Author/Artist: Gali
Pairing: None, really.
Fandom: Bleach
Rating: PG-13, for language
Disclaimer: Don’t own Bleach, sadly.
Summary: A little drabble on Zaraki and his zanpakutou, Ken (Kira and I named him, whee~). Ken is prissy, ftw, and they don’t get along. And Ken actually looks quite a bit like Zaraki… except, not QUITE as masculine, not as tall, and not quite as broad. Long black hair in a lowset ponytail, blood red kimono, emo bangs, green eyes but only one you can see… He’s prissy. Truuust me. *ahem* And smexy. ANYWAY. ^^;
—
He was sulking again. Zaraki twitched, feeling the moodiness in the back of his mind and wishing he could simply hold himself under water long enough to will it away. Getting rid of moody zanpakutou wasn’t that easy, unfortunately.
A sharp yank on the spirit’s reiatsu only fueled the disgruntled fire that was his zanpakutou’s nerves, but Zaraki really saw no other way to get the damned priss’s attention. An irritable swipe of energy, not unlike a cat scratching him, was returned and Zaraki twitched again, sighed, and sunk further down into the hot bath he was currently immersing himself in.
It was official. His goddamned sword was moodier than a woman.
“I wouldn’t be so ‘moody’ if you weren’t pulling on my reiatsu all the time,” the sword spirit snapped as he manifested, taking the harsh jerk as permission to do so. “Less is more.”
Zaraki snorted, not looking at Ken as he pulled himself from the water and reached for a towel. “You can take it.”
“It isn’t a matter of that,” Ken snapped, following the shinigami as he trekked from the washroom and into his quarters, dressing along the way. “It’s a matter of what is correct - “
“Do y’really think I give a damn?” Zaraki hissed, whirling to glare at Ken as he tied his robe shut. “Yer a sword - yeah, my sword, but that’s it. And ‘cause yer mine, ya should be givin’ me a little more respect and shut yer goddamned trap!”
Ken remained silent, standing unflinchingly still. The shinigami would have been annoyed had he reacted with something emotion, like tears or shit like that, but it was almost unnerving how Ken could simply withdraw into himself and go cold. Zaraki could almost feel that cold, stabbing into his own energies and demanding some sort of relief - he heaved a long sigh, glaring down at the spirit’s lean form, daring to meet the single green eye that clouded in the same cold.
Well, fuck.
“…Never mind.” Zaraki raked a hand back through his currently loose hair. “I like it better when yer being a bitch and telling’ me off.”
Ken shifted, but didn’t turn away. “Don’t soften your words for me, Zaraki-sama,” he responded, mockingly respectful. “I am only your sword. I can take it.”
“What the fuck d’ya want from me?!” Zaraki snarled, exasperated and angry at both Ken’s reactions and his own. “I don’t know how any of this works, a’right?! An’ I’m not gonna be fuckin’ around with ya like the rest of the shinigami in this fucking place seem at be doin‘ - “
“As if I would let you,” Ken shot back, needing the jab. “Look at me, Kenpachi. What am I is what you have forced me to become, and like this, I can’t help either of us. I am weak, and I am failing you.”
“Did jus’ fine on my own before,” the shinigami returned savagely, turning away. “And I can keep doin’ fine. Get out of my sight.” When the zanpakutou’s single visible eye narrowed and he demanifested in a flare of angry power, Zaraki could only blink. Well. That was the first time Ken had actually listened -
…And the first time Zaraki actually realized that - fuck. They had a long way to go.