Icons and Fic!
Total: 14 (Animated and Still.)
Kenpachi and Yachiru: 2
Kenpachi: 9
Yachiru: 3
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1234
5678
9101112
1314
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Title: Miracle.
Author: silawen (Formerly sila_graphics.)
Rating: PG
Characters: Zaraki Kenpachi and Kusajishi Yachiru.
Word Count: 300 words exactly.
Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach. Wish I did, but I have yet to find a magic lamp and my very own genie.
Summary: From the awed glances of his underlings to the scrutinizing stares of his peers, they all seemed to challenge him to do better. To be better.
Author's Note: Based on the fact that 'wonder' means 'miracle' in Dutch. ^^
The evening felt cool against his skin as he rested against a lonely tree, zanpakutou leaning into his shoulder as a constant reminder of his life. The dents in his blade - uneven, cut, much like him - vibrated with undiluted reitasu, roaring at him, but he couldn't make out the words. He doubted he ever would. The art of words, spoken from a zanpakutou's soul, was far beyond him. An animal knows only sound.
The wind, murmuring in his ear alongside the heavy drum of his own reiatsu, whipped through the branches above him, tugging at the bells on his head. The light clash of metal was another sound added to the ongoing symphony. To him it had no meaning. Just empty sound.
Ever since he'd joined the Gotei 13 - better yet, brutally forced his way in - he'd been expected to fit in, but he'd given up on that. They would keep him chained, tied to morals and rules he didn't stand behind, so he stayed one step ahead. Life was too precious to hold back.
From the awed glances of his underlings to the scrutinizing stares of his peers, they all seemed to challenge him to do better. To be better.
As his eyes drifted to the blood on the ground - dripping and seeping, clawing at the dirt in grotesque patterns - he wondered why they thought he could be anything more. It was like hoping for a miracle, but lacked the magician's hands. His killed, they didn't weave magic or inspire the uninspired. They ended, never began.
He realized, though, that he did have a meaning. As small hands dug into his shoulder - not unlike the sword in his hands - he could feel the miniscule quiver in his chest. A trembling of the soul.
She was his little miracle.
Kenpachi and Yachiru: 2
Kenpachi: 9
Yachiru: 3
123
1234
5678
9101112
1314
~
Title: Miracle.
Author: silawen (Formerly sila_graphics.)
Rating: PG
Characters: Zaraki Kenpachi and Kusajishi Yachiru.
Word Count: 300 words exactly.
Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach. Wish I did, but I have yet to find a magic lamp and my very own genie.
Summary: From the awed glances of his underlings to the scrutinizing stares of his peers, they all seemed to challenge him to do better. To be better.
Author's Note: Based on the fact that 'wonder' means 'miracle' in Dutch. ^^
The evening felt cool against his skin as he rested against a lonely tree, zanpakutou leaning into his shoulder as a constant reminder of his life. The dents in his blade - uneven, cut, much like him - vibrated with undiluted reitasu, roaring at him, but he couldn't make out the words. He doubted he ever would. The art of words, spoken from a zanpakutou's soul, was far beyond him. An animal knows only sound.
The wind, murmuring in his ear alongside the heavy drum of his own reiatsu, whipped through the branches above him, tugging at the bells on his head. The light clash of metal was another sound added to the ongoing symphony. To him it had no meaning. Just empty sound.
Ever since he'd joined the Gotei 13 - better yet, brutally forced his way in - he'd been expected to fit in, but he'd given up on that. They would keep him chained, tied to morals and rules he didn't stand behind, so he stayed one step ahead. Life was too precious to hold back.
From the awed glances of his underlings to the scrutinizing stares of his peers, they all seemed to challenge him to do better. To be better.
As his eyes drifted to the blood on the ground - dripping and seeping, clawing at the dirt in grotesque patterns - he wondered why they thought he could be anything more. It was like hoping for a miracle, but lacked the magician's hands. His killed, they didn't weave magic or inspire the uninspired. They ended, never began.
He realized, though, that he did have a meaning. As small hands dug into his shoulder - not unlike the sword in his hands - he could feel the miniscule quiver in his chest. A trembling of the soul.
She was his little miracle.