Magnetism
Title: Magnetism
Author: bmw_remixed
Fandom: Bleach
Character(s): Byakuya and Rukia... sorta. Not really.
Warning(s): Standard first-fic-in-fandom warning. =]
Disclaimer: Non habeo.
She despises him, yet is intrigued by him at the same time. It is one of those morbid fascinations, those all consuming curiosity for that which can potentially harm oneself.
From time to time, she watches him from the edges of her own realm. She stands still beneath the never-ending deluge of sakura petals. He calls to her sometimes, his voice light and musical, carrying across the gap between his forest of ice and her eternal garden. She turns away, for his name is not for hers to hear, and her heart lies only in the steel blade of her earthly form and the bloodstained earth of the battleground.
They were complete opposites. He was brash, excitable, prone to outburst of rage and wonderment, gesturing wildly with hands and body. He spoke rapidly, words tripping over one another to escape the confines of his mind. He lived for emotion, died for expression, and achieved nirvana without serenity. He mourned when his wielder mourned, cried when she cried, and laughed like there was no tomorrow. On the other hand, she is expressionless in her words and smooth in her speech. Never faltering in her pace, movements controlled, exuding a silent sovereignty that was almost suffocating. To show weakness was to rescind victory, and to express it is to show one has been overcome, and control had been wrenched away.
Her skin was warm beneath her cold exterior, tinted with the blood of fallen hollows and men, their dying gift an enhancement to her beauty. His skin would be eternally frozen to the touch regardless of the warmth radiating from his smile.
She was beauty and power forced into something tangible, and by the way she acted, she knew it. She was a lady, fit for a lord, and she expected nothing less. He was of a lesser breed, power drawn from a mongrel lineage, and to compare him to her was to compare mud to marble.
He disgusted her.
They meet again on battlefield, and for once, he is solemn. He looks at her coolly, his steely determination mirroring the look on his Shinigami, their honor, their lives on the line. She watches amusedly at the futility of their situation.
You think you can defeat us?
With me at his side?
I am the might of an army of warriors.
Her power surges, channeling through her wielder, aimed directly at him. He is jerked back and forth, swung to and fro to parry her frenzied attacks.
The fury of a thousand vengeful spirits.
He hears the command that frees her, but misses the sounds of her name. Her presence surrounds him, filling his conscience with her voice and her staring eyes.
The countless sins of mankind sealed within an imperial mask.
He could only watch as she slices at his Shinigami, his god of death. As his god hisses in pain, a thin crack crawls its way through the field of ice he stands on, and yet he stares straight ahead, defiant of her will.
What are you? She asks, a challenge in her question.
To answer her, he calls out to his Shinigami to release him. His spirit soars at the sound of his name, his physical form to shedding its demure appearance in a flash of light, swathing himself in white.
He rises up to meet her, reaches out to her in flurry of snow and ice and exhilaration. At the last moment, he pulls back and draws his subjects around him, for he is no longer just an inhabitant of the realm of snow and ice. He is its king, and bends his kingdom to his whims with ease.
She floats towards him, above him, and all around him, seeking an opening. But his command is firm and his subjects are loyal and protect his king as the king protects his God.
He begins the first steps of his deadly dance, each movement a deliberate order for his subjects. A sidestep to signal defense, a sudden turn to attack. He surrounds her in an icy embrace, limiting her movement.
(Oh, how cold your hands are…)
His stare penetrated hers, and he whispers.
You asked what I was.
I am the graceful death, the dancer in the winter storm, and the purity of oblivion.
His voices carries across the battlefield, his exhilaration rises with each title that is shouted to the winds.
My name is Sode no Shirayuki.
For a moment, his sudden transformation takes her by surprise, and she could do little more but stand and stare.
…But only for a moment.
She laughs haughtily, and shatters his grip. With another command from her God, the final chains on her power are broken and her form disappears from view. She rematerializes above him, below him, behind him, a hurricane of shimmering death whirling around him.
Ah, yes, but you see…
I am Senbonzakura.
She attacks for a final time with a flurry of dying flowers, and his winter is turned to spring.
----------------
Start: 1.29.07
Fin: 2.18.07
Notes:
Melodramamelodramamelodrama!
Man, Senbonzakura is a bitch. But she'd have to be to lay the beatdown on Byaku and his superiority complex. =]
Author: bmw_remixed
Fandom: Bleach
Character(s): Byakuya and Rukia... sorta. Not really.
Warning(s): Standard first-fic-in-fandom warning. =]
Disclaimer: Non habeo.
She despises him, yet is intrigued by him at the same time. It is one of those morbid fascinations, those all consuming curiosity for that which can potentially harm oneself.
From time to time, she watches him from the edges of her own realm. She stands still beneath the never-ending deluge of sakura petals. He calls to her sometimes, his voice light and musical, carrying across the gap between his forest of ice and her eternal garden. She turns away, for his name is not for hers to hear, and her heart lies only in the steel blade of her earthly form and the bloodstained earth of the battleground.
They were complete opposites. He was brash, excitable, prone to outburst of rage and wonderment, gesturing wildly with hands and body. He spoke rapidly, words tripping over one another to escape the confines of his mind. He lived for emotion, died for expression, and achieved nirvana without serenity. He mourned when his wielder mourned, cried when she cried, and laughed like there was no tomorrow. On the other hand, she is expressionless in her words and smooth in her speech. Never faltering in her pace, movements controlled, exuding a silent sovereignty that was almost suffocating. To show weakness was to rescind victory, and to express it is to show one has been overcome, and control had been wrenched away.
Her skin was warm beneath her cold exterior, tinted with the blood of fallen hollows and men, their dying gift an enhancement to her beauty. His skin would be eternally frozen to the touch regardless of the warmth radiating from his smile.
She was beauty and power forced into something tangible, and by the way she acted, she knew it. She was a lady, fit for a lord, and she expected nothing less. He was of a lesser breed, power drawn from a mongrel lineage, and to compare him to her was to compare mud to marble.
He disgusted her.
They meet again on battlefield, and for once, he is solemn. He looks at her coolly, his steely determination mirroring the look on his Shinigami, their honor, their lives on the line. She watches amusedly at the futility of their situation.
You think you can defeat us?
With me at his side?
I am the might of an army of warriors.
Her power surges, channeling through her wielder, aimed directly at him. He is jerked back and forth, swung to and fro to parry her frenzied attacks.
The fury of a thousand vengeful spirits.
He hears the command that frees her, but misses the sounds of her name. Her presence surrounds him, filling his conscience with her voice and her staring eyes.
The countless sins of mankind sealed within an imperial mask.
He could only watch as she slices at his Shinigami, his god of death. As his god hisses in pain, a thin crack crawls its way through the field of ice he stands on, and yet he stares straight ahead, defiant of her will.
What are you? She asks, a challenge in her question.
To answer her, he calls out to his Shinigami to release him. His spirit soars at the sound of his name, his physical form to shedding its demure appearance in a flash of light, swathing himself in white.
He rises up to meet her, reaches out to her in flurry of snow and ice and exhilaration. At the last moment, he pulls back and draws his subjects around him, for he is no longer just an inhabitant of the realm of snow and ice. He is its king, and bends his kingdom to his whims with ease.
She floats towards him, above him, and all around him, seeking an opening. But his command is firm and his subjects are loyal and protect his king as the king protects his God.
He begins the first steps of his deadly dance, each movement a deliberate order for his subjects. A sidestep to signal defense, a sudden turn to attack. He surrounds her in an icy embrace, limiting her movement.
(Oh, how cold your hands are…)
His stare penetrated hers, and he whispers.
You asked what I was.
I am the graceful death, the dancer in the winter storm, and the purity of oblivion.
His voices carries across the battlefield, his exhilaration rises with each title that is shouted to the winds.
My name is Sode no Shirayuki.
For a moment, his sudden transformation takes her by surprise, and she could do little more but stand and stare.
…But only for a moment.
She laughs haughtily, and shatters his grip. With another command from her God, the final chains on her power are broken and her form disappears from view. She rematerializes above him, below him, behind him, a hurricane of shimmering death whirling around him.
Ah, yes, but you see…
I am Senbonzakura.
She attacks for a final time with a flurry of dying flowers, and his winter is turned to spring.
----------------
Start: 1.29.07
Fin: 2.18.07
Notes:
Melodramamelodramamelodrama!
Man, Senbonzakura is a bitch. But she'd have to be to lay the beatdown on Byaku and his superiority complex. =]