his younger brother to flinch and turn on his heels rushing away to join Yonji who was kicking a ball around with Reiju in the distance.

He didn’t understand Niji and Yonji sometimes and how they could run around like idiots–seemingly not having a care in the world about getting dirty or keeping up appearances.

Ichiji sighed as he walked over to his mummy who was resting with Sanji in the shade,who held his favorite book close to his chest as laid his head next to mummy's side. His annoyance rose at the sight of them together, "why does Sanji get her attention all of the time?" Ichiji thought as he approached his mother and tugged at her dress gently.

"Oh, Ichiji! What is it sweetheart?” asked his Mummy. His deep dull blues looked up into her glistening ones as he pointed at his untidy hair covered in dirt and fauna and then pointed over to his mother's brush quietly.

“Ohh, I see...so you want me to brush your hair and tidy it up a bit–is that right?” she smiled and patted her lap, signaling Ichiji to sit down there. He propped himself up and sat quietly in his mother’s lap. She began plucking the petals and grass out of his fluffy red hair, treating him delicately.

She dusted him off and then began brushing through his red locks. He relaxed and closed his eyes as she began to hum a familiar tune while running her brush and warm hands through his hair gently.

His siblings chattered off in the background–a cool salty breeze blew by. He liked moments like these between just him and her.

Reiju skipped over a rope gleefully as it was held by Niji and Yonji at opposite ends, swinging it over and under in sync. Sanji sat at his and mummy's side reading his favourite book–"The All Blue" as he recalled. The story was a fairy tale but for some reason, Sanji believed it was real.

Ichiji closed his eyes and listened to his mother humming away with cheer in her voice as birds flew overhead and his siblings giggled and laughed happily in the distance .

It would have been nice if good moments like those lasted forever–but good things never do.

In fact, he only saw his mother again 4 more times after that.

_______

It was so strange, lately he barely had time to think. Most days were spent training day in and day out like clockwork. Sanji was getting on his nerves as he was always falling behind–he couldn't even take down a simple foot soldier. Ichiji thought it was no wonder that he got his ass handed to him by Niji and Yonji so often.

“Why is he so weak?” he muttered to himself in a hushed tone. Weren't they born from the same womb? They'd shared a crib for the first few weeks of their lives and practically did almost everything together...yet only he was so different, why?

Just then, he heard a sharp crash followed by someone wailing. He watched as Sanji burst out of a room and ran past him in tears. He then saw their father walk out shortly after, “Pay no mind to that failure, he’ll get over it.” was all his father said as he continued to walk away.

Ichiji curiously made his way into the room shortly after to inspect the scene. He then noticed the broken window with splashes of food on it. He pushed up a chair and hopped atop it to look down only to see a spot of red below and what looked to be a dead rodent surrounded by shards of what once was a plate and a discarded meal scattered about.

"Is this really what he was crying on about?" Ichiji sighed. How could he cry for lowly vermin?

He hopped down from the chair and briskly made his way back to the training grounds so as to not keep his father waiting.

_______

Ichiji never sees his mother much anymore. Too busy with training and studying, then again–when has he had any free time at all in this past year?

Father boasted how proud he was of him and that he wanted to push him harder, saying it would help him become a better king when he’s older. So Father doubled his training and studying for this year.

Ichiji's body felt hot for some reason–he stayed up late last night because those were the only hours he had time to himself these days to relax. He liked how quiet it was whenever he went out in the garden at night to stargaze. Sometimes he’d bring a book as well to read under the glow of his lantern.

Suddenly he began to cough, he blinked in confusion. Why was he coughing so much? He stroked his throat as it grew sore. He continued to walk through the castle hallways and he noticed how the maids looked at him with pity in their eyes as he kept coughing and coughing. He heard them whispering from under their breaths–“Poor dear” said one.

“Maybe if it were Prince Sanji, I would feel more pity.” scoffed another.

“But, I thought those monsters couldn’t get sick?" said the third in a confused tone.

Despite the servants' attempted whispers, Ichiji had heard it all. He coughed profusely once again and carried on with a groan. This was starting to get on his nerves. He made his way to the library and sat down with materials to study. When he tried to start taking notes, his hand began to shake. He attempted to steady it but it wouldn't obey and the ink from his quill fell to the page leaving wobbly indecipherable scribbles in the place of words.

This shocked the young prince. He threw the pen aside and slammed the book closed in frustration. “Ahh! What in the world's wrong with me today!?” Ichiji shouted in a monotone voice–even his screams of anger and frustration were quieter than all of his brothers.

He then lifted his face up from the table, his vision was getting a little fuzzy. He shook his head to clear it up and coughed with a wheeze into his hand. He then thought of mother’s room–almost by instinct, he started to rush over to the infirmary where his mother's room was while coughing all the way there.

As soon as Ichiji entered her room, his mother sat up with surprise at his sudden arrival. "Ichiji-!" his mother said with cheer "Oh, it's been so long since I've seen you last! How have you been, my dear?" He made his way over to her, "Mother.." he said flat and breathlessly as he climbed up into her bed and seeped down by her side, looking up at her with hazy eyes.

Her skin had grown so pale since the last time he'd last seen her. She looked almost transparent, like a ghost. Her once golden hair now carried only a drop of the vibrant glow it once had.

He talked to her about his training and how he's been working very hard. She nodded along, smiling softly at him–until he mentioned how his father had been giving him extra special training. This seemed to have upset his mother after hearing that.

As the conversation carried on, his coughing fit flared back up again and his mother bounced up with great attention and worry. She placed the back of her chilly hand to his forehead, "Ichiji, you're burning up-!" she said with great worry in her tone. He began to feel faint and the room spun more as his coughing continued in his mother's arms. She held him closer and whispered gently, "Rest now, Ichiji. Don't worry, mummy will take care of you."

There was that word again, "mummy".

His eyes began to grow heavy almost as soon as he'd gotten permission to rest. He snuggled further into the warmth of her embrace. A strange rhythm in her chest became his lullaby as he drifted off to sleep.

_______

As he slept on, he thought he'd heard yelling, although it was faint and everything sounded muffled as if it had been underwater.

It sounded like...mother and father? Were they yelling at each other? His breath rushed a bit and then halted more as the voices drew near him and became clearer.

"How could you!? He's only 7 years old, Judge!"

"I will do whatever I must to ensure that he reaches the height of his potential! You need to stop treating them as if they were average children, Sora!"

A pained scoff fell out of her, "Are you truly the man that I married? What happened to the man that swore he'd do anything for his family–? Or has your pride and ambition to bring back the 'glory days' of Germa turned you into a blind and heartless fool!?"

"Sora–why can't you see that I'm building a future for us all? Ichiji is to be the future king of Germa, failure is not an option! He must be strong, he must be the best of the best! I must make sure that he is perfect! Together we will retake the North Blu–"

A stifled sob came from her, cutting him short as she coldly turned her back to him and faced towards the still and silent Ichiji wrapped up in her bed, "You've taken enough, haven't you? You've taken his heart, his freedom, his will–why can't you see...? There's nothing left to take anymore."

Loud footsteps plodded away followed by the sound of a heavy door closing behind him. A moment of silence hung in the air before his mother sat down softly beside him and stroked his hair ever so gently. He then felt warm wet droplets rain down over his cheeks followed by an embrace with quiet sobs at his side.

His eyes remained too heavy to open them and his ears rang louder. Why was she crying? And what did they mean by all of that before? His mind became fuzzy again as he drifted back off into a deep sleep.

_______

When he woke up, it was already late at night. He turned his head to see he was laying by his mother's side as she held him close. He still felt dizzy, but he laid in her embrace looking up. Tear stains were dried on her cheeks. Why did she cry to this extent? Was it because of him?

Ichiji yawned and cuddled in closer to his mother and then he heard something in her chest–the same rhythm as earlier, "ba-thump, ba-thump" it went. How strange...was this part of her illness? And yet...the sound was nice. He slipped away into sleep just like that.

_______

In the morning, his mum's personal maid ("Époni", as he recalled) came into her room and halted with a horrified expression at the sight of the two. She wasted no time in hurrying up to the redhead to collect him away from his Mummy. In a panicked voice she pulled him away explaining that if he stayed with his mother, he could potentially give the queen his fever and rapidly deteriorate her health further. Ichiji looked back and saw the sadness in his mother's eyes as he was guided away from her side.

He spent the next few days bedridden and was forced to lay there with nothing to do, much to his annoyance. He'd run his hand across his red satin sheets out of sheer boredom. Worst of all, Niji and Yonji would stop by only to just taunt him for getting sick. In the redhead's mind, he hoped they'd get sick as well so he could get back at them.

"Just you wait, Niji, Yonji...!" the eldest had a devilish plan brewing indeed. Once he was fully recovered, they were in for a nasty surprise.

_______

Ichiji was very pleased indeed as he heard from the maids and staff within the castle chattering on about how Prince Niji and Yonji were now also bedridden by a sick bug caused by mysterious food poisoning.

He giggled to himself in a tone so flat that it was almost creepy. His little prank had worked. He slipped into the kitchen the night before and spiked their soup with a few special ingredients of his own–a slightly mouldy turnip, some dirt and a slug for each of them. He was surprised they didn’t notice the odd taste as they consumed it all.

“They’re so stupid!” he laughed monotonously once more as he headed to the training grounds. Now they have to miss a few days of training too, he thought snidely to himself. Strangely enough though, his father seemed to have lightened up on his training schedule. Instead of double the work; it was just the same as his sister and brothers.

However, his father set a cold gaze upon him today and Ichiji didn't like it. He tried to shake off his father's piercing stare and focus on his training.

Sanji still fell behind the same as ever, but what else was new? Meanwhile Reiju nearly outran the hotblooded prince himself that day on the running course.

Almost beating him in a race?! He would not stand for that. He wasn't going to let Reiju of all people get the satisfaction of beating him on the track, that'd be shameful! He'd just have to work even harder from now on.

_______

After training he saw Sanji heading into their mother’s room. He peeked inside to see them laughing together. Ichiji blinked between the two, why are they laughing? There is nothing to laugh about. Ichiji's mouth felt dry. Mother only ever smiles like that for him. What in the world made Sanji so special? Sanji's just a good for nothing failure; meanwhile Ichiji himself is far from it.

He stopped peeking from around the corner and continued walking down the hall, remaining vexed by his swirling thoughts.

It's not fair.

"...it's not fair!!" he roared out in anger, slamming his fist into the wall causing it to shake by the force of the blow. The wall cracked and left behind a crater the size of his fist as he pulled it away. What is this fury that brews inside him, making his body tremble and his teeth grind within his mouth?

Why couldn't he make his mother smile like Sanji can?

_______

Throughout the week, he continued to see Sanji; he couldn’t stand him at this point. Why is he always trying to cook mother a meal? He should be training! He started to hate mother as well–she only ever pays attention to Reiju and Sanji nowadays, it’s not fair! All she ever gives him is a look of pity and sadness. Then again, she always loved Sanji more. He hated it so much-! Niji's jealousy was far greater than his, though–to the point that he harassed Sanji every chance he got or whenever saw him exit mother’s room.

But on the last day of that week, something in Ichiji snapped and he made a mistake he'd regret for the rest of his life.

"I hate you!", Ichiji said with enough venom that it pierced through his normal dull tone.

He towered over the cowering Sanji as he cried against the side of his mother's bed. Ichiji continued hurling insult after insult his way, rubbing salt in his wounds further.

"I sometimes wish you were dead, so I no longer have to see your fa–" he was cut off abruptly by the impact of his mother's frail hand meeting the side of his face.

Her weak body trembled as she struggled to remain standing upright. She shot daggers out of her eyes at Ichiji–a sight he'd never seen from his mother before.

"Don't you EVER say that to your brother again-do you hear me, Ichiji!?" she yelled with tears dousing her fiery eyes as she shielded Sanji from him with her body.

Ah, he'd made her cry again…

A moment passed as she made Sanji leave the room saying she'd like to have a word alone with Ichiji. He stood there frozen in place with a stoney expression as Sanji nodded quietly and turned away from Ichiji and their mother to exit the room. The door clicked behind him and then it was just Ichiji and mother.

As she approached him, his breath grew heavier and hitched in his throat when his eyes met her cold gaze. It wasn't the first time he'd been looked at this way by someone, but this time it felt different.

His legs began to buckle and his marked cheek stung the more she yelled at him and cried. But it was when her voice fell and she said softly "I'm so sorry my love, I've failed you-" something in the normally quiet Ichiji just snapped like it never had before as he yelled at the top of his lungs, "I hate you! I hate you, mother!! You're a liar–!" He closed his eyes tightly, feeling his whole body tremble with rage, "You've never loved me or Niji or Yonji the same way you love Sanji, so don't you lie to me!!" he finished huffing and panting and then suddenly he felt something wet–something warm slide down his cheeks.

His mother looked on in shock as her hand covered her mouth. "I-Ichiji, I'm-" her voice trembled as she hesitantly reached out.

Ichiji didn't understand this unfamiliar feeling that was overcoming him but his mind went blank and he turned on his heels bursting out of the room fleeing the scene as his mother fell to the floor crying out to him begging him to come back. Her voice grew smaller and more faint the further he ran through the corridors.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry" her voice still lingered and rang in his ears even though he could not hear her anymore.

He ran into his room and threw himself onto his bed, burying himself deeper into it. He couldn't stop the hot unpleasant wetness from flowing out of his eyes.

_______

After some time had passed, Ichiji lifted his head from his pillow which was now dampened by the mysterious liquid from his eyes. He got up to look in the mirror and inspect his face–his eyes were puffy and red, did that water really come from there?

He walked over to his window–it was sunset now and orange dyed the sky in its vibrant hue. The sun's rays bounced off Ichiji's scarlet red hair as it dipped down slowly behind Germa's high walls. He'd calmed down now, sitting by the window transfixed on the far off horizon. He felt so confused. He was supposed to be "perfect" but then why did he-? His thoughts drifted back to his mother and his chest grew heavy. He just couldn't understand.

"I have to go see her again–" Ichiji made up his mind, standing up with determination. He made his way over to the door but then paused for a moment, deciding to pick up his crimson hair brush on his way out–he didn't know why but he felt he needed it.

When he arrived at her door he hesitantly peeked inside her room. And there he saw her sitting up in her bed with glassy and distant eyes facing the window as she watched some birds fly by.

Slowly, he stepped into her room and climbed up onto her bed, making his way to her side. He then took his brush in hand and began to brush her hair remembering the times she used to brush his. He thought that maybe this will make his mother–mummy happy?

His mum took notice of him as he remained fixated on brushing her hair. He went through her soft golden locks steadily bit by bit. And then he felt something gliding through his own hair–his mum reached back behind his head with her own brush and faced towards him brushing his hair in return. She gave him a small genuine smile with cheerful eyes as they held a peaceful silence between the two of them brushing each other's hair back and forth for a while.

The silence broke however when his mother spoke up, "Is this your way of apologising to me, Ichiji?" she inquired. He looked up at her blankly and tilted his head, he was a little confused–was this really some type of apology? He wondered.

"I forgot–you've never been a big talker, you've always been such a quiet boy.." she continued to brush his fringe, "and yet you're a good listener aren't you–you always listen to what Niji and Yonji have to say." Ichiji nodded along–but in the back of his mind he thought about the real reason why he didn't talk much. It wasn't because he didn't want to but because he found speaking to be so tiresome.

Sometimes Niji would speak for him and he liked that. It made his life so much easier when his loudmouth brother did all the talking–although he and Niji still did butt heads every now and then.

With Yonji, he loves attention and enjoys prattling on about things that interest him. Right now it's bread. Ugh seriously, why bread of all things...? But even still, it's nice that he talks on and on–filling the air so he didn't have to.

Ichiji remained quiet, continuing brushing his mum's hair as he lingered a little longer on the thoughts of his brothers.

"Mhm, maybe..." he muttered back to her. His hand stopped brushing and gently lowered a bit as he closed his eyes while his mother continued on brushing his. She made her way through the rest of his cowlicks and smoothed them out one by one as the brush caught the loose strands in its grasp. His mind drifted away. He wondered why she was even brushing his hair–wasn't she still mad at him? This thought made his chest feel weighted again...but maybe–maybe mother would know?

"Mother...my chest hurts, am I ill again?" he said, pointing to the side of his chest where the ache was.

His mother then placed her hand at the spot where he pointed and said to him, "That is your heart, Ichiji. Sometimes when something is bothering us, our hearts react to how we're feeling." She closed her eyes and lowered her head, resting it against his chest, "And having a heart is, well–it's what makes someone human." his heart pinched at her words that were laced with a hint of pain.

She sighed and held him all the tighter, "I'm so sorry, Ichiji...I wish I had known sooner."

The redheaded prince didn't understand, why was his mother apologising to him? What did she mean by she "wished she knew sooner"? He didn't know the answer–but he reached out and started to pat his mother's head and then he wrapped his arms around her gently.

They stayed in each other's embrace for what felt like hours (his internal clock told him it had only been 20 minutes, though.) He looked up outside her window and saw that it had already become dusk. He pulled away steadily from her, "Mother, it's getting late. I should be getting back to my room now." he felt his frail mother tighten her grip on him and she whispered weakly with glassy eyes, "Ichiji, sweetie, can't you stay just a little bit longer?" Ichiji didn't know what to think of her request...no–it was more like a desperate plea for him to stay.

He could easily pull away and break her hold on him if he wanted to–yet seeing her tired eyes made him ache for some reason. He then nodded with an affirming "mhm..." and leaned back into her. Despite her ghostly appearance, she was still just as warm as he'd remembered. She pulled him down to rest with her and began to hum a nostalgic tune as her silken fingertips petted him softly. He couldn't see his mother's expression, but he could tell she was happy.

_______

Sunlight filtered through the window and into his heavy lidded eyes causing him to groan. He raised himself up and blinked idly around for a moment before looking down towards his mother.

"Good morning, mo–" he stopped in his tracks. She wasn't moving. He then reached out and held his hand to her face–ice cold to the touch. Her lips held a soft smile with ruby red stains that painterly poured down her chin and pooled into the ridges of her sunken neck. "M-mummy-?" her eyes once bright like ocean mornings were now dull and cloudy like rainy skies. Lifeless. He began to shiver and in a desperate attempt, he grabbed his hairbrush and began to brush her faded hair hoping it would become the vibrant gold it once was again.

When it didn't work, he halted and the brush slipped from his hand. He couldn't move, he couldn't feel anything. He stared at her in shock until he heard a piercing scream come from the doorway, "Ahh! Prince Ichiji!! What on earth are you doing!? What have you done to the queen!?" yelled his mother's maid, Époni as she gasped in fright with mother's morning meal smashing to the floor.

He didn't understand her insinuation at first but then he looked down to his hands and shirt and saw that they were stained with the same ruby red colour that trickled from his mother's lips. He realised then what she thought he had done.

No–he didn't do it! He didn't do that to her-!

The terrified maid scowled at him with a fierce glare and at the sight of her weighty judgment, his eyes became wet again–the warm liquid poured down his cheeks and his vision blurred. Seeing this, the maid's expression softened and her anger melted away. In a flash she rushed over to him and picked him up with a hug, "Ohh, don't cry you poor dear!" startled by the abrupt shift in mood, Ichiji watched as the maid fell into tears along with him for some reason.

"I'm going to miss her, too!" she sobbed.

“Miss her"...is that why he's crying?

He froze as she cried into him and found himself wondering how she could go from being terrified of him to coddling him? She was really a strange woman indeed.

_______

Nobody found out he was in mother's room that day and yet rumors and whispers still scurried throughout the halls that the queen had been murdered by one of her devil sons.

He'd pass by and hear the murmurs thinking that the servants honestly had way too much free time if they could spin up that huge web of lies in such a short span of time.

It was complete and utter rubbish and yet he felt offended, but why?

_______

Mother's death was strange. Being at her funeral was strange. He stood in deep thought recalling how his mother's eyes were so cold and yet she still had a warm smile on her face even in death. He just couldn’t get that image of her out of his mind. He looked over to his other siblings–his older sister Reiju and younger brother Sanji were crying while his other younger brothers Niji and Yonji looked confused and bored. Ichiji felt nothing, yet something weighed on him; he never got to apologise to his mother did he? Not that it matters anymore...she was dead now and nothing will ever change that.

_______

In the evening, Ichiji laid down on his stomach in his bed with a book and started reading. His expression was as stoic and stoney as ever. He found himself sighing as loose strands of hair fell into view in front of his face. Just then, he heard someone come into his room but he couldn't be bothered to see who it was and so he kept on reading.

Much to his own surprise, he'd picked a fairy tale book today. One that he and mother used to read together–"Iron Hans" it was called. Everytime he reads the tale, he feels a sense of karma to it. Despite it being make-believe and a folktale, he found it rather endearing.

“He raised himself up quickly but the whole of the hair of his head was already golden and shone like the su-” Ichiji paused his reading–someone was behind him.

He peered over his shoulder to see who the trespasser was, only to find Sanji!? Whose face was still stained wet with tears from earlier that day and in his hand was...his crimson hair brush?

"Sanji-" Ichiji said with some surprise, colouring his tone at the sight of his younger brother. It wasn't long before Sanji piped up, "I-I'm sorry, Ichiji...I should have told you I was here." he began to fidget where he stood, "It's just that...I remembered how much you loved it when mummy brushed your hair before, so I–"

'God...', Ichiji thought when he heard the word "mummy" fall out from Sanji's mouth. And of course it was Sanji of all people that would say such a strange thing. He wanted to brush his hair just because mother used to? Why? It wasn't even particularly untidy at the moment and besides, if he wanted to brush it; he could just do it himself for crying out loud. There was no need for all of this.

“I don’t need you to brush my hair, you failure. I can do it by myself.” Ichiji glared at his smaller brother and shot upwards to snatch his brush back from him.

“And even if I wanted my hair to be brushed by another–it would be an insult to have it done by the likes of you, so scram!" his blonde brother broke into a sob at his words and began to yell back at him in anger. This surprised Ichiji as Sanji was normally so meek in his presence. It was rare for Sanji to even talk back to him at all. He looked down at his younger brother watching his wet eyes simmering with a roaring fire behind them–he hadn't heard a word he said but his eyes told him all the same.

"I was only trying to help you, Ichiji–you big jerk-!" Sanji yelled with eyes falling to the floor, "Reiju was right about you and the others–" he continued with fists shaking, "you really are just heartless monsters!" he shouted one last time before turning his back and running off, leaving the room cold again.

A "monster"? Is that what he was?

He didn't cry at the funeral, but his chest felt heavy again at Sanji's biting words. He'd made Sanji cry again...although, that wasn't particularly rare. But Ichiji thought it felt different this time as he grabbed his chest and quietly hunched down with wet eyes of his own.

_______

Not long after the death of their mother–their father announced that Sanji had died to all of Germa. But Ichiji knew better than to take his father at his word. He'd later spotted a servant sneaking off carrying a tray with covered food down into the dungeon depths and discovered the real truth behind the "death" of Sanji. He'd been locked up and caged like an animal, placed in an iron mask that hid his face from view.

"If Sanji had just done what he was told..." Ichiji thought, "then none of this would have happened."

The brother's traveled down into the depths to continue their harassment of Sanji once they learned the truth of his whereabouts.

They found that he was cooking even in the depths of the dirty grimey dungeon.

A familiar scene played out once more where he'd found himself in front of Sanji as he'd just baked a cake with a cream and strawberry topping. Ichiji snatched it from his hand just as he did before–and all the same, Sanji sprang at him with a punch that reverberated a loud clang echoing in the depths.

Ichiji could hardly believe it–after all this time, Sanji was still so terribly weak. Ichiji's body shook with fury and his vision turned red as he lunged forward with a growl, taking Sanji down and pinning him to the floor.

His chest erupted with a burning heat as he began to wail on the younger for displaying such a pathetic sight. The echoes of the other two laughing bounced off the walls and rang throughout their ears as he kept beating down further and further.

''You're an embarrassment–you embarrass even me!" just the sight of him made his blood boil, he was the source of his rage–that's right, it was him! It was all his fault!! All of his pain was because of Sanji, wasn't it? It was always him from the very start!

Catharsis overcame him as his fist became bloodied. He released his rage as Sanji sobbed beneath him, attempting to claw back and begging him to stop–crying out how it hurts. But he wasn't going to fall for his tears again, not this time.

When Ichiji finally stopped, he rose up and pulled away from the bruised and battered Sanji. He stood up and over him and felt that Sanji had become even smaller than before. Ichiji looked down at the ruby red dripping from his fists and he left without a word, leaving Niji and Yonji to their own devices.

As he walked away, he crunched some remaining shards of the shattered plate that once carried the cake beneath the heel of his boot.

It was their 8th birthday today and he felt nothing. He only tasted bitterness in his mouth.

He brought his bloodied hand to his face and stroked his cheek where Sanji had landed the blow. There wasn't even a bruise there. Honestly, he was pathetic beyond all measure. Why would he ever expect any different?

Sanji was Sanji. A failure will always be a failure.

_______

Sanji had gone off and ran away not long after the incident in the dungeon. Despite him leaving, not much had changed between those that remained. Years began passing by like clockwork for Ichiji as every day settled in a fixed routine. The boy was becoming a man quickly as he remained ever static and cold.

He laid on the experiment table often as the scientists dug into his body, refining him into an even more perfect soldier. Scalpels and needles poking and prodding him became something normal that he'd bear with a dull and never changing expression. One scientist however was rather strange, often reaching out and remarking about the color and softness of his hair calling it "pretty". But what use does that spoken sentiment hold to a weapon? What a waste of breath.

_______

At 12 years old, he was sent on his first mission with Reiju tagging along to teach him how things were done and show him the ropes. Most of the opponents were easily mowed down by Ichiji.

On the battlefield he was called many things–freak of nature, devil, monster.

The rain started to fall heavy that day as blood ran from the corpses littering the streets with it. His hair flattened in the rain as he walked through the broken roads that reeked of sulfur, dampened smoke and iron. He still felt nothing as he looked on at the decay around him. But then his chest began to twinge and his heartbeat fell as he took it all in. He still couldn't understand why.

"Their lives were all so meaningless" he thought–but then again, so was his.

Even if he died, he wouldn't care. He was made to not fear death–he cannot fear it. Death was just another worthless word to him, no different than "pretty".

Ichiji may have been a child but he wasn't naive in knowing that death came for all. The world is cold and humans are ugly–he couldn't change this fact.

He stopped and faced his head towards the sky, taking in the sound of the rain crashing down from up above him. It carried bloody water his way, creating small rivers that branched off as it hit his boots.

At least the rain sounded peaceful.

_______

On one of his missions at age 14 and a half, the young prince happened upon a lost kitten who seemed to have been left behind without its mother–wandering in search of her. Ichiji made up his mind to promptly put the small stray out of its misery and end its life as he knew it wasn't long for this world anyway all on its own. He reached out with cold and malicious intent only to feel his heart thump in his chest and skip a beat when the kitten buried its round face into his hand and mewled happily in the act of doing so.

Against the "emotionless" young prince's better judgment, he picked up the lost kitten and carried it back to Germa in his arms. He didn't know how his father would react, but luckily his father was too busy making preparations for an upcoming political meeting he, Ichiji and his siblings were to attend. It was of such high importance that his father paid little mind to the new creature now rummaging within the castle, let alone the detail of who had brought it in.

Ichiji had named her "Nyasha". At first, he wasn't quite sure how to treat her. He'd either hold her wrong or be "too rough" with her as the observing servants would remark in hushed voices within an earshot distance from him.

He had no idea what she wanted when she circled him with a barrage of meows or how to tend to her.

Funnily enough, it was seemingly the most timid servant that approached him and offered the suggestion that petting her gently would please her. The servant then crouched down and began to rub the side of Nyasha's chin with her fingers as an example.

"Gently"? Who am I, Sanji? Ichiji thought to himself with almost a scoff at the notion. But low and behold, Nyasha began to purr away in delight. After a moment, the servant removed her hand from the kitten, "Now you give it a try, Prince Ichiji." she said stepping up and back, giving the two space "Nya would enjoy it even more if it were you. She loves you most, after all."

Ichiji paused for a moment to fully absorb her words, realising just then that the woman that stood before him had actually been quite brave indeed. He then turned his head to Nyasha and began to quietly imitate what he'd been shown. Nyasha looked up at him with eyes big and adoring, she purred in contentment, blinking them slowly at him.

"Love" huh? Was that what this was?

_______

In the evenings, Ichiji would give the ever-growing Nyasha all of the attention she deserved. She'd lay with him and stargaze in the fresh cut grass and she'd even let him read aloud to her or vent his daily frustrations. It didn't matter how flat his voice was or what he'd say, she'd sit with him and listen all the same. He'd found that animals were much easier to understand than humans.

From time to time as Nyasha grew, he'd wonder how strange it was that she had almost tripled in size. She was unusually big for a cat and she had even grown to be half the height of the young prince himself. She grew without any definitive end in sight or so it seemed. Was it something he'd been feeding her? He would question. She was quite chubby, after all.

But as he watched her roll in the grass pleasantly beside him, he concluded that while she may be an anomaly in her own right, it didn't really matter.

Ichiji faced his head up towards the sky–the stars twinkled above them as a cool salty breeze blew through the garden, rustling the leaves on the bushes and nipping through his hair. Nyasha nestled herself into his arms and he couldn't help but feel a small smile creep onto his face.

_______

Present day

Ichiji fell to his bed when he returned home. He was exhausted. Saving Niji and Yonji was no easy feat, especially with the dead weight that was Caesar Clown also tagging along. His raid suit was torn and covered in burn marks–his face was covered in cuts and bruises along the whole of his body, too. His hair hung tangled and messy in the view of his face. At this point, he didn't even care anymore. He was far too tired to even think about getting up to tidy it.

Honestly, it was hard to fully absorb everything that had happened in such a short span of time. Between the wedding preparations and Sanji's return to Germa as a prince–well, rather than saying he'd "returned", a better choice of words would be that he'd been dragged back and forced into an arranged marriage between he and a daughter from the Charlotte family.

And then there was also the matter of the admittedly intimidating Big Mum and her practically endless slough of children at her fingertips.

He was supposed to have died that day, they all were. They were ensnared in a trap and all that was left was the order to pull the trigger–but then Sanji appeared before them and shattered what bound them all beneath the heel of his shoe in an instant. Ichiji just couldn't fathom why. After all he'd done to him...didn't Sanji despise him, hate him even? Why would he go as far to save someone who he'd once called a "heartless monster"?

No, Ichiji knew it had nothing to do with him. Sanji had just done it to spare Reiju's life, that much was obvious. But even still...it moved Ichiji to the point that he sprang into action moments after.

He mulled over all that had happened days before in his head. Thirteen years had passed between them but Sanji remained just as confusing as he ever was.

He thought back to his childhood days and the turbulent feelings that overcame him at times throughout the years.

Perhaps his father...had been wrong about Sanji, and maybe Ichiji himself had been wrong, too. Perhaps Sanji's kindness was never the grand weakness he'd thought it to be. Maybe...he and Sanji weren't so different after a–

It was then that Ichiji's thoughts came to a halt as he sensed a sudden presence standing behind him. He removed his sunglasses and looked over his shoulder only to find Reiju standing there with a slightly curious expression.

"Well, that's a surprise–you never take those things off. What an honour–" she jested with a smile and continued, "Wow–I'd forgotten how much your eyes looked like mums. Such a rich and deep blue–just like the night sky..." she remarked leaning forward just a tad to soak in the rare view.

Ichiji blinked, pausing for a moment at her words–were his eyes really just like mothers? He'd always thought that Sanji's–hell, even Niji or Yonji's eyes looked more similar to hers when compared to his deep ocean-blues.

Ichiji sat up, "Right. So...why are you here?" Ichiji inquired with a monotone inflection, "Do you have something important to say, or are you just here to annoy me?"

To his surprise, she'd then revealed a pink hairbrush that she'd been holding out from behind her back. "I remembered how mother used to brush your hair. You always looked so happy and content when she did it, so..." she drew in closer, "I just thought you might enjoy having your hair brushed by me as well." Ichiji wanted to protest her assumptions but he held his silence for a moment. He was too tired to argue.

"I can brush my own hair, Reiju. I'm not a child any longer." He muttered in a low tone.

She then reached forward and began to brush away as if she didn't hear his reply. Soot and ashes fell from his hair as she kept at it diligently. He sat up further and maintained his silence as he accepted she was stubbornly going to do this whether he wanted her to or not.

It was strange to have his hair brushed by Reiju of all people. And yet...it still felt nice. Comforting, even. He closed his eyes in contentment and in his mind he saw a faint memory of his mother.

He remembered as she hummed that tune while gliding the brush carefully through his cowlicks. He saw her golden locks cascaded over her shoulders as he viewed her from below. His memories of her were faded now but he could still hear her tune and see her smile backlit by the sun. She spoke to him but he could no longer remember the words.

The memory dissipated as the brush left his hair in better form now. "There...all done." Reiju said, doing the remaining finishing touches with her fingertips.

"Good." He got up to pat the dust from earlier that day off of his clothes. He then turned to his sister and looked her up and down with just his eyes–she looked so much like their mother now, it was almost scary.

"Thank you, Reiju..." he spoke softly. At his words, his usually stoic sister lit up a bit and smiled softly in return. He didn't understand why she'd go this far–didn't she hate him? Wasn't he just another heartless monster in her eyes as she once told Sanji?

"Anytime." she said. He nodded in reply and then she slowly turned, leaving the room with a faint warmth it didn't have before.

Ichiji walked up to the window, taking in the pale of the moon. He thought of Niji and Yonji pinned in Big Mom's book like butterflies in some sick display. The night carried on right before his eyes and soon the sun's rays pierced through the high walls of the crumbled desolate country that was known as Germa.

A bird took flight outside his window, becoming one with the sky. It reminded him of his once-weak brother, Sanji as it disappeared and flew far out of view.

His mind wandered further as he rested his head against the wall and closed his heavy eyes.

A small thought popped into his head as he drifted off–he'd wondered if one day they, too, could fly off.

To become free, just as he was.

#vinsmoke ichiji #vinsmoke sora #vinsmoke reiju #vinsmoke niji #vinsmoke yonji #vinsmoke family #vinsmoke siblings #vinsmoke sanji #one piece sanji #Fiction #short story fanfic #oneshot fanfiction #cover art #digtal art #my art #my fanfiction #Me in head I’m expecting many to read this :> but I don’t mind as long people who leaves note like it #Ichiji has rotted my brain and I that this whole fanfic and cover art is done I can now rest peacefully knowing that it is done #one piece

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