Fanfic for quaedam
Title: Falling into Despair
For: Q (quaedam)
Request: Aizen/Ulquiorra and Aizen/Momo + despair
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Aizen, Ulquiorra, Momo
Genre(s): Dark/angst
Warning(s): Ramble-y? Spoilers up through chapter 240 (or there-abouts)
Rating: Pg-13ish
Credits/AN: Here's to pyrefly for being an awesome mod even when I spazzed badly. I do apologize to quaedam for not getting this out sooner, and even more so that this isn't better. Sorry it's late!
It was dark where she was. Cold. But it didn't effect her, didn't touch her. Not here, where she floated comfortably, away from the pain and agony of everything around her. Everything that reminded her of *him*. Of his smiles and gentleness and the warmth that he had loved her with. She knew he'd loved her, he had to. Had to because that was all that she could find to explain the way with which he had left her.
Sometimes, in this dark wonderful place, he'd come to her. Whisper to her of things that reminded her why she wanted to stay here. His voice was almost warm, almost, as he told what to do when she awoke next. What to tell others who asked after her poor health. He never said sorry for using his zanpakutou against her, but she never expected it; he was her taicho. And while he did have a reason (he had to have a reason, right?), it wasn't his place to tell her what it was unless she needed to know it. She was his subordinate and she wasn't supposed to ask questions unless they needed to be asked. Which was a fine line, but she figured she had the definition down, at least enough to do her job.
He never looked the same twice in this place; his face was always shifting, his clothing changing with his mood. Sometimes he would be wearing the glasses he'd broken, shattered when he'd left Soul Society. Other times, he would gaze at her coldly with his own two eyes, smiling in that gentle way that reminded her she was special to him. But his voice never changed; never raised in anger, never lowered in disappointment, never showed any hint of any emotion other than the gentle, warm devotion she'd always heard there. The warmth that she'd never heard from anyone else, that she craved. The devotion to her and her alone.
Sometimes there would be another face that appeared. Pale as snow, tear streaks forever frozen on his porcelain-like face, a horned mask adorned the back right half of his head, layered one layer over the other. He scared her; his voice was never gentle, always cold. And his eyes would haunt her as he spoke of what she had to do, what her taicho wished her to do.
Even though she loved *him*, there was still some part of her, a small part at least, that still valued the rules and laws of Soul Society. What the man with the mask asked her to do, what he whispered for her to do, was against those laws and it took everything in her to not cry and break down and tell *someone* of what was happening to her. But then he would visit her, smile warmly and tell her gently that if she ever told anyone, she would never see him again. And it pained her, greatly- this thought of not being able to see him ever again. So she told no one, silently despairing on her own and desperately waiting for the next time when she could see him.
It was dark here. Cool, slowly warming to her. Or perhaps she was becoming chilled. But it didn't effect her, didn't touch her. Couldn't even begin to worm into her. She floated in this dark, silent place, taking comfort in the silence that surrounded her like a blanket. Something was different, though; she could feel it in her heavy heart, and knew that if he asked it of her, she would do it this time. She would give in.
And then his eyes were there, seeming to glow in the darkness. He was without his glasses, a single lock of hair laying against his forehead and cheek like a brown scar between his eyes. They were cool, calculating, and she longed for the warmth and gentleness, already steeling herself for the fight ahead of her, feeling hopeless as he smiled at her with cold warmth.
"Hinamori-kun," his voice was soft, gentle as always, but the edge there scared her a little, created a small chink in the wall she kept so carefully around her. "Hello, Hinamori-kun," he said, reiterating his greeting.
"Aizen-sama," she breathed, feeling her physical body shift in its sleep, blinking at him. He held his arms open for her, and she quickly flew into them, clinging to him. This was the only little piece of him she had left, and she would cling to it (and him) for as long as possible. His arms came up around her, holding her gently, putting another small chink in the wall, making her panic a little.
"I have something for you to do," he told her gently, just as he always did these days. Her fingers tightened their hold in the odd white coat he wore, grasping the fabric as though it were her only life line. "Won't you do this one thing for me?" He asked of her, prodding gently at the wall. It cracked a little and her arms shook as she released a short, wet-sounding hiss.
"I don't want to hurt anyone," she said urgently, burying her face into his sleeve and shutting her eyes tightly. If she didn't have to see him, maybe she could continue to hold out. If she didn't have to look into his eyes, perhaps she could win her inner battle. His hand stroked at her hair and her shaking increased.
"Please, Hinamori-kun," he told her, his words warm and honeyed, trying to coax her. Always before she'd broken away from him at this point, turned into the cool blackness of not-dreaming, trying desperately to block out his insistent gentle voice. But she felt herself freeze, her shaking stop entirely, her breath catch in her throat, desperately begging for him not to say it, the final words that would send her over the edge. "For me," he added like a finishing blow, his voice triumphant as she sagged.
"I don't want to hurt anyone," she whispered, more to remind herself than to tell him. She could feel his smile, cold and amused, boring into the top of her head as she whispered these words over and over again.
She continued to utter these words as she did what he asked, nearly sobbing them as her hands shook on the hilt of her zanpakutou.
****
Aizen sat upon his cold, stone throne in an equally dark, cold room. His smile was cold, triumphant as he silently listened to the reports from one Arrenkar or another, silently musing what despair could do to one when it consumed them.
Finally, Ulquiorra bowed before him, presenting to him the girl that Hinamori-kun had been so kind to help him retrieve.
After all, guards were a pesky thing when recruiting from the other side.
For: Q (quaedam)
Request: Aizen/Ulquiorra and Aizen/Momo + despair
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Aizen, Ulquiorra, Momo
Genre(s): Dark/angst
Warning(s): Ramble-y? Spoilers up through chapter 240 (or there-abouts)
Rating: Pg-13ish
Credits/AN: Here's to pyrefly for being an awesome mod even when I spazzed badly. I do apologize to quaedam for not getting this out sooner, and even more so that this isn't better. Sorry it's late!
It was dark where she was. Cold. But it didn't effect her, didn't touch her. Not here, where she floated comfortably, away from the pain and agony of everything around her. Everything that reminded her of *him*. Of his smiles and gentleness and the warmth that he had loved her with. She knew he'd loved her, he had to. Had to because that was all that she could find to explain the way with which he had left her.
Sometimes, in this dark wonderful place, he'd come to her. Whisper to her of things that reminded her why she wanted to stay here. His voice was almost warm, almost, as he told what to do when she awoke next. What to tell others who asked after her poor health. He never said sorry for using his zanpakutou against her, but she never expected it; he was her taicho. And while he did have a reason (he had to have a reason, right?), it wasn't his place to tell her what it was unless she needed to know it. She was his subordinate and she wasn't supposed to ask questions unless they needed to be asked. Which was a fine line, but she figured she had the definition down, at least enough to do her job.
He never looked the same twice in this place; his face was always shifting, his clothing changing with his mood. Sometimes he would be wearing the glasses he'd broken, shattered when he'd left Soul Society. Other times, he would gaze at her coldly with his own two eyes, smiling in that gentle way that reminded her she was special to him. But his voice never changed; never raised in anger, never lowered in disappointment, never showed any hint of any emotion other than the gentle, warm devotion she'd always heard there. The warmth that she'd never heard from anyone else, that she craved. The devotion to her and her alone.
Sometimes there would be another face that appeared. Pale as snow, tear streaks forever frozen on his porcelain-like face, a horned mask adorned the back right half of his head, layered one layer over the other. He scared her; his voice was never gentle, always cold. And his eyes would haunt her as he spoke of what she had to do, what her taicho wished her to do.
Even though she loved *him*, there was still some part of her, a small part at least, that still valued the rules and laws of Soul Society. What the man with the mask asked her to do, what he whispered for her to do, was against those laws and it took everything in her to not cry and break down and tell *someone* of what was happening to her. But then he would visit her, smile warmly and tell her gently that if she ever told anyone, she would never see him again. And it pained her, greatly- this thought of not being able to see him ever again. So she told no one, silently despairing on her own and desperately waiting for the next time when she could see him.
It was dark here. Cool, slowly warming to her. Or perhaps she was becoming chilled. But it didn't effect her, didn't touch her. Couldn't even begin to worm into her. She floated in this dark, silent place, taking comfort in the silence that surrounded her like a blanket. Something was different, though; she could feel it in her heavy heart, and knew that if he asked it of her, she would do it this time. She would give in.
And then his eyes were there, seeming to glow in the darkness. He was without his glasses, a single lock of hair laying against his forehead and cheek like a brown scar between his eyes. They were cool, calculating, and she longed for the warmth and gentleness, already steeling herself for the fight ahead of her, feeling hopeless as he smiled at her with cold warmth.
"Hinamori-kun," his voice was soft, gentle as always, but the edge there scared her a little, created a small chink in the wall she kept so carefully around her. "Hello, Hinamori-kun," he said, reiterating his greeting.
"Aizen-sama," she breathed, feeling her physical body shift in its sleep, blinking at him. He held his arms open for her, and she quickly flew into them, clinging to him. This was the only little piece of him she had left, and she would cling to it (and him) for as long as possible. His arms came up around her, holding her gently, putting another small chink in the wall, making her panic a little.
"I have something for you to do," he told her gently, just as he always did these days. Her fingers tightened their hold in the odd white coat he wore, grasping the fabric as though it were her only life line. "Won't you do this one thing for me?" He asked of her, prodding gently at the wall. It cracked a little and her arms shook as she released a short, wet-sounding hiss.
"I don't want to hurt anyone," she said urgently, burying her face into his sleeve and shutting her eyes tightly. If she didn't have to see him, maybe she could continue to hold out. If she didn't have to look into his eyes, perhaps she could win her inner battle. His hand stroked at her hair and her shaking increased.
"Please, Hinamori-kun," he told her, his words warm and honeyed, trying to coax her. Always before she'd broken away from him at this point, turned into the cool blackness of not-dreaming, trying desperately to block out his insistent gentle voice. But she felt herself freeze, her shaking stop entirely, her breath catch in her throat, desperately begging for him not to say it, the final words that would send her over the edge. "For me," he added like a finishing blow, his voice triumphant as she sagged.
"I don't want to hurt anyone," she whispered, more to remind herself than to tell him. She could feel his smile, cold and amused, boring into the top of her head as she whispered these words over and over again.
She continued to utter these words as she did what he asked, nearly sobbing them as her hands shook on the hilt of her zanpakutou.
****
Aizen sat upon his cold, stone throne in an equally dark, cold room. His smile was cold, triumphant as he silently listened to the reports from one Arrenkar or another, silently musing what despair could do to one when it consumed them.
Finally, Ulquiorra bowed before him, presenting to him the girl that Hinamori-kun had been so kind to help him retrieve.
After all, guards were a pesky thing when recruiting from the other side.