#windbladed

          Even looking at the thing makes his skin crawl; disdain would be putting the look on the arrancar’s face lightly. Why him? Why not Ichigo? Any other time he would poke the substitute in the ribs for replacing him as the youngest Kurosaki’s favourite but in this case-- he’s not entirely sure he appreciates the position. Whatever it’s made up looks itchy, and the only discernible  patterns are weird blue little-- are those hearts.

          He wants to die. Again. Not even a little bit. Entirely.

          It looks absolutely huge too (although it doesn’t take much to dwarf his relatively thin frame, the broadness of his shoulders be damned), but all in weird ways;  like it can’t make up its mind what size it wants to be. It’s clearly an early venture into something other than repairing a seam or a hole, but it bars him from the ‘it’s too small’ excuse incredibly easily.

          There’s an increasingly long silence permeating the room, in which he hopes his thoughts are loud enough and glare terrible enough that the thing spontaneously combusts. He’s never been that lucky though so it’s no wonder he’s not in this case either.

          A long suffering sigh.

your death was so disgusting to look at i was brought to tears. you pathetic ass

jagdhuund replied to your post

hey dont talk about ichigo crying hes sensitive and i love him

               She was crying over him (again), weeping for what she thought, what he thought, was surely the end. He was drained, broken, there was nothing more he could try---the ace up his now hollowed and bloodied sleeve had rolled off Aizen’s hide, untarnished, as the creature stood with newborn wings and a brandished blade; prepped to devour all before him. The poison was negated and the Hogyoku--the soul piece--Gin so desired for over a century had made its loyalty known.

              Gin had failed in all aspects. Ichigo was nowhere to be seen, his father too, Urahara was defeated alongside Yoruichi, still in the rubble of fake Karakura Town, no doubt. Whether that was a temporary defeat or not (there was a blur of doubt that such a mastermind would fall so swiftly), the obstacles between Aizen and his goal had fallen to a solid one.

              It was Rangiku who remained to be slain, and Aizen’s displays of power weren’t beyond the needless destruction of one more Gotei 13 officer. Aizen had boasted of beheading Ichigo’s human companions as a game, as a token to the boy’s late arrival to his beloved town, now the false god’s gaze landed to her. And as Gin drew himself back in, breathed, gathered his senses from the jarring punishment of the rubble his body had broken against and of the blade that had pierced his chest, he realized this.

              He wanted to rest--to die. To give up. His life was in vain, he ruined it, ruined everything, it was despicable--he was despicable, his throat was caved with pressure, choking, with the immense defeat he could not swallow. An ocean around him lapped with foam and icy waters, begging to take him, and he stood at the rock’s edge. It felt all too easy to begin the slipping descent into the hell he surely deserved. And he had apologized to her----a relief so dizzying the rock’s sleek surface nearly took his legs from beneath him, surely casting him into the swallowing depths--falling, falling...------

              But Aizen was going to kill her.

              Needless to say, it was infinitely worth it to endure the pain of readying himself for another round, blood loss whirling hot in his eardrums hardly deterred him. There was no time for words, no time for a “just a scratch” joke for her, but luckily his Bankai state required little to no forethought--if Aizen stood still like that, Gin could strike him even with his non-dominant hand.

              With a blink, the singing hiss of his hidden blade bounded from bloodied robes, an advantageous shot considering his lack of movement leading up to his attack (he looked dead, as a bonus); a surprise, even if predicted, that was ridiculously difficult to dodge. At the very least the blast of Shinso colliding with that newly immune body of Aizen’s would send him flying backwards, away from them, for roughly 13 kilometers. A start.

   She would like it on record that this was not her idea.

           –well, MAYBE it was her idea. Just a little bit. But certainly not just her idea! There are lots of people she knows who think that her taking time off specifically to spend time with a certain Shinigami Substitute is a great idea. Lots of them. Several. More than one. At least two. 

   But does it really matter whose idea it was? She’s here now. She’d managed to dance around all of her captain’s UNFORTUNATE questions, and he hadn’t even managed to explicitly forbid her from coming here! Amazing. She’s not even very far behind on her work, so she doesn’t see that there’s a big deal. It is, after all, for the greater good.

   So anyway, here she is. In Karakura Town. Ichigo still lives here, right? A few years isn’t much to a shinigami, but to humans (especially YOUNG humans) that can mean everything! Maybe he went to college, or just decided to move to another city? She doesn’t know WHY he wouldn’t want to do something like that. There’s so much to see in the world and–

   Oh, but there’s his reiatsu. So, she can say with certainty that Ichigo is currently in town. What a coincidence! Or rather, lucky happenstance, since she’s specifically here to bother him. Whatever.

sunflower tattoos is a very fitting ichigo mun thing imho. also hopefully ur laptop connects soon !! might need to reset ur connections to them / set them up again.

          A low grunt, and a moment later one arm shifts slightly from where it had been thrown over the arrancar’s eyes, just enough so that one of them can open with a seemingly herculean effort to glance back at Ichigo and the small, private smile on his face. In truth he really had been half asleep; the mattress familiar and comfortable beneath him and the sun’s rays seeping in through the window warming his middle despite the slowly dying chill of spring. Brain sluggish, he doesn’t really think about his response at all, though it does come out a bit grumpy at being even semi-woken up.

          “Just sleep better when’m here,” he grumbles, arm falling back into its previous position with a deep sigh. Sleep far from completely gone, it tugs at the corners of his brain like a heavy blanket. “You already knew that.”

          There’s a safety here that lets him sleep. He’d easily became spoiled to it; though the effects are still very much the same as the first time he’d slept here-- deeply and without paranoia, without the need to constantly be alert. His muscles settle heavier into the mattress like welcoming an old friend, though he can’t help but crack a small grin.

ichigos been terrorizing ginjou for like what 2 years? and hes doing a better job. step up your game old man