Author: Aiseki Anrui Title: Akabane on Love Summary: This little One-Shot is my personal opinion on Akabane-san's personality. If you think that Akabane is a tortured soul with a tragic past, read this. If you believe that Akabane-san could ever be redeemed by being in love, read this. You may be in for a surprise. Pre-reading Notes: This fic is in response to all of the Akabane/Mary Sues out there. This is not criticism for any story in particular, this is just my theory and reason why Akabane would not be paired up with any woman that people usually pair him with. Anyhow, please R&R, and constructive criticism is accepted. However, flames are not, so, if you're offended by this (my friend and beta reader Alex, who wrote an Akabane/OC, was), I'm sorry in advance. So… Read on, Mac Duff!
Akabane on Love
Love. What an….interesting concept, to say the least. Especially, when it is in relation to me. Almost everyone that I am acquainted with tries to brooch the subject. Oh, they may start delicately, subtly trying to maneuver the dialogue into that general direction. And once we finally fall onto the subject, the speakers always fancy themselves clever and cunning in the art of conversation. In truth, I allow them to bring the subject up, as it entertains me. Time and time again, I am amused to no end by the theories they make in regards to my personality, and love.
Hmmm… Love. What idiots. Most think that I am a poor, tortured soul, dragging along some dark and tragic past like an overstuffed suitcase. They'd like to believe that once, I was a good person, one who led a normal life, and perhaps had a lover. They'd also like to think that something tragic happened to whomever I was supposed to love, and during that event, they'd like to believe that was when I received my special….abilities. The theories go on, to proclaim that I am killing out of revenge, or sorrow, or guilt, or whatever the simpletons choose to believe at the time. They also believe that there is some secret weight on my heart, one that is haunting me incessantly. I laugh.
To think they're so close, and yet so far.
Well, what if I were to tell them the truth? What if I were to tell them that, yes, I was not always the person I am now? What if I were to tell them that I was once a doctor, who helped people? What if I were to tell them, that I once did have a lover? And that I, I suppose, in my own fashion, did care for her? And that she did die?
And what if I were to tell them, that I was the one who killed her?
And that I did it on purpose, with no regrets?
That might shut them up for a few moments. But, I find their ignorant babbling amusing, so I don't tell them anything. I find it entertaining that they wish to think that I am a poor, repenting soul, who's only solace is in the killing and maiming of flesh. I find it funny that they want to believe that I'm a tortured soul, living with the curse of my scalpels.
Curse?
My, my… People can be so idiotic.
What if I were to tell them that the way I got my scalpels was not some horrible, horrific tragedy? What if I were to tell them that, instead of being a curse, my scalpels were my pride, my joy, my blessing? And, what if I were to tell them, that I asked for the operation that gave me my abilities? That I paid with the lives of many, to get them?
I think the poor fools would drop dead of shock.
But, anyhow, I digress. Whenever the topic of love comes up in any discussion, people always wonder, not only about the past, but also about the present, and future. The questions "Are you in love?" and "Will you ever be in love?" always seem to pop up in the conversation. And then, they go on to theorize about exactly what type of person would attract me, and what qualities that person must have. It is very amusing.
They think that I'd be attracted to someone stunningly beautiful. That, however, is not fair. When are men not attracted to beautiful women? But then, I suppose, I could say that I am an exception. Oh, yes, I notice the charms of various women, but I hardly give them a second glance. My version of beauty is far different from other men's. Most men adore the big-eyed, large breasted, long-haired women, who, are either a) completely innocent, and of no use, b) have attitudes, which get in the way of having a decent conversation, as they're always needing to say something insolent, and c) completely full of themselves, and who believe that because they may be physically attractive, they are some type of "goddess" that men should bow down and worship. Hmph. Fools. Their version of beauty, as I said, is completely different then my own.
When I picture a woman, one whose company I would enjoy, it is this: She is standing in an alleyway, blocking some frightened fools from exiting. She's killing them ruthlessly, mercilessly, not letting one inch of flesh go un-cut. The blood spray stains her clothes, and dyes her hair a dark red, masking whatever the real color is underneath. Her dark eyes are full of bloodlust, and she laughs with amusement as she hacks the bodies apart, feeling, only when blade is slicing flesh, truly alive. Hmmm, sounds like a female version of myself, no? And I wonder why no one ever asks for what I personally look for in a woman. It's because they know inside that the type of woman I would want would scare the shit out of them.
Oh, but there are no women like that. At least not any that I have met. Oh, well.
What I think is the most amusing, however, is the type of woman other people envision for me. They believe that, someday, I'll meet some beautiful girl with a tragic past, who will teach me to repent my ways, and reform me into a creature of goodness, in the end.
Reform? I think not.
I wouldn't be living any other way.
What pathetic fools. Just because they cannot accept me as I really am, cannot accept the type of person that I really am, they make up lies. Lies and illusions they can use, because their poor brains cannot relate to me at all. And, without those illusions, they'd be far to scared of me to walk within a hundred miles of me, let alone work or fight with me.
Again, poor, pathetic fools.
There is, however, one question that I am always, no matter who asks it, tempted to answer. That question is, "Are you in love?" Hmmm. I always wondered what the reaction would be, if I told them the answer. If, I told them the truth.
That, of course, would be a yes.
I can imagine them being shocked and desperately wondering who the lucky (or, in their minds, poor) lady, or guy, is. I think, however, that they would be even more shocked if I told them exactly who I am in love with. Actually, I think they'd be very scandalized.
In case you haven't noticed, I am in love with Death.
Death, you ask? Oh, Death is a person. Death is a woman, one who claims the lives of others with fierce and passionate lust. Death is a woman who, whatever her mood, can either be cold and calculating, fiery and spontaneous, slow and painful, or quick and effortless. Death can be exact and precise, like with scalpels, or guns, or she can be rough and brutal, like with axes and bombs and chains. Whatever way she chooses, Death always gets what she wants, in the end.
Death is also the most beautiful thing in the world. Her voice is the tormented screams of prey once they've been caught, and their shrieks and shouts of pain as they're dissected. Her smile is the hysterical, excruciating looks on victims' faces as they're slowly, painfully, torn apart. Her eyes are the look of almost maniacal ecstasy the hunter gets once he catches his prey, and goes in for the kill. Her skin is the pale, waxen, color of the dead, long after they've been drained of their blood, which her lips are always dripping with. Her hair, too, is blood, dark and crimson, fresh from a wound. And her clothes are the dark, sorrowful black that one wears once the victims are dead and gone, and one is sad, because one soon has to go out and find others.
Sometimes, I think that I am the only one who is away of Death's fatal beauty, though I know that others too, can sense it, though less acutely as I. Ban Mido, I know for a fact, can sense the magnificence that is Death, though he pushes it away, and hides whatever murderous he has deep inside. I know that he is a kindred spirit, for I know, that, secretly, he too, lusts after blood, though his conscious mind will not allow him to admit it, even to himself. Ah well, someday, the jagon-wielding recoveror will have to admit it, and then, we will have some fun with him. But, until then…
Love. What an.…..interesting concept, to say the least. Especially, when it is in relation to me. It is amusing to hear all of the theories my co-workers and enemies have about my past, and what it would take to be redeemed. It is entertaining to hear what they believe would be the ideal woman for me, and that love will be the thing to bring me around. Hmm.. I laugh. They think that some doe-eyed, large-breasted creature will capture me? The thought amuses me to no end. If I was to ever love anyone besides Death, it would have to be someone like her, and like me. And, as no one seems willing to become one of those types of murderous, bloodthirsty women, I suspect that I shall stay single for a terribly long time.
And that, I believe, is the end of my discourse on the subject of love.
Author's Note: This one-shot is in response to all of those Akabane/OC fics that are out there. I'm not saying that all Akabane/OC fics are bad, but the majority seem to be the type, where, I the end, Akabane is redeemed by some righteous girl, or, the type where though he doesn't get redeemed (yay!), the woman he's with is such of a bitch with a bad attitude, that almost every other line, she's making cracks and throwing insults at Ginji or Ban. In fact, I've only come over one or two decent Akabane/OC fics, and I don't even remember their names.
Anyhow, I hoped you enjoyed my small Akabane-centric discourse. Please review, and please, please, for the love of Krishna, NO FLAMES!