a/n:

fyi, this is supposed to be kinda cracky, so don't take this too seriously. originally, it was going to be gin having a conversation with god (kinda like the whole dragon thing at the end of an amazing book called the black tattoo, you should totes read it if you have time), but instead it turned into tHIS. oh well. enjoy the read, it's not that long. also, it's un-beta'd, so i wouldn't be surprised if there are a few typos here and there. but please leave a review though, because that would be awesome.


Happily Ever After

But the history books ain't gonna forget about us this time, babe. [ginran, in which Gin muses on life after his death.]


"Well," Ichimaru Gin's musical voice broke a white silence. "I s'pose this is it, then."

In the end, death didn't turn out to be so bad. Maybe all that time spent thinking about it in Las Noches helped a little bit, but Gin figured that he was running on borrowed time, anyway. If he didn't die in the war, his head probably would've been lopped off by an executioner's blade, or he'd be left to rot away in the Maggot's Nest with a hundred other good-for-nothing shinigami that most likely would not hold the most interesting of conversations. And where was the fun in that?

At least he got to go with some kind of a bang here. The history lessons that the next decade's academy students would have to sit through might be a bit more interesting when they hear of the mysterious Ichimaru Gin and his plight against the evil Aizen Sosuke all for the sake of his one true love—

Hah. Who was he kidding? He was no hero, and he doubted people would ever be that comfortable saying his name out loud again. Really, it was all about Aizen, and he supposed that Ichigo would end up being the hero of this tale. Having anything less than bastard written under Gin's name in the records would be blasphemous; the things he'd done while there was still air in his lungs were entirely unheroic, despite his great big miraculous turn-around at the end of it all.

It turns out that in real life, people don't forgive so easily, and it's not like he could fight for his cause now he was buried six feet underground.

(Quite literally, in fact.)

If he was honest, this reality was better than he'd expected it would be. Sure, he'd fucked things up while he was still living. He'd ruined Rangiku's dreams for one, and that was something that he'd always be genuinely sorry about. But dying in her arms with her ample boobs in his face was inappropriately pleasant, and it's not like he needed to worry about Aizen not getting defeated any more. Ichigo the Creep looked like he had it all under control; Gin wasn't really all that bothered about losing the limelight.

And who said life was supposed be like a fairy tale, anyway? It seemed that nothing ever really worked out for anyone nowadays. The stories adults weaved for their little children were having a negative effect on them as they grew up, not that Gin ever had any loving parents that doted on him as a baby. His nursery rhymes were second-hand, overheard during his many travels and replayed to Rangiku when he arrived back at the shack after one day, one week, one month, or however long it took him to finish the spiritual training he'd thought was the most important thing in the world.

They grew into the habit of pretending that he'd only been gone for a few hours at a time. There'd be screaming and shouting first – Gin once found bruises on his chest after a particularly intense attack of punches on Rangiku's behalf. But he'd hug her and poke her boobs (boobs that seemed to grow increasingly bigger every time he saw them; Gin would never pass up the opportunity to voice this observation, as that would be passing up the opportunity to see her cheeks blush a thousand lovely shades of crimson red) and she might've had a little cry, but things would be alright again.

Anyway, he'd relay any new fairy tales he'd overheard and Rangiku would never be happy with the outcome.

"Why does the girl always end up marrying the prince?"

"I dunno, Ran-chan. That's just the way it works."

"Well, why can't she end up with the servant?"

"Eh?"

"The servant in that story seemed much nicer. He helped her more than the prince did!"

"... Well, why dun' we re-write it then?"

Naturally, two scruffy orphans could do a better job of explaining Cinderella than the actual creator of the tale. Their Cinderella had short golden hair, and battled valiantly against cut-throat pirates and magical wizards; she stabbed evil princes and fell in love with wonderfully kind-hearted servants (but only if they came with an abundance of dried persimmons in their arms, of course). And then, once the monsters had been slain and the treasure had been recovered, Cinderella and the servant got married and lived happily ever after.

Strangely, it had only occurred to Gin that Rangiku and Cinderella were supposed to have been one-in-the-same a handful of years later at the most inconvenient of moments. During the throes of making very sweet love to her within the slightly cramped confines of his lieutenant's quarters in the fifth company barracks, she'd moaned, and it sounded like the yelp she'd once given out when they'd been re-enacting the scene where Cinderella slays a slimy troll.

Unfortunately (just as she was about to deliver the killing blow, too), Rangiku tripped on her yukata and fell unceremoniously into the pond behind her.

Gin had laughed for days afterwards.

He remembered laughing again during that somewhat heated moment, but managed to hide his chuckles by burying his head into the crook of Rangiku's neck and distracting himself with kissing her collarbone.

But even now, with over a century between his fairy-tale childhood and realistic life as a grown-up, Gin couldn't possibly stop himself from chortling merrily as he began walking towards the rather cliché light at the end of the tunnel.


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