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whenisitenoughtrees · 4 years

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to be honest, capable (of holding you) (part 3/3)

He walks forward, crouching over the snake, and when it doesn’t stir at all, he works up his courage and pokes it, just a little. Its scales are warm and smooth under his fingertip, and he resists the urge to stroke them. He doubts he could get away with that.

“Janus?” he asks, trying to keep the somewhat hysterical laughter from his voice. “That you?”

Thomas didn’t know that Janus could turn into an actual snake, but he’s glad to hang out with him regardless. More than glad; ecstatic, even, because he’s been trying to figure out how to befriend him for ages, and this seems like a good first step. What he can’t figure out is why human-Janus is being so weird about it.

(Alternatively: Janus doesn’t trust easily. He wishes he could stop trusting Thomas— it would be so much less terrifying.)

Chapter Warnings: swearing

Chapter Word Count: 6,292

Pairing: platonic Thomceit

(part 1) (part 2)

(masterpost w/ ao3 links)

They still don’t talk about it. Thomas is beginning to suspect that this is causing a lot more problems than it solves. And by now, enough time has passed that it almost feels wrong to address it, any of it, feels like it’s too late, like he’s let the opportunity slip through his fingers.

So, he decides to try a different approach.

“Really?” Logan asks, raising an eyebrow. He appears entirely unimpressed, like a teacher about to explain for the millionth time that he’s not going to give out the answers to the homework.

“Yes, really,” Thomas says. “I just can’t figure him out, and I thought maybe you could help me with that.”

Logan sighs, taking a seat across from him at the dining table. He clasps his hands in front of him, folding his fingers delicately. “Very well,” he says, “if only because the matter will continue to distract you if you don’t resolve it sufficiently. Where would you like to begin?”

He frowns, tilting his chair back until the two front legs lift off the floor. “I don’t really know,” he says. “I guess I just want to know why he acts the way he does. ‘Cause he seems to have no problem approaching me as a snake, but he’s so standoffish as a human, and I can never figure out exactly what he wants from me, like, ever. He’s just… confusing, and I don’t know what to do about it, or how to talk to him.”

Logan inclines his head. “In that case, it may be prudent to reflect on how this conundrum began in the first place,” he prompts, and Thomas thinks on it, casts his mind back to that day, and the snake in the sunshine.

“That’s the first question,” he agrees. “He started coming up here for the sun, right? To be warm?”

“It is rather fascinating that he possesses so many traits of a creature that is truly cold-blooded,” Logan says. He leans forward. “It does seem to me that acquiring warmth was a primary motivation for him, at least at first. However, there is another question to be considered, which is that of why he felt the need to do so here, rather than anywhere in the mindscape. Though it is true that there are some circumstances in which it is difficult to find a simulation of sunlight, such as when the twins insist on rainy weather in the Imagination, it is by no means impossible, and he should have the capability to summon a heat source for himself. A heat lamp, for instance.”

“But instead he came up here,” he says slowly. “So, you’re saying he wanted to be here. That he wanted to be… what, near me?” The idea sounds preposterous, though all the evidence points to it being the correct conclusion. Because if Janus didn’t want to, he wouldn’t. It’s that simple.

Logan nods. “Remember, the first time he was faced with a lack of warmth both inside the mindscape and out, he immediately accepted your offer of sharing body heat. Somehow, I find it difficult to believe that he would have behaved in such a manner if no part of his motivation involved being close to you, in some way.”

“Okay, maybe,” he says. “But I still don’t get why he’s doing it like this. He always seems so embarrassed when I try to bring it up to him, like he doesn’t want to talk about it at all.”

“Oh, come on, Thomas,” Virgil says. “You can’t possibly be that oblivious.”

Thomas starts violently, a yelp escaping his throat. He nearly overbalances, nearly sends himself and the chair crashing to the floor, but he corrects himself in time, clutching at his chest as he wrests his heart rate back down to something approaching normal levels.

“Holy smokes, Virge,” he says. “A little warning, next time?”

From where he is perched on the chair between them, Virgil shrugs, looking vaguely apologetic.

“Ah, Virgil,” Logan says. “I was wondering when you were going to arrive.”

Virgil rolls his eyes. “Sorry I’m late,” he snipes, not sounding sorry at all. “I was just making sure that, you know, Janus wasn’t listening to you guys talking about him behind his back. You can’t honestly think he’d be happy that you guys are having this conversation, can you?” Thomas blinks, and Virgil must sense his sudden increase in nerves, because he shakes his head. “He’s busy with Remus right now, so you don’t actually have to worry about it yet, but a little bit of caution wouldn’t kill you.”

He sounds annoyed, but not overly angry, so Thomas relaxes a bit. “Right,” he says, “sorry, Virgil. Wasn’t really thinking about that.” He pauses. “I have been wondering where you’ve been, actually. I really thought that you’d, uh, have a little bit more to say about the whole letting-Janus-basically-cuddle-with-me thing. But you’ve been kinda quiet.”

Virgil exchanges a glance with Logan, shifting in place. “Yeah, uh, you’ve got Logan to thank for that,” he says. “Look, I don’t like the guy. I probably never will. But—” He pauses, hunching his shoulders— “even I’ve got to admit that he’s not gonna hurt you, so honestly? I have a lot more problems with the things he says and tries to get you to do than the, uh. Whatever the hell this has been.”

He gestures broadly, leaning back. Despite his typical disaffected tone, there is an odd gravity to his words, and Thomas knows that there’s something he isn’t saying. But he won’t press the issue; not yet anyway. Virgil is entitled to his secrets, and though he has long speculated on what, exactly, his relationship to Janus is and was, he is content to leave it alone for now.

“Fair enough,” he says. “So, what do you mean about me being oblivious?”

Virgil raises an eyebrow. “Really? You can’t figure it out?” he asks. “Janus is the embodiment of lies and deceit, Thomas. He’s the opposite of trustworthiness.” Thomas opens his mouth to interject, since he really doesn’t see how this is relevant, or even remotely helpful, but Virgil holds up a finger, forestalling him. “And I’m not just saying that in the context of him not being trustworthy. Which he’s not, by the way, just to make that clear.”

“Yeah, no, I know exactly where you stand on this,” he mutters, and Virgil glares at him. “Sorry, sorry, please continue.”

“All I’m trying to say is that he’s got some fucking trust issues, alright?” Virgil snaps. “He’s—” He breaks off, looking away and reddening slightly. He seems to struggle with himself briefly, his face twisting into some undefinable expression: a heavy reluctance, mixed with something Thomas can’t put a name to. “He’s kinda like me, in that way. You remember how long it took me to believe you when you started telling me you actually wanted me around?”

Guilt floods him, then, the memories of how he used to treat Virgil rushing back. These past couple of years have been good, so much so that he rarely thinks back on where they started. He knows Virgil so well that it is easy to forget that he feared him, once, pushed him down and tried to ignore him rather than working with him or trying to help him.

“Virgil—”

“No, listen.” His words come insistently, once again verging on frustration, so Thomas shuts up. “I’m not saying that to make you feel guilty, or whatever. We’re past that now. We’re good. And god knows I fucking hate comparing myself to him in literally any way. But what I’m trying to say is that being a, a ‘dark side’ or whatever you want to call them, it’s not exactly conducive to believing that you care, or that you value our opinions. So even though you’ve accepted him, and you’ve started actively listening to his contributions, he probably doesn’t trust you not to, like, reverse positions, or some shit like that.”

“But Thomas hasn’t shown any desire to do so,” Logan interjects, “nor any indication that his stance will change in the future.”

“Maybe,” Virgil returns, “but Janus is self-preservation, not logic. He likes to pretend that he’s all cool and confident and rational, but he’s not. So he’s gonna act out of self-defense, no matter how stupid a move that might be.”

“You’re saying he thinks I might hurt him,” Thomas says. A strange sort of horrified numbness settles into his chest at the very thought, because that is the last thing he wants. It has always been the last thing he wants. And now, so much time has passed, and they haven’t addressed it at all, and maybe it really is too late. Because Virgil is right; it only makes sense that Deceit himself would be hesitant to trust, and he’s not sure there’s anything he can say or do to convince him otherwise. If he doesn’t trust him at this point, who’s to say he’ll ever trust him at all?

Would he be right not to?

“I’m saying he’s scared you might hurt him,” Virgil says bluntly, breaking him from his thoughts, and that’s even worse. He finds it hard to picture Janus being scared, but Janus lies as easily as breathing. What’s one more emotion to mask?

He doesn’t want Janus to be scared of him.

“I’m not sure how much sense that makes,” Logan says. “If Janus truly has the trust issues that you are describing, it wouldn’t be rational for him to seek out Thomas as much as he has. If he fears being hurt, it would be more logical to stay away, rather than actively searching for his company.”

Virgil shrugs. “Exactly.”

There is a beat of silence. Thomas looks at Logan, and has the gratification of seeing that he appears as confused as he feels.

“What?” Logan asks.

“Oh my god,” Virgil says. “Do I have to be the one to spell this out? Janus has trust issues, yeah? He’s afraid of getting close to you, because he thinks you might hurt him. But he’s been spending time with you anyway. What does that tell you?”

He furrows his brow, trying to sort through the words. There is something there, a conclusion that Virgil is attempting to lead him, to, but it’s not quite—

Oh. Wait.

“That doesn’t follow,” Logan says. “You’re saying he doesn’t trust Thomas, but now you’re trying to imply that he does?”

Virgil shrugs again, this time looking remarkably self-satisfied, a smug smile forming on his lips. “I guess,” he says. “I’m not saying it has to make sense. Trust… isn’t always based on logic. Sometimes it’s just emotions, or even just a gut feeling. Intuition. And like I said, Janus pretends not to be emotional, but at heart, he’s just as much of a dramatic theater kid as Roman is, if that tells you anything. He’ll be snarky and prickly and dickish all day long, but just because he pushes you away doesn’t mean that’s actually what he wants.”

His voice lowers at the end, becoming something soft and bitter and laced with experience. Thomas exchanges another glance with Logan, but once again decides not to force the issue. Virgil will come to him when he’s ready and not a moment before.

“So, you think that he does trust me, on some level at least,” he says, working through the information as he goes. “But not enough to approach me openly, or to talk to me about it, so maybe he doesn’t trust me not to take advantage of that trust? Or maybe he doesn’t trust me to trust him, or maybe he doesn’t trust me not to reject his trust.” He pauses, considering. “Hey, do you ever say a word so many times that it starts to lose its meaning? Trust. Trust, trust, trust. Truuuust. See? Gibberish.”

Logan exhales through his nose, sharp and pointed. “Focus, Thomas,” he says wearily, and Thomas forcibly brings his head back down to earth. “Have you come to a conclusion as to what your next step should be?”

Thomas looks at him, and then looks at Virgil. They are both staring at him, twin expressions of expectation on their faces, and his heart warms to see them like this, working together so easily, united in their purposes. Logic and Anxiety, Logan and Virgil. They really do make a good team. He doesn’t know where he would be without them.

He hopes they know that.

“Yeah, I have,” he says, and laughs. “I guess I should’ve been doing it all along. I need to talk to him.”

Logan’s face relaxes, and he nods. “There you have it,” he says. “Working through this with us is fine and good, but you’ll never be satisfied until you can figuratively ‘clear the air’ with him.” He unfolds his hands, bracing them against the table as he stands, his chair scraping against the floor as he pushes it back. “If that is all you need from me, I believe I will be on my way.”

Thomas smiles at him, helpless to do anything but. He really does love his sides. “Sure thing,” he says. “Thanks a lot, Logan.”

Logan sinks out, but Thomas is sure that a matching smile plays about his lips.

And then, he looks to Virgil, still crouched in the other chair, shoulders hunched and fingers fiddling with the sleeves of his hoodie. His brow is creased, his eyes narrow, and it is a far cry from the open posture of moments before.

“You good?” he asks, and then stops to reconsider. Virgil is rarely completely good, so to speak, and clearly, there is something else on his mind now. “With all of this, I mean,” he clarifies. “I know you said that you were okay with me and Janus hanging out, but I know that there’s some kind of past between the two of you, and I. Uh. I mean, I want all of you to be happy, and that includes Janus, but that includes you, too. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable if there’s anything I can do to help with that.”

Virgil sighs, gaze shifting to meet his eyes. He looks tired all of a sudden, drained.

“I’ve been thinking about this a lot, lately,” he admits. “And yeah, when he first showed up and started doing this? I was freaked. I’m sure you felt that. Logan’s had to talk me down a lot. But I—” He hesitates, sucking in a deep breath. “I’ve realized something recently, and that’s the fact that a lot of my problems with Janus are pretty personal. Not all of them, but more than I really thought. And I don’t think it’s fair to you to push my view of him onto you when really, I’ve just been projecting my own feelings.” He shakes his head ruefully. “My private issues with him don’t necessarily mean that he never makes any good points. Maybe if I hadn’t been so against hearing him out in the first place, we could’ve avoided a lot of bullshit. So, I’m sorry. From here on out, I’m gonna try to be better about that.”

Thomas blinks. And then blinks again. He feels as though a weight has been lifted from his chest, a weight that he didn’t know was there at all. It’s only now that it’s gone that he realizes how worried he has been about this, about Virgil and Janus and the relationship between them and how he is supposed to keep them both close when their enmity is so strong.

“Oh,” he says. “Oh, wow, uh. That’s really good to hear.” His words stumble over each other, but the smile that softens his tone is completely genuine, and he hopes that Virgil picks up on that. “I’m proud of you.”

Virgil jerks, his eyes widening. Under his foundation, his cheeks flush red.

“Cool,” he says. “Um, thanks. Whatever.” He salutes, his typical two-fingered motion landing just shy of casual, and he sinks out from the chair, leaving Thomas alone at the table.

Well. Not truly alone. When is he ever? Just because he can’t see them doesn’t mean they aren’t present, doesn’t make them any less a part of him.

He breathes deeply, in and out, and feels more balanced than he has for a long time.

-------------

He gives it a day. A day to rest, a day to formulate a vague plan of how to go about this, of what to say. Though he now feels secure in this course of action, knows that this conversation needs to happen, he is still nervous about stepping wrongly. Janus has a temper, and more defenses than a temple from Indiana Jones, and if this meeting goes off the rails, he isn’t sure how to salvage it. Better to try to keep it running smoothly from the very beginning.

He wishes he were more confident in his ability to do that.

He sits on the couch, tries to get comfortable. His heart is beating quickly, though just as much from anticipation as from nervousness. He inhales deeply, and then stretches out his arm, motioning like he’s trying to raise someone from the floor.

“Janus?” he calls out, and stops to wait.

And then, he is there, stepping smoothly from the shadows. It’s totally unlike the way the others rise up, but it’s not like how Virgil does it, either. Virgil appears suddenly, like every jump scare in every horror movie, quick and forceful and undeniable. But Janus strides forward as if he was there all along, and something in Thomas’ mind insists that he was, that he has been there this whole time, even though he knows very well that he only just arrived.

“Thomas,” he says, voice level and collected. Looking at him now, it is difficult to believe that he was ever injured, that Thomas has seen him bleeding and shaking, that Thomas has felt him cling to him in his sleep. He appears nothing less than completely put together, gloves immaculate and hat perfectly balanced, and just for a moment, Thomas loses his nerve.

But just for a moment, and that is all.

“Hey, Janus,” he says, projecting as much confidence as he can muster. “Do you have a minute?”

Janus lifts an eyebrow, and the set of his eyes shifts, just slightly. He wouldn’t have noticed if he weren’t watching, but there is a flash of— something. Dread, perhaps, though he can’t be sure, and whatever it is, it doesn’t show in his voice.

“I suppose,” he says, somehow managing to sound both agreeable and incredibly put upon, “though I am terribly busy, you know. I can’t imagine why you would assume I’d make time for you.”

As always, it takes mental gymnastics to figure out which parts he means and which parts are sarcasm, but Thomas tries not to dwell too much. He pats the couch next to him, gesturing for him to sit, and after a second of hesitation, Janus does, sinking into the cushion with a fluid, graceful motion, crossing one leg over the other. For all the world, he appears completely at ease, but Thomas isn’t convinced that’s the case. There is something in the tilt of his head, the tension in his hands, that suggests discomfort.

He hopes it’s just discomfort, and not anything stronger than that.

“Okay, well,” he says. “I’m glad you could.” He pauses, trying to figure out if there’s a delicate way to start this, but he thinks that Janus would see right through any attempt at prevarication on his part. So he soldiers ahead, bracing for the fallout, whatever that may be. “I’d like to talk to you about the snake thing that you do.”

Janus blinks, lifting his chin slightly, and Thomas can’t help but wonder if it’s a conscious decision for him. Blinking, that is. Snakes don’t blink, after all, so does that translate to his human form? Does he choose to blink? Does he have to think about it?

“I’m afraid you’ll have to be a bit more specific than that,” Janus says coolly. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m at least partially a snake at all times, so you’ll have to tell me which ‘snake thing,’ exactly, you’re referring to.”

He sighs. “I think you know,” he says.

Janus’ shoulders stiffen minutely.

“And what about it?” he asks. “I don’t see what there is to discuss. Unless this is you asking me to stop.”

He sounds defensive, far more so than Thomas would like him to be so early in the conversation, and he struggles to quash his alarm.

“No, I’m not asking you to stop. Definitely not,” he says, meeting Janus’ eyes squarely. “I’m happy to spend time with you, Janus. And if you’re a snake during that time, then that’s completely fine. But I wanted to ask you why, I guess.” He hesitates, but Janus doesn’t interrupt, just continues to study him with wary eyes. “I mean, at first I just thought you wanted to get warm. And that’s cool! I’m one hundred percent cool with that! But the thing is, I’m pretty sure that there are other ways you could do that, if you wanted. So, I wanted to see if maybe there was another reason.”

Janus looks away at that, a scowl twisting his lips.

“Snakes are cold-blooded,” he says, his words short and clipped. “You’re a convenient source of heat, that’s all.”

Thomas has never been so sure that Janus is lying in all his life.

“Okay,” he says. “I’m not gonna push you to tell me. Not if you don’t want to. But if you do want to, you can. I really would like to know.”

And because the moment seems to call for it, he gently reaches out and places a hand on Janus’ arm. Janus’ eyes widen, and he tenses, but makes no move to pull away, so after a moment of indecision, wondering whether this touch is welcome or not, Thomas maintains the contact. After a second or two, Janus turns his head toward him again, eyes flitting back and forth between his hand and his face, and his expression is unreadable, but Thomas is fairly sure that some kind of emotion is trying to make itself known, though he can’t be sure exactly what it is. Shock, perhaps, but he doesn’t think he’s said anything too shocking, unless—

He remembers that day, Janus bleeding all over his bathroom sink, and the fading look of surprise on his face when Thomas told him that he wanted to take care of him.

And he wonders: does Janus know he can have this?

He tries to recall whether he’s ever touched Janus as a human. Besides that one incident, he doesn’t think he has. Even when he placed Janus in his own bed and sat next to him, he put distance between them, a gap that was only closed after they both fell asleep. And in the morning, Janus was gone, almost as if he was fleeing the scene, and Thomas thought it was because he was embarrassed, but what if that’s not all of it?

What if he was worried about how Thomas would react?

“Janus,” he says slowly, “you do know that I enjoy your company, right? And not just when you’re a snake. When you’re human-shaped, too.”

“Of course,” Janus says, but it’s too quick, too shaky for Thomas to even begin to believe him.

“I’m serious,” he presses. “Is that… is that why you only hang out with me when you’re a snake? Did you think I wouldn’t want to otherwise?”

Janus glances away again. “Right, because you’d definitely understand,” he mutters, and Thomas makes a negating gesture with his free hand.

“Then why don’t you help me understand?” he asks, somewhat desperately.

Janus stays quiet for a long minute, and as the silence stretches on, he fears that he’s messed it all up, somehow, that he had this one chance to connect and he blew it, made a mistake somewhere without realizing, and Janus is about to reject him and sink out and he will never have this opportunity again—

“You do realize what you’re asking of me?” Janus says softly. He still doesn’t look at Thomas. Thomas wishes he would. “An honest conversation isn’t exactly my strong suit.”

“That’s okay,” Thomas says, and Janus closes his eyes and nods. Once, sharply, almost as if to himself.

“It is about warmth,” he says. “At least partially. I’m not sure why your mind decided to assign me scientifically accurate snake traits, but—” He shrugs— “I’m more than used to it by now. I… never really needed to come up here, though. I have heating lamps of my own, and if that doesn’t suit, I can usually find a warm spot in the Imagination. But, that first day, the mindscape seemed so crowded, like I couldn’t find a moment’s peace. So I decided to try up here instead. I told myself that if you spotted me, I would leave.”

“But I did,” Thomas says. “And you didn’t.”

“I was dozing. You caught me off guard, and then… to be frank, I didn’t expect you to let me stay,” Janus admits, and Thomas feels a pang at the confirmation. “But then you did, so I kept doing it, and it became a routine.”

He nods. So far, there have been no surprises. He remembers all of this very well.

“And then there was that rainy day,” he prompts, and Janus winces slightly, his eyes sliding back open, staring out into the living room, unfocused.

“Yes,” he agrees, whisper-soft, and Thomas leans forward to hear him better. “I knew it was foolish of me to stay here when I could have just as easily gone to my room and been warm there. But I didn’t want to.”

The last sentence carries the weight of a confession.

“Why is that?” Thomas asks. He barely dares to let the words pass his lips. Even now, when Janus is clearly trying to open up to him, he is still scared of saying the wrong thing, of making him clam up again, pull away.

Slowly, Janus uncrosses his legs, letting his hands splay out against his legs. For a moment, Thomas’ eyes are drawn to the contrast, yellow on black.

“I—” Janus pauses, his expression pinched. He shakes his head. “In the mindscape, it’s somewhat difficult to ensure a moment of solitude. It’s quieter up here, and even besides, that, I—” He cuts off suddenly, a violent shiver running through him, so intense that it almost seems like a convulsion.

“You?” Thomas prompts, trying not to show his worry. But Janus refuses to reply, and as Thomas watches, he slowly brings a hand up to cover his own mouth, an unsettling parody of when he silenced the others. And something in Thomas’ heart breaks to see it, to see this, to see the way Janus retreats into himself, the way he presses his hand against his face as if trying to hold back a flood.

The posture reminds him of something. The posture reminds him of Virgil. Of Virgil, anxious and afraid of judgment, and Thomas never really expected that from Janus, but he remembers thinking, way back when this first started, about how Janus and Virgil are alike. And that thought gives him the courage to continue, because he knows how to get through to Virgil when he gets lost in his head, so maybe he can get through to Janus, too.

So, he reaches out. One hand still rests on Janus’ arm, but he gently curls the other around Janus’ wrist, though he doesn’t try to pull his hand from his face, not yet.

“You don’t need to do that,” he says. “You can tell me. I swear, I won’t betray your trust.”

Janus’ face spasms, and gently, Thomas guides the hand down from his jaw. The skin around his mouth is red from the force of his grip, except for where the scales glitter, and his lips are drawn into a thin line, pressed together tightly. But there is something shining in his eyes, something that Thomas can’t interpret.

“Won’t you?” Janus asks. It should be a challenge, but it isn’t, not quite, because it’s not nearly aggressive enough for that, not nearly as aggressive as it was probably intended to be. There is a quietness in the words, a sort of defeat, and all of that is mixed with an odd desperation, like Janus thinks he knows the answer but wants to hear it anyway. “You hardly have a reason not to.”

Thomas is beginning to wonder if they’re having the same conversation here.

“No,” he says. “I know this isn’t easy for you. But I do have a reason not to, and that reason is that I care about you.” He wants to scrub a hand down his face, to let a bit of his frustration show, but doing so would mean letting go of Janus, either his arm or his hand, and he doesn’t want to do that yet. “Look, I get that trust is hard. And I’m not asking for anything that I haven’t earned. But what I do earn, I’m not going to abuse. I promise you, Janus.”

Janus shudders at the sound of his name.

“Can you promise that?” he asks.

And Thomas does the only thing he can think to do and draws him in for a hug.

“Yes,” he says, resting his chin on Janus’ shoulder. “Yes, I can promise that.”

Janus freezes up, and for a moment, it’s like hugging a stone statue. But Thomas holds him close, so close that he can feel his heartbeat beneath all his layers, beating rabbit-quick and scared, and he doesn’t let him go, and incrementally slowly, Janus melts into his embrace, inch by inch, as if he’s fighting it, fighting himself.

“It’s about safety,” he murmurs, and Thomas has to strain to hear him. “I feel safe, with you.”

“I’m glad,” he replies, and hopes that Janus can hear just how much he means it. “I’m really glad. But why do you feel like you have to hide that?”

Janus doesn’t answer, but Thomas thinks he can guess. Virgil’s voice still rings in his ears, reminding him of how long he’s pushed the dark sides away, how long it has taken for him to acknowledge them as parts of him at all, much less important parts, parts deserving of respect in their own right. Really, what reason does Janus have to assume that Thomas won’t hurt him, won’t shove him to the side, back down into the dark? Why would Janus discard his caution in favor of trust when it has taken so very long for Thomas to be receptive to him at all?

Janus conceals so much, all the time. It’s a part of his function. So how can Thomas possibly expect him to admit what he truly wants?

“It frightens me,” Janus whispers suddenly, and Thomas pulls his attention back to the present, startled. “I never allow myself to trust anyone, and yet… I want to be close to you. I always have, I suppose, but I never really expected it to be possible. I never expected it to be a problem—”

“Whoa, hey, no,” Thomas says, because he definitely needs to cut off that line of thinking right away. He pulls away from Janus, gripping him by both shoulders and holding him in front of him so he can make eye contact. “Your feelings aren’t a problem. You feeling safe isn’t a problem, and it never will be, you hear? The only thing that’s a problem is that I refused to accept you for so long, and I’m trying to fix that now. But that’s not your fault.”

He takes a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. When he speaks again, he keeps his voice low and measured and as sincere as possible, and he doesn’t take his eyes off of Janus’ face.

“I know we don’t know each other that well,” he says. “I know there’s a lot about you that I don’t understand. But I’ve really liked spending time with you these past couple months, and not because you’re a snake. You don’t need to be a snake to spend time with me. You’re not intruding, or, or bothering me, or whatever. I want to hang out with you, no matter what shape you’re in.” He smiles wryly. “Really, the only reason I didn’t say so sooner was because I wasn’t sure what was going on, or if maybe you actually didn’t want to be around when you’re, uh, human-shaped. But, Janus, I really mean it. I want to get to know you better. I want to be friends. There’s no conditions attached to that.”

He pauses.

“You’re always welcome to be close to me,” he says. “Always.”

They stay like that for a moment, like time has frozen around them, frozen this moment, and Thomas scarcely dares to breathe. Either this was the right thing to say, or it wasn’t, and he can only hope for the former and not the latter, because there is no taking it back. He’s spoken his mind and his heart with nothing less than complete sincerity, and he couldn’t renege on that even if he wanted to.

Janus makes a choked noise, and then, with one gloved hand, reaches out and snags Thomas’ shirt. And he pulls himself close, tucking himself against Thomas’ chest, burying his face into his shirt. His hat slides off his head and to the ground, but he doesn’t seem to notice, or care if he does. His shoulders are shaking, and Thomas can feel the growing dampness of the fabric against his skin, but he doesn’t say anything, because he’s said all that needs to be said. He knows it, and he thinks that Janus knows it, and he hopes that now, Janus will finally, finally be able to believe him.

So Thomas just wraps his arms around him, and holds him steady.

------------

It’s movie night. It’s movie night, and Thomas is feeling good, great, even, because there are no pressing deadlines or moral crises, and he’s making popcorn in the kitchen, a soft blanket draped over his shoulders while he listens to everyone affably bicker in the living room. And that’s what it is: bickering, not arguing, not fighting. Roman is advocating for Disney, surprise surprise, while Virgil is groaning about how “that’s literally all you ever want to watch,” and Patton is chiming in with a desire to watch something with animals, anything really, he’s not all that picky, and Thomas can’t help but smile as he walks in to join them.

Logan is the only one not particularly invested in the conversation, and he greets him with a nod. Thomas hands him the popcorn bowl, trusting him not to make a mess of it, and settles against his side. The others pile in in short order, Patton on the floor and leaning against his legs, Virgil tucked into his other side, and Roman dramatically splaying himself out along the rest of the couch and putting his head in Virgil’s lap.

Remus is here too, behind the couch. Thomas has told him that he’s free to join in if he puts some clothes on, and though Remus swiftly turned him down, there was an odd gleam in his eye that told Thomas to expect a change in the future.

“Was Janus going to join us?” Logan asks, voice barely audible over the sound of the others’ discussion, which has continued uninterrupted, entirely too intense for something as simple as picking a movie to watch.

Thomas grins at him, and lifts the blanket so he can see Janus, draped across his shoulders. Janus lifts his head and flickers his tongue out at Logan, but makes no move to leave or hide. Virgil glances over briefly and frowns, but doesn’t comment, giving Thomas a short nod.

“The Lion King it is!” Roman bursts out, and Thomas settles in.

They watch The Lion King, and when that’s done, Virgil insists on Hocus Pocus, and it’s getting late after that, but Patton quietly asks for Princess and the Frog, and even though Thomas can tell that everyone is close to nodding off, he puts the disk in and lets it play. His own eyelids are drooping before Tiana even meets Naveen, and he is close to falling asleep before Janus begins to shift in place, rousing him a bit.

And suddenly, Janus is in his lap, human-shaped, snuggling up against his chest with a sigh of contentment. Thomas adjusts automatically, shuffling so that everyone can stay comfortable. Virgil mutters something along the lines of, “Get your damn snaky elbow out of my face,” but his sleepiness undercuts any venom the words might have.

“You good, buddy?” Thomas murmurs, too tired to say much of anything else.

Janus hums, taking off his hat and casting it to the ground before tucking his head under Thomas’ chin.

“Shhhhut up and go to ssssleep,” he slurs, and Thomas smiles.

Besides the movie still playing on-screen, the living room is dark. But before Thomas closes his eyes, he thinks he sees Remus staring at him, thinks he inclines his head in… what, approval? And then he is gone, and Thomas doesn’t think too much more about it.

Because he has Janus, and he has all the rest of his sides here, gathered around him, at peace, and all is well with the world.

-------------

General Taglist: @just-perhaps @the-real-comically-insane @jerrysicle-tree @glitchybina @psodtqueer @mrbubbajones @snek-boii @severelylackinginquality @aceawkwardunicorn @gayerplease @elizabutgayer @dwbh888 @thatoneloudowl @sanderssides-angst @gayboopnoodle @wildfire5157 @ldavmp4 @a-ghostlight-for-roman @sammy-is-obsessed @imlovethomassanders @a-yeet-bop-bop-boom @halfordshysteria @random-fander @addykatb @i-cant-find-a-good-username @intruxiety @maybedefinitely404 @arya-skywalker @thefivecalls @nerdy-emo-royal-dad

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#sanders sides #ts sides #platonic thomceit #character!thomas #janus sanders #ts janus #logan sanders #ts logan #virgil sanders #ts virgil #my fic #long post #that's a wrap folks!

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cherrypoki · 3 years

Text

• Golden Hue

➵ Summary: A small series of events leads to you spending your free afternoon on a hill with your friend Gundham Tanaka

➵ Pairing: Gundham Tanaka/ Female! Reader

➵ Genre: Fluff, Friends To Lovers, Bonding, Deep Talk, Mutual Pining,

➵ Word Count: 1.637k

➵ Y/N’s Talent: Unspecified

➵ Authors Note: AHDIHDHKBD IM SORRY I CANNOT WRITE GUNDHAM DIALOG FOR SHIT SO IM SORRY DONT ATTACK ME IM TRYING SKDSJDBJJHB

Exhaustion.

That was the only you could way you could describe how you felt. A deep lethargy had lay to rest in your body and etched itself into your bones.

School was always making you work hard but this part week had really overworked you. Finally the weekend was coming up and all you wanted to do was lie down and sleep forever until you were nothing but a memory.

But life has a funny way of changing things.

You see, you never were supposed to be outside at the park in the first place. But before you could get to your dorm you had been stopped by Mahiru to talk to you about being a model for some of her cottage-core photos, then when you finally got to your dorm you realised you had locked your keys inside your dorm. and when you went to find the ultimate lock-pick you were stopped by another one of your friends who was looking for their missing dog.

And that’s how you ended up at the park at 7:38pm

The sun was starting to hang low in the sky and you couldn’t see anyone else at the park except for your friend who was climbing the statue and yelling out their dogs name. And not to be rude but you wanted to hurry up and find this dog so you could go home. Hearing a bark in the distance past the trees you yelled to your friend who must’ve heard the same thing as they jumped down from the statue and ran toward the noise, Before they did turning at you to yell

“please stay here in case I’m wrong!”

So now there you were. Alone in the park and waiting for your friend to come back. Tired and beginning to hit the wall as they say you slowly walked over to the nearby hill, somehow managing to make it to the top without falling over. Flopping into the grass you lay down.

You didn’t even hear footsteps until someone lay right next to you.

“Hello There Mortal”

Ah, Your lips twisted into a small smile as there was only one person you knew who had that mixture of the way they talked and how deep their voice was.

Gundham Tanaka.

Right then you couldn’t even be bothered to lift your head so you kept your eyes closed and smiled in awareness.

“Hey Gundham”

“Our meeting must have been foreseen by the elder gods as I have been thinking about our last meeting”

The last time you’d seen Gundham was a few weeks ago when one of his Four Dark Devas had wandered off and ended up in your room. Your roommate (having a cat) was not fond of this as San-D nearly became San-Dead if it wasn’t for you recognising him and deciding to bring him back to his master. But the fact that as soon as the hamster saw you it decided to jump at you and hide in your clothes.

To be honest even though you were friends you hadn’t seen each other in a while. But neither one of you saw the need to explain or give your excuses. You both were ultimate's at Hopes Peek Academy of course you weren’t always gonna have time to hang out. But seeing this moment as a chance to catch up you slowly opened your eyes and had the pleasure of getting an eye full of a beautiful lemonade pink sky. And as a soft wind blew making the flowers and grass tickle your sides you couldn’t remember the last time you felt this okay.

“How’s life been treating you?” You craned your head lightly to see the boys face. His eyes fixated on the sky he answered you without much thought.

“As well as life at this academy can be”

Nodding you turned your head back to face the sky.

“Have you ever thought about the fact that when we’re looking at the sky we’re not just looking at the sky but out into space and far far into the universe?”

Shaking his head he seemed to change the way he looked at the sky as if he was considering what you just said.

“Well is there any proof that any of this matters and were not living on a giant dog write now? For all we know we could be made up things in San-D’s head”

He chuckled at that. And a tiny head poked out of his scarf as if it had heard its name. You wouldn’t be shocked if he did recognise his name given how amazing Gundhams Ham- uh Devas were.

Crawling across the grass and onto the chest the tiny creature looked down at you and feeling a laugh rise from your gut you dramatically gasped and threw your hand over your head. “I have been defeated”

You couldn’t see from the angle but were pretty sure Gundham was rolling his eyes as the rest of the Devas seemed to want to join in on the conquering of planet (Y/N) as Cham-P waddled over to you and crawled on top of you as well while Maga-Z and Jum-P seemed to be happy on Gundhams head and chest.

“If we are all living in Sand-D’s head I can guarantee that I would be ruling over everyone as the supreme leader of the Tanaka Empire!”

You giggled slightly, Even when the two of you were alone if was rare of him to break character, which is why it was a shock when he said

“Maybe all of this is just in our heads”

But you learned not to make a big deal of it when Gundham dropped some of his walls. You wanted to make him comfortable so whether he was Tanaka the Forbidden One or just Gundham you still talked to him like you were (Y/N).

“I heard about a thing called Solipsism, It’s basically a theory where everything you see is created by your own mind like you said”

“Oh really?” He titled his head quizzically, which looked a bit weird since he was lying on the ground but he still managed to pull it off. Swatting at your leg feeling something itch before realising it was just one of the flowers you turned your head to look at him once more. A deep feeling of happiness set into your gut as you began to realise how much you’d missed Gundham, even just talking to him like this made you feel so....whole. Even though you hadn’t known each other as long as others at the school have. You’d only known each other for about a year now it definitely didn’t feel like it.

To say that you bonded easier with Gundham than the others would be an understatement. An odd testament when you realise exactly how different Gundham is to the rest of your classmates. But to you, that just made him more approachable.

Yawning slightly you leaned up, putting your arm on the ground next to him hovering over his head. Picking one of the flowers you smile lazily as you tucked it behind his ear.

“It’s very hard to explain so to cut it short its basically the belief that nothing outside your mind exists”

Laying back down you couldn’t but laugh, There was a deep pink tint to his cheek. Though you couldn’t tell whether it was from the sunset or a blush at first you managed when the sky changed from pink to orange, and then the hue lighting his face was almost golden. But the pink was still there, and it matched with the flower you’d put behind his ear very nicely.

“If everything around me is my imagination your the best thing I could come up with”

If you weren’t sure his cheeks were pink before you were now. And you began to worry you’d overstepped your bounds. Moving to quickly get up and apologise but his hand reached out across your stomach and slowly pulled you back down onto the grass with him. Turning your head back to face him you saw one of his rare smiles, though he had pulled his scarf up past his mouth you looked over at Jum-P on his chest and couldn’t help but giggle at the hamsters knowing look.

His hand reached out and picked a flower, but he must’ve lingered with it in his hand for to long as Maga-Z jumped off his head and and grabbed it out of his hand, crawling over to you and pushing it behind your ear.

His voice came out a little muffled due to the scarf over his mouth but you still heard him well enough.

“Tell me more about that theory”

➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵

Epilogue:

It was pretty dark by the time the two of you decided to go back to your dorms. And it was only halfway there you remembered.

“Fuck!”

Gundham looked over at you confused.

“What’s wrong?”

You sighed, “Shit I forgot my dorm room is locked, I was supposed to go find a locksmith but then my friend needed help finding her dog-”

He interrupted your rambling by grabbing your hand.

“You can spend the night at mine”

By now you were used to Gundham talking normally. But you shook your head.

“I couldn't-”

“You’ve got nowhere to go, As long as you don’t mind a few animals you can stay with me”

You looked up at him, he was already pulling you toward his dorm.

“I’m not leaving someone I care about in the cold when I can help”

As he opened the door to his dorm a smile stretched onto your face. You had to remember to thank your friend later, and give her dog a snack.

#Gundham #gundham x reader #Tanaka #Gundham Tanaka x Reader #Danganronpa #Danganronpa 2 #Super Danganronpa 2 #Danganronpa Scenarios #Imagines #Danganronpa Imagines #x Reader #Fanfiction #Fluff #Mutual Pining #Danganronpa Fanfiction #Gundham Tanaka Fanfiction

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gothhisoka · 3 years

Text

𝖍𝖚𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖚𝖓𝖎𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖘𝖎𝖙𝖞

𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 18- 𝔞 𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔨𝔢𝔡 𝔫𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱

Fandom: Hunter x Hunter

Ships: Chrollo x Reader, Leorio x Kurapika, Hisoka x Illumi

Genre: romance, dark academia, royalcore, university AU

Word count: 3k

Background: This is from my (gothhisoka) fanfic on Wattpad and AO3 called Hunter University. It is Chrollo x OC, but I decided to change it around for Tumblr. Both Chrollo and y/n are hiding things from each other but are both feeling the same attraction. A masquerade ball is held at your university. You don’t know if he even wants to dance with you, but apparently he does. He wants to do even more than that.

Tags: Fluff, first kiss, sfw

The masquerade hall was astounding. The high stone walls were adorned with scarlet silk banners. Golden fabric streamers hung from every banister of the second-level balconies. As in the entrance, symbols of cherubs and mythical creatures were splashed across the ceiling in a dizzying array. The light was dim, for all the chandeliers were set low in the traditional style of Venetian masquerades. Candelabras were scattered on every table and upon every wall.

Symphonic music was emanating from the open stage in the front of the room. A live orchestra was playing a gentle concerto as the students poured in. It was only 7:10, so not many were on the floor. The true dancing would start in another couple of minutes.

It was a scene out of a fairytale. The hundreds of breathtakingly dressed students only added to the general fervor of it all.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Chrollo said as he looked towards you. It was unclear whether he was talking about the room or how you looked tonight. Your bright eyes shone out underneath a bronze mask, which was catching the candlelight within its shiny material.

Still entranced, you were led by Chrollo to the table they had reserved. The troupe followed behind, engrossed in their conversation while you both remained in your own little world. He put his hand on the small of your back, simply aching to touch you once again. The feeling was mutual.

On the table, there were glasses already set up accompanied by a lavish bouquet of flowers. Uvogin pulled out a couple of bottles of champagne he clearly swiped from the restaurant. Everyone dropped off their bags at the table.

It appeared as if not all of the troupe members would be dancing. Franklin was already seated with his arms crossed. You looked at him questioningly, after which he said, "I have to guard the stuff." It was clear by his tone that he actually meant "I don't like to dance."

You smiled placidly and nodded in understanding. He was an unusual sort of guy. She was beginning to like him already. In fact, the whole Phantom Troupe was becoming gradually more likable as the night progressed.

You looked for Kurapika to bid him one last warning before he got whisked away by Leorio. By the time she spotted him, it was already too late.

You watched as Kurapika scratched at the back of his head, suddenly unaware of what to do with his arms. He was apparently awestruck by his dance partner's appearance.

The two made their shy greetings. Kurapika reached for his hand as any chivalrous partner would do.

Soon a waltz commenced, floating around the room. A subtle violin and cello duet beckoned people out onto the floor.

You watched as Kurapika led Leorio out, their suit jackets glimmering synchronously as the lights passed. They took position still near their group's table, but far enough to have room to dance.

The wide floor soon filled with numerous other couples. Hisoka led Illumi out alongside Uvogin and Nobunaga. Hisoka and Illumi were practically professional dancers from the very start, moving to an elaborate step that drew the attention of all the students. People nearly cleared the floor to make room for them. This annoyed Illumi to no end, while Hisoka displayed a wild grin. They twirled, dipped, and did intricate step sequences, unquestionably rehearsed to perfection.

The rest were not as remarkably polished. Still, they appeared to be equally enjoying themselves.

Leorio and Kurapika laughed as one of them accidentally stepped upon the other toes or missed a movement. While they lacked coordination, they surely didn't lack chemistry. This was a good sign.

You could see their mouths moving but the music drowned out their voices. Kurapika attempted to guide Leorio in the basic box step, turning him once in a while.

Most ignored the cameramen or simply didn't notice them lurking in hidden spots. You had some otherworldly feeling that sensed them under the shadows in the balconies.

"Are you done watching?" Chrollo asked, holding his hand out to you just as Kurapika had done with Leorio.

You hadn't realized you were still staring out towards the masked partners on the floor. The ball was entirely overwhelming; the sound, the rapid movements, and the room itself were causing your head to spin.

Nonetheless, you snapped out of it and processed what Chrollo had just said. You just got offered a dance. A dance with him.

You knew his indicative gestures were leading somewhere. That somewhere was here, into his arms.

In front of hundreds of students, not to mention journalists itching to get a photo of the boy who was so famous. Not to mention his dance partner, who was no more than a low-level hunter wannabe.

Now's not the time to get nervous. This is what you wanted. Isn't it?

You stared down at his hand as if to ask "for me?"

You peered up to see the most gentle face slowly becoming riddled with doubt.

"This is what you want, isn't it?"

Is it?

Now that you are actually here, in the position that used to be visible only in your imagination, you feel immense pressure.

In these weeks past, you didn't even question what you were getting herself into. To be fair, you weren’t sure what this night would be, exactly. Would you be met with a closed-off boy whose coldness warded you away or the courteous man who would rather teach you nen lessons than see you fail?

Is it even safe to get this close?

Chrollo's personality had shifted in the span of the night. It became full of genuine interest rather than his usual impassive curiosity. He, as a person, was becoming all the more real.

Real was dangerous.

This stream of consciousness only took a second. It took one look into Chrollo's eyes to know what your answer would be.

"This is what I want."

It was the first step. No, rather it was your first leap off a skyscraper.

You were falling. Hard.

His grip was delicate, holding your hand as if it was made of glass. Chrollo felt strange, being so unsure. He was normally an expert at figuring out people– what they felt and why they acted the way they did.

You, on the other hand, were a labyrinth. He had always been so hesitant for this reason. Chrollo needed to be able to figure out a person in order to get close to them. With you, there was something buried deeper than you let on. It was virtually impossible to uncover. You put up almost as good of a front as Chrollo.

Or perhaps it was Chrollo's own mind that was muddied at the thought of you. His intentions versus yours, his morals versus yours. It all began to matter very much. What would he think in the end, after he got out of your what he so desired?

Nevermind that now. For Chrollo was feeling a mutual enthusiasm that you were plainly exhibiting. He led you out to the floor.

The Phantom Troupe watched with apprehension. They weren't used to their boss being so amiable. He couldn't be swayed by a simple person, and yet here he was.

"Can you dance?" Chrollo turned to you, putting an arm upon your shoulder. You already almost melted under the single touch.

You had reached the middle of the floor, far from the troupe. Was he that confident in his own dancing? The center could be viewed from all sides and balconies. You were sure to stand out.

"Not well," you said candidly.

Chrollo began a light step, swaying from side to side. This newfound tenderness was surprising. He was treating you as if you were a queen. And you couldn't get enough of it.

Wanting to grasp for more of this certain side of him, you said, "I can do more than this."

"As you wish," Chrollo said with a gracious smile.

He immediately followed a more complicated step, falling in line with the other couples on the floor. You pretended to ignore their whispers.

Just as you thought. He is an incredible dancer.

Every time you struggled to keep up he would adjust his pace. You worked like hands on a clock, moving as if set to one another's rhythm. The music now was a quicker allegro beat.

Your attire fanned out as you turned: your right hand in his, your arm on his shoulder.

Now it was the students' turn to stare at Chrollo and you. It was unclear if it was because they recognized the boy under the mask, or they were observing the electrifying chemistry.

You couldn't help but beam as you sailed across the floor. Chrollo did not break eye contact and you did your best to do the same.

A feeling overcame you as you continued to hold his hand in yours. It couldn't be described as fireworks or sparks, as often depicted by the romance novels she's read. It was more of an awakening.

Despite the weather turning cold, you felt as if it was spring. A revival. Things were blossoming, the rain washed away the grey of winter.

He was your spring.

It was odd. For Chrollo could be explained more effectively as ominous and intimidating, unlike a bright spring day. He should've been cold stone walls, closed doors, secret passageways.

But no, he was warmth itself.

If only you would turn away for a second you would notice a coldness settle that hadn't been there before.

The way he looked tonight in his dazzling suit and mask, the way he said all those uncharacteristically gracious words: these were the things you would have etched in your memory for a very, very long time. Now, without Chrollo it would feel as if something were missing.

You would not realize this yet, as you were still in a state of pure elation. It was only the beginning.

But this was the connection you felt. Having it defined opened up a world of possibilities.

Who would've known, it all came into fruition at a masquerade ball.

━━━━━♥♠♣��━━━━━

After a couple more songs, you left the floor. Sweat prickled at your brow. You were left panting after a rapid final dance.

Several students couldn't help but clap. You hadn't even done a thing. You were sure it was Chrollo's dancing that gained all the attention.

"You're better than I expected," you said.

Chrollo brushed back his hair which had fallen in his face with all the movement. "I would say the same to you, y/n." He smiled, sizing your up.

You didn't dispute his return of the compliment. He was right.

At the group table, Kurapika and Leorio were sitting drinking glass after glass of the bootlegged champagne. It would've been inappropriate to bring alcohol to such a prestigious event if many other tables weren't doing the same. Apparently, the students here did know how to have a good time.

Chrollo went to talk to Franklin as you sat next to Leorio and Kurapika.

"You both were amazing!" Leorio exclaimed as you approached.

You grinned, "Where have you two been?"

"We were on the floor too, didn't you see us?"

You tried to laugh it off, "No... I was a little distracted."

To be fair, you didn't notice the cameras, the students, or the other dancers either.

"Sooo are you two going back out?" Leorio asked, leaning on his hand. His words slurred slightly.

You looked over your shoulder at Chrollo. He looked serious as he talked to Franklin. "I'm not sure. Are you two?"

"Yes, we plan on trying the group dance. Just like we practiced," Kurapika said, giving you a knowing look.

The synchronized dance was the signature of the ball. All those who learned it were allowed to participate. It was the last dance, so they would still be sitting for a while. The time was now around 9:00 and the hall would be closed by 12:00 a.m.

Before they could converse any further, Chrollo gently put a hand on your shoulder. "Sorry to interrupt, but I have something to show you, y/n."

He held his hand out again. This time you took it with no hesitation.

"Ok," you leaped up, flattening out your dress.

You were all too willing to go wherever Chrollo pleased. There wasn't even a point where she needed to remind herself who this man was. His charm had influenced you too far already. There was no going back.

Kurapika gave you a warning look. You threw him back a smile. This did nothing to reassure him.

Chrollo interlaced his fingers slowly with yours, hesitating as you crossed under the balconies. You could've dissolved right then and there. It only further confirmed his gentlemanly attitude and respect towards you.

You couldn't even look at him. You felt your face growing hotter by the second. Thank god for a mask and several layers of foundation.

To your surprise, you were led far from the dance floor. You ended up at a small door in a quiet corner of the ballroom. The spot was underneath the alcoves and not a soul was in sight. Moonlight poured in from the tiny stained-glass windows.

"It's through here," Chrollo said, his voice barely audible over the orchestral music.

"Do I get to know where you're taking me?" You stopped in your tracks. You were thinking of what Kurapika would say. Even though you would follow him at the drop of a coin, you weren’t that stupid. He is a man, before all else.

Something flashed in Chrollo's eyes. Was he hurt by your sudden distrust?

"I'll show you. I promise you'll like it," Chrollo replied, creaking open the door.

There was nothing at first, only darkness. But stepping through the door bestowed an even more enchanting sight than the ballroom.

You gasped, "I didn't realize there was a courtyard out here."

Chrollo looked at you as if he were seeing you the first time tonight again. The profile of your face was highlighted by the moonlight. your jawline was your only feature that stood out, the rest of your was soft under the haze of darkness. The surrounding blue contrasted against your fading red lipstick. your hair had grown significantly more disheveled but it still looked utterly smooth. If Chrollo was bolder he would've run his hand through it and took you by your waist and done things he surely would regret for initiating too soon... he wanted to savor the moment when it inevitably came.

He smiled, despite himself. Neither of you noticed the cold, still warmed from dancing only moments ago. Chrollo watched as your eyes soaked in the scene before you.

It seemed as if the bushes and trees saved their last breaths for this space alone. Fall leaves hung over a gravel path. Ivy snaked up the surrounding structures, all encapsulating the tiny yard. A small table sat in the center of the path upon which a lantern was placed. He had come prepared.

The whole night: he had anticipated it all. He had realized your love, and, at this moment, you realized his. What he had yet to figure out was the depth of those feelings or where they came from. Or, most importantly, what was tucked underneath those feelings. That was what tonight was for.

The orchestra still echoed faintly through the ancient walls.

"Shall we dance? I never did like dancing in front of a crowd,"

You redirected your eyes to an equally beautiful scene. You were still in reverence. It was obvious now that he had planned it all.

Your heart swelled like an ocean wave, but all you could manage to get out was, "Are we supposed to be here?"

Chrollo looked at you dangerously, "To remind you, I'm not supposed to be anywhere."

Before you could say another word, Chrollo stepped forward and lifted both his and your own mask off of your faces.

"There."

Chrollo's undivided visage was in view now. The curve of his nose and tops of his cheekbones caught the light of the moon. His downcast eyelashes were full, framing his silver eyes.

As for Chrollos view, he simply needed to see your whole face to be sure that what you felt was really true. When he saw the arching of your lips and widened eyes, he knew it was.

He grasped your hand in preparation to waltz, deliberately intertwining his hand with yours.

Timed perfectly, the music slowed. It was a couples' number. Inevitably, this had also somehow been planned by Chrollo.

This dancing was quite different than before. It was full of significance.

The song picked up with a violin. Chrollo pulled you close, your bodies almost touching. Your heat radiated off of one another. You felt almost giddy with attraction. What you wanted to do to him was far past your confidence, but you wanted it all the same.

His eyes didn't leave yours. A slight smile persisted on his lips. He hadn't enjoyed himself so much in years. And the last time he felt something like this, it wasn't nearly as genuine.

You swayed from side to side with only the moonlight and distant concerto guiding your steps. You made a move to rest your head on his shoulder. It was so that you could not look into his eyes as you spoke your next words. You snaked your arms behind his neck while he placed his around your hips. It felt good to be so close. You felt secure in his arms.

You really hoped this was going where she thought it was. But you needed to be certain.

"I want to know if this is true," you whispered, breaking the tranquil silence. Your breath was hot against his neck. It drove him absolutely mad.

Unknowingly, you had echoed back the words Chrollo had been retracing in his head throughout the night. Is this true?

He feigned ignorance of the meaning behind your statement. "What's true?" Chrollo whispered back.

"Is all this premeditation for something else? Another scheme?"

Chrollo suddenly turned serious, "I will never do that to you again. This is for real."

You pulled back to look into his eyes, "But what is this?"

Your face was lined with apprehension. After all that happened tonight, it still wasn't clear. Chrollo needed to change that.

He looked down at you, attempting to convey what you meant to him in his eyes. They overflowed with tenderness, admiration, and worship, even.

You hadn't realized that he had these emotions in him. Now you understood. It was all because they were reserved for you.

His movement was swift. He lowered his face to yours, soaking in your divine scent. You didn't anticipate what was about to happen until his lips delicately brushed against your own, asking for an invitation. He clearly didn't need one, for your body responded immediately. Your hand trailed up to the side of his face. Chollo pulled your hips towards him. Your eyes fluttered shut.

And you kissed.

It was intoxicating.

The taste of him nearly silenced your thoughts. It was a tang of wine and sweetness. You tried to let the feeling seep into your bones, agonizing over its ephemeral nature.

Your surroundings dissolved into the inky night. You focused on how soft his mouth felt, how his hands upon your hips made you want to yield to all he could offer, and, in turn, all you could ever desire.

Seconds later, you unwillingly pulled apart. Your whole body tingled, edging for more. Both of your heartbeats were fluttering a rapid cadence. Remaining there for a moment– foreheads touching, breath tickling one another lips– you savored each other's presence.

Your kiss was unlike anything either of you had experienced before. It was born out of lust but resulted in something deeper. Floating to the surface was an unbound attraction sparked by one mouth on another.

You both were left smiling with flushed cheeks. Goosebumps prickled on your arms.

"I hope that made it clear," Chrollo said pulling away at last.

The warmth disappeared and you were left in a state of longing. You could still feel the touch of his lips upon yours, a ghost of his sensitive movements.

You smiled lightly at him, "It did."

Chrollo held out an arm for you. "We best be getting back now."

You were frozen in place, coming to your senses. Holy shit.

The enormity of what that kiss meant came crashing down upon you. What would this mean moving forward? Everything had seemed so temporary with Chrollo, coming in and out of your life as he did in the past month. Was this temporary as well?

There was no time to dwell upon the future of their relationship. Although the promise of privacy in the courtyard tempted you to stay, there was still one more number to dance.

━━━━━♥♠♣♦━━━━━

#hunter x hunter #hunterxhunter fanfic #adult trio headcanons #chrollo headcanons #chrollo #chrollo x you #chrollo x y/n #chrollo x reader #kurapika #chrollo fanfic #hisoillu #hxh #hxh chrollo #hxh fanfic #hxh scenarios

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ourloveisforthelovely · 3 years

Text

Angel (one shot)

Harry Potter Marauders Era

Request helloooo can i ask for like a quick regulus x reader oneshot where the reader sings and regulus hears her voice and basically falls in love with it but he didnt see her face so he just comes back everyday to the same place in the hope of listening to her singing and seeing her face this time? this sounds specific i know but i feel like some soft reggie is all i need now 😭

Pairings: Regulus Black x Reader

Rating: M- mention of self harm

________

Suffocating… that was the best word that Regulus could use to describe his life. After joining up with the death eaters at the lovely age of 16, Regulus had quickly grown to regret his decision. Anytime that the dark mark began to burn in the slightest, Regulus found himself dying for an excuse not to go. There was, however, not one...at least nothing in Lord Voldemort’s eyes that would be “good enough.”

On the outside, Regulus had to keep his smooth and reserved demeanor. It didn’t matter on the inside how much he was screaming. No one cared. The people that did know what he was doing continued to go on and on about how he was doing “the right thing, the noble thing.”

It was 7:00pm and Regulus found himself running down a quiet hallway. He had to get out of the Slytherin common room. He had to get away from Evan Rosier and Barty Crouch Jr. They had been so gleeful over a muggle that had been murdered the night before. Neither seemed to care about this person nor the family that they left behind. Regulus, when the deed was taking place, didn’t care. He stood stony faced as the man begged for his life. The moment Voldemort uttered his “favorite” spell, Regulus had to swallow back the feeling of nausea as he watched the light leave the man’s eyes.

Regulus had done well not thinking about the “deed” all day. It wasn’t until he returned to the common room and overheard Evan’s conversation did Regulus find himself regretting the day that he was born.

No one asked a question when Regulus walked out of the common room. Why would they? People would be dumb to question Regulus on something. People knew not to question Regulus on his doing unless they wanted to be jumped.

Regulus stopped the moment that his hands hit the balcony. Breathing heavily, he closed his eyes mentally begging for the memory to leave his mind.

Just stop...I fucking hate this!

Regulus thought miserably. He was half tempted to throw himself off of the balcony. It looked like a good distance and if he was lucky wouldn’t survive the fall. Death would be better than living the way that he was at the moment!

The brooding stopped the moment that a soft voice caught Regulus’ attention. He knew a lot of the “choir kids” would come up to this particular area of the castle to practice at points. Before today, however, Regulus had never paid any of them any attention. Today, it was different. This voice was soft, gentle...everything that Regulus needed.

Right away he recognized the French folk song that he had heard numerous times as a child. Leaning his head back against the stone wall, all of the anxiety and tension slowly left. Regulus took a deep breath and looked down at his hands. They were no longer shaking.

I should leave...but I don’t want to. She, whomever she is, has to have the most beautiful voice. She sounds like an angel.

Regulus thought with a tiny smile. Although he had no belief in heaven, hell, angels, or demons hearing this voice had to be what an angel would sound like if there were one. This soft voice was everything that Regulus needed to hear when he needed to be told “that everything would be alright.”

Over the following days, Regulus found himself in the same place at the same time. It didn’t matter what kind of hell that he had going on. The moment that soft voice would sing all of the bad would vanish. Even if it was just one song, Regulus was feeling a million times better when he had to return to the Slytherin common room.

The question plaguing Regulus’ mind now was who did the voice belong to? He had been trying to put an angelic voice with a face nonstop and was coming up with nothing. None of the girls in Slytherin house fit the idea that Regulus had in his mind.

I have to find out.

He muttered as the signing stopped. Standing up, he quickly walked into the room not having any idea what he was about to say. Regulus knew that whatever girl this was would probably think that he was a creep for spying on her night after night. What kind of girl would want that?

“I know you’re there.”

The singing had stopped and was replaced with a soft comment on Regulus’ appearance. Regulus turned around to see Y/n Lupin sitting by the window. You were the girl...the voice...it all fit! Regulus blinked a few times as he took everything in. Of course, it was you. It all made sense.

“Um...hi.”

Regulus muttered. He wasn’t for sure if he had ever spoken to you before. The two of you were in the same year but your paths didn’t cross much. You were in Hufflepuff and often kept to your little group of friends or with your older brother.

You, meanwhile, smiled noticing Regulus’ awkward silence.

“You’ve been up here the past few nights.”

You commented. Regulus’ face blushed as you patted the seat beside you. Regulus slowly sat down and kept his eyes straight ahead.

He had to be a blithering idiot. There would be no way in hell that anything between the two of you would ever work. You were Remus Lupin’s sister. Regulus didn’t foresee Remus being too onboard with his sister dating a Slytherin (even if Slytherins and Hufflepuffs made great matches).

“You were upset that first night. Are you better now?”

You asked. You knew the question was probably intrusive but it came out before you really thought better of it. That night, a few nights ago, you had been up doing what relaxed you the most...singing. When you heard the angry footsteps you considered stopping but thought about how your singing seemed to comfort your own brother when he was upset. Maybe this person needed a little comforting too (even if you didn’t know them).

When you realized that it was Regulus Black the feeling of overwhelming sympathy washed over you. You didn’t know much about Regulus other than the fact that he was Sirius’ younger brother. Over the years that you were in school, you couldn’t help but notice how sad Regulus looked most of the time. You could see those sad dark eyes from your seat at the Hufflepuff table and wanted nothing more than to give him something to smile about. He reminded you of a puppy that had been kicked one too many times. If he was anything like Sirius then you knew that was exactly how Regulus was.

It was no secret that Walburga Black was cruel to her children. You knew first hand of the abuse. You had heard about it from Sirius himself. If that was what was plaguing Regulus’ mind every night that he came to the balcony, maybe you could give him something to feel better about?

“There really isn’t getting any better.”

Regulus commented as you scooted closer. You had a feelin what that vague comment was leading toward.

“About being a death eater?”

Regulus’ face went pale as he turned to look at you with wide eyes.

“How do you know? Did my brother tell you?”

You shook your head at the raised tone of his voice.

“Ssh now. We don’t need god and everyone to hear. I saw your arm doing potions one day.”

Regulus sneered in your direction. He didn’t know how to react. Maybe just be cold like normal? What the hell was he supposed to say?

“Let me guess, you are going to tell me that I am a horrible person and that I shouldn’t be doing what I’m doing...no matter if it's what my family expected of me.”

Your momentary silence was driving Regulus nutty. After a few moments, you finally spoke.

“No. I was actually going to say I can’t imagine what you are going through. Sometimes our families are our own worst enemies.”

Regulus sighed.

“You’ve got that right. Look, I wasn’t spying on you. I want to just throw that out there.”

You smiled.

“It's alright. Your aura doesn’t seem as tense after you’re here for a bit.”

It was Regulus’ turn to be silent. He was trying to decide if he wanted to give you a compliment. If he messed things up, there was a good chance that he would never hear your angelic voice again...and that wasn’t something that he wanted to risk losing.

“Your voice is nice….its soothing.”

“Thank you.”

You replied as Regulus turned back to face you. His face this time was different. He had gone from death eater to the sad puppy that needed love.

“That first night...I was actually considering pitching myself off of that balcony. Hearing you...that was the first time I heard the most beautiful voice. It was like gravity.”

You reached out and gently took your hand in his. Were you overstepping your boundaries with a boy that you knew nothing about and who in turn knew nothing about you? Possibly. Did you care? Not really.

“I’m glad that you didn’t do that. You know, believe it or not, I realize how hard things can be with family. My family isn't normal…”

“Your brother is a werewolf.”

Regulus commented and instantly regretted his choice of words when your face went pale.

“Not that it matters though. It's just who Remus is.”

Regulus quickly added, hoping to save what hope of a friendship that he had with you. You, to his relief, smiled.

“Yes, it is who he is. I feel no guilt in telling you this now. With his condition, I tend to be second in the family. My parents don’t mean to put me on the back burner but it happens. It's hard...so I know now you must feel. How did you figure it out, if you don’t mind me asking. He literally tells no one.”

Regulus shrugged.

“Just put the puzzle pieces together.”

You continued to rub slow circles over Regulus’ palm hoping to relax him further. This was the first time (other than James and Sirius) someone had figured out Remus “furry little problem.”

“You’re really intelligent and perceptive then. If you want...you know...we could do this every evening when you're free. We don’t have to tell anyone that we are meeting up. Sometimes it's nice just to have someone outside of your friend circles.”

Regulus looked up and was clearly surprised.

“You would want to see me again?”

You nodded.

“If you want to see me that is...no pressure.”

Regulus quickly nodded, cutting you off.

“I would love to see you again...maybe around 7 tomorrow?”

You gave his hand a squeeze.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

_________

@amelie-black @realgaytrash @truly-insatiable @fandomsxxregulus @lucasfilms77 @exhsle @spiderxalmighty @jessyballet @knreidy1 @bennyberry @quuenofblacks @hazncalsgal @criminalyetminimal @whymyparentscheckmyphone @acciosiriusblack @brokencasbutt67-writer @authoressskr @fandom-trash-worth-it @summer-novak @hankypranky @stuckinsaudi1 @emiwrites3reads @shaylybaby2032 @li0nh34rt @tas898 @shadows-and-padlocked-hearts @knight-of-gleefulness @shitfaceddaniel @untoldshortsofthefandoms @deanwherescas @sprnaturallover @wontlookaway @mycuddlycorner

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dreamsmp-au-ideas · 3 years

Note

I’ve been thinking about Xenoblade Chronicles 2. Haven’t finished the game but I think the world it has is a fun place to do characters and such. So Xenoblade Chronicles 2 AU!

Just a quick summary of what the setting and how the world works. Game takes place in a land called Alrest. Alrest is inhabited by these continent sized floating beasts called Titans that people live on.They sustain life well, with trees and grass and monsters and stuff. The thing that separates Titans is the Cloud Sea, which is basically our sea but clouds instead of water. People use airships to traverse The Cloud Sea. There’s also a job people can do called Salvaging, which is when you dive into the cloud sea to ancient airships and get stuff out of it to sell. Most of its crap but good stuff can be found if you’re a good salvager.

There’s also Drivers and Blades. Blades are sentient life forms that are linked to a Driver. Blades are summoned via Core Crystals and each one has a different element and weapon. Core Crystals look like light blue cubes before a Blade is summons and then become a crystal on a blades body. Elements are fire, water, ice, wind, earth, electric, light, and dark. Weapons are Greataxe, Megalance, Ether Canon, Shield Hammer, Chromo Katana, Bitball, and Knuckle Claws. Blades are basically immortal and can recover from any injury except their Core Crystal getting destroyed. That kills them. Blades are also forced to return to their Core Crystal when their Driver dies. While they’re in the Core Crystal, the Blade’s is reset to some effect. They lose all their memories of their previous life. Most blades spend years in the Core Crystal, basically asleep in it until they are summoned by a new Driver. Most Blades have lived for many many years and gone through many many Drivers. Most Blades are fine with this arrangement because you can’t miss what you don’t remember at all. Blades are kind hard to describe appearance wise so I suggest you just look up a list and be wary of spoilers. They are very varied in appearance and some look more humanoid than others. Pretty much all of them have a futuristic touch to them, like bright metal armor or glowing lines on their bodies. Or you can get a talking white tiger which is also neat.

There are also Drivers themselves. Drivers are normal people who have the ability to summon a Blade from their Core Crystal via touch. Only certain people can do it for I assume complicated plot reasons that I haven’t gotten to yet. Drivers wield the weapons Bldes give them while Blades give the weapons elements. Basically Blades light an axe on fire and Drivers swing them at people. It’s considered a big deal for someone to be a Driver. If you don’t understand something about what I’ve said, I’d say look up the terms on the Wiki. It provides a good summary of what all these things are.

So now that all that’s out of the way, I have a small idea for it. Ranboo is just an ordinary salvager doing salvaging stuff when he happens to find a Core Crystal. He plans to sell it along will the other loot he found. However, when he’s going to sell it he just happens to go at night and almost gets mugged. Basically Ranboo isn’t exactly rolling in cash and pulls out The Core Crystal as a last ditch effort to maybe get a blade. He does and Ranboo discovers he is a driver when he summons a Blade who introduces himself as Technoblade.

Ranboo and the thieves are shocked because they know this blade. Not by Technoblade but by a different name. The Blood Blade. Cue brief tutorial fight with the thieves that ends with Ranboo stammering at Technoblade while Techno is very confused by why his new driver seems so freaked out by him.

Technoblade was part of a well known mercenary duo, I think? Depends on how you want to word it. It consisted of two drivers Philza and Wilbur and their blades Techno and Niki. Techno is an ice blade with a Greataxe was a weapon while Niki is a wind blade with a Bitball weapon. The group was quickly becoming well known, due to it also being a family business. Philza and Techno were the main pair focused on, since Philza was regarded as the leader. It was believed that the group would only become greater if Tommy turned out to be a driver and joined.

However, they suddenly dropped off the map about three years ago. The group was presumed to be dead, with even Tommy disappearing.

Techno being Ranboo’s blade and not remembering any of this confirmed one thing to Ranboo. Whatever they had found, it had killed Philza. The only thing Techno has on him is a map that has Xs on places all around Alrest on different Titans. Thus, Ranboo and Techno set out to see if they can find out what happened to Techno’s former driver and his family and maybe find a treasure along the way who knows? Well, Ranboo is mostly the only one who really cares at first while Techno comes along for the ride. He does start to kinda care about the life he lost even if he’ll never remember it.

I imagine they’d meet some party members, have dramatic anime fights with lots of yelling, drama, angst, adventure. Since this is a JRPG they probably fight God at one point to save Alrest. You know, the usual for a JRPG protagonist.

It’s such a fun world to mess around it I think. Loads of potential for Blade and Driver pairings. If you’re interested, I’ll send more! Even if I have no idea what the main plot of the actual game is.

Ooh. This looks fun. This looks like it has a lot of world-building. I’m interested, I’ll tell you that.

#mcyt #dream smp #dream smp au #xenoblade au #ranboo #technoblade #philza #ph1lza #wilbur soot #nihachu #tommyinnit #ask #tack-tick #long post

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emerald-amidst-gold · 3 years

Note

*slams hand down on the dinner table* tell me more about the dragon, please? 🥺

[ 🩰 ] is there a type of fashion your muse prefers, or do they not pay attention to their appearance at all?

And/or

[ 📢 ] what does your muse’s voice sound like? is it high-pitched, or deep? is it nasal or set in their chest? describe it in as much detail as you can.

*drops my fork before grinning like a maniac* You wish to know more about the dragon? The Dragon of the Dread Wolf? Oh, I can give you the deep LORE! >:D

[ 🩰 ] is there a type of fashion your muse prefers, or do they not pay attention to their appearance at all?

So, to begin, Fane is not concerned with how he looks. He hates, for a very long time, how he looks, so he tries not to draw attention with flashy clothing or personalized tidbits. However, there is one defining feature of Fane's clothing that he will not go without, and that's leather Elvhen wraps (it's akin to what Solas wears underneath his tunic, but all over for Fane. Arms, torso (up to the neck), legs.) This is more about practically than style for Fane. He is very adverse to wearing anything with Dalish or Elvhen inspiration, but his bindings are the exception.

Fane's father did horrific experimentation on him, practically carving him like a piece of game with jagged knives, spectral daggers, and most of all, magic. As you can imagine, this left Fane heavily, heavily scarred and extremely sensitive to any forms of magic, to the point where he gets incredibly ill. So, the leather wraps serve as protection and a way to cover up the evidence of the abuse from not only everyone around him, but his sister, as well. Fane makes and cures the leather himself, knowing exactly how to fashion it so it will breathe for extended periods of time. The colors range from dark brown, black, and on occasion, deep, deep green.

As for just every day attire, Fane opts for things that are loose and practical, his scars making it hard to wear anything too tight and again, because he doesn't want to draw attention towards himself. He'll wear cotton tunics, ranging from black to dark grey, usually quarter sleeved. He wears Elvhen leggings but he will not go barefoot unless he's in bed, instead wearing either boots (black or brown) or a type of mesh sock that gives him traction while still covering his feet. In addition, the Anchor acts differently to Fane in my AU and is extremely volatile more than depicted in the game, thus Solas and he craft another portion or wrap and later a type of vambrace and glove that acts as a minor ward. Otherwise, Fane just wears generic gloves, fingerless as his scars don't go that far. The only, only, only thing that Fane wears that has Dalish inspiration is a velvet sash around his waist with delicate gold embroidery of hallas and trees and it was a gift from his sister. So, he wears it for her, not for the heritage.

I have added a few bits and pieces since the last time I've discussed Fane's appearance and clothing, but these are the basics that have never changed. The tidbits I've added are that he wears a dagger on his left thigh, a leather strap keeping it and the sheathe in place, and he carries a long sword at his hip, but on the field he opts for great swords. Different place, different tools. But that's more or less Fane's go to in regards to fashion! X3

[ 📢 ] what does your muse’s voice sound like? is it high-pitched, or deep? is it nasal or set in their chest? describe it in as much detail as you can.

Ohhhh, I could talk about Fane's voice a million times! >:D

Fane has carried over more than just certain physical attributes from being a dragon, and his voice is one of them. I always describe as the softest of rolling thunder. It's deep, but not like the game's deep, it's husky when regarding someone he cares deeply for, it's a bellowing baritone when issuing commands in the midst of a heady battle or when warped rage guides it forward. It always holds a growl in its timbre, rumbling deep in his chest, like the soft echo of thunder after a lightning strike. When he's flustered it pitches upwards slightly, hitching and then dropping low, and I mean, low. The accent Fane bears is neither Dalish nor Free Marcher nor really Elvhen; it's a brand of its own. However, I imagine it somewhere between Solas' and the other Elvhen, but not precisely. I need to do some digging and try to find a voice claim since it's hard to describe, but Fane's accent is...special and is really evident when he, on rare occasions, speaks in complete Elvhen, the syllables fluid, the pace in which they flow concise as a mind so used to listening has been able to, even when memories are vague, retain the knowledge that was lost to those of direct Elvhen blood.

...So, yeah! Fane has a sexy voice and Solas short circuits when he speaks in Elvhen. XD You're not the only one that has a really intoxicating voice, Solas! You're literal husband does, too! XD

Thank you so much for the ask, friend! <3

#oc asks #asks #oc: fane lavellan #dragon age #solas #i really wish i could draw better because i would love to show everyone how i envision fane in my mind #it's so clear in my brain XD #and so is his voice #i really need to research some voices to try and find a good example one day :3 #thank you again! I'm always up for talking and divulging things about Fane! X3

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downwiththeficness · 3 years

Text

In the Bond-Chapter 13

Summary: Lilah often wished she’d never said yes to working with the Gecko brothers—usually while dodging gunfire. At no time was she regretting that decision more than when she’s hanging upside down from the ceiling, staring down a group of hungry culebras and one (1) extremely powerful sun god.

Word Count: ~2,600

Warnings: None

A/N: This is an AU of my Story In the Blood, which can be read here. Basically, this fic explores what would have happened if Lilah had met up with Geckos before she met Brasa.

Taglist: @symbiont13

Start from the beginning Previous Chapter Next Chapter

Read on AO3 Masterlist

Lilah swung the shopping bag in one hand, the other shoving the keys into her pocket. She’d ended out keeping the SUV Brasa had lent her the week previous, claiming that she liked the ‘rental’ so much that she’d made an offer to buy it outright. It was a believable lie, Lilah had a habit of picking up and dropping off cars on a whim. Easier to keep under the radar when no one knew what make and model she drove.

The air conditioning in the bar hit her hard, goosebumps rising along her arms. It was nearly empty, as it usually was mid-afternoon. Too late for the morning crowd to stay, too early for the night crowd to meander in. The room smelled vaguely of liquor and the sun streaming in through the windows cast unfamiliar shadows over the floor.

She noticed that Kate was sitting at the bar, nursing a soda. For once, Richie was nowhere to be seen. Lilah sidled on up to her, dropped the bag on the floor as she took a seat, and signaled to bartender.

“Bourbon and coke.”

Kate smiled at her, “Isn’t it a little early to be drinking?”

This was said with a smile that could potentially be described as sly. Lilah, like Seth, didn’t exactly adhere to a strict schedule when it came to alcohol. Too many nights that turned into days that turned into diving into a bottle to forget.

“It’ll be five o’ clock in...three hours,” Lilah quipped as she took the glass from the bartender, “Close enough.”

Lilah sat with her drink for a while, enjoying the fact that there was little to no activity going on in the bar. Aside from Kate and the bartender, the room was pretty much empty. She realized that she had spent almost all of her awake hours the last few days either catching up on what had happened while she was gone or in some kind of meeting.

Seth had taken a more active role in managing the staff, and he consulted with Lilah daily about one thing or another—usually some sort of internal conflict. She’d taken to writing down some basic policies and procedures for him to reference so that he wasn’t knocking on her door in the middle of the night with questions. Despite having just come back from a three month vacation, Lilah still needed to sleep.

A question floated across that train of thought, “What’s Richie been up to?”

Kate gave a little shrug, “The usual, trying to maintain some sort of order with our nocturnal friends.”

“Oh?”

Nodding, Kate added, “Its not just Brasa’s people that are struggling to adjust. We’ve had some kickback here, too.”

To give herself a moment to think, Lilah took a slow pull from her glass, “And how is that going?”

“Well,” her voice had a soft tone of uncertainty, “They aren’t super happy that we’ve done some population control. Kind of kills the mood when we’re trying to get them to buy in to the new way of doing things.”

“I can imagine.”

Given what Lilah had seen in the cave not a few days before, she had a good idea of what Seth and Richie were facing on the other side of the fence. They offered work and beds to those who could staff the bar, but didn’t have the organization or power that Brasa seemed to have. It was lucky that Richie had such a mind that he could predict attacks with an uncanny accuracy. Otherwise, or both brothers would be dead by now.

Rolling her neck, Kate offered, “But, there are a surprising number that want to assimilate—they miss their old lives, you know?”

Lilah did know. There was still a part of her, slowly dwindling, that wanted to go back to the night she met Seth and tell him to fuck off. Everything would have been a whole lot simpler now, if she had. On the other hand, she wouldn’t have met Brasa. He’d become so critically ingrained in her everyday life that the thought of him not being there felt too strange to contemplate.

“Are you gonna talk about it now?” Kate asked without provocation. She had pushed her soda away and was fixing Lilah with a narrowed look.

Lilah blinked, “What?”

With a sigh borne out of frustration, Kate turned on her stool and faced Lilah head on, “The bond. Are you going to talk about it?”

Stunned, Lilah felt her jaw unhinge as she stared at Kate in shock. She went over her recent memories to double check that she hadn’t given it away. Lilah had kept it hidden, she was sure of it.

Kate laughed, a high, clear sound that made Lilah flinch, “Richie told me about it months ago. You can’t hide that kind of thing from other culebras. Its supposed to be obvious, for safety’s sake. Keeps them from crossing boundaries accidentally.”

Lilah continued to stare, her chest tightening as she slowly began to panic. She’d ask Brasa about how it was ‘obvious’ later, when her mind had stopped spinning. For now, she had no lie to put things to right again.

Kate noted her stricken expression and laid a gentle hand on her arm, “Its okay. I won’t tell. I just thought you might need someone to talk to. I know I did.”

Dear holy fuck, but Lilah really needed someone to talk to. All of these months and months of keeping her mouth shut had built up in a way that took an immense effort to subsume.

After another moment’s pause, Lilah blurted, “I don’t know how to handle it. Its everywhere, all the time. And… the worst part is that I don’t care. I’m still struggling to accept it, but I want to keep it.”

The dichotomy of being both ashamed and deeply satisfied by her relationship with Brasa was the thing that kept her chest tight, her shoulders hunched. It sat next to her as she tried to sleep at night. It needled her in the quiet moments between tasks. Lilah rubbed at her forehead, feeling a headache coming on.

Kate’s smile was serene, “That’s good, because if Richie’s anything to go by, Brasa wouldn’t allow you to break the bond, even if you wanted to. He’d die to keep it intact.”

Lilah’s brows came together, “What does that mean?”

“Exactly what I said. He’d do anything to keep you with him. He kind of has to, anyways.”

“What does that mean?”

Kate lifted her hand to signal the bartender, “Two of what she’s having.” Then, she turned back to Lilah, “Listen, I don’t know if its matches up exactly with how my bond with Richie is, but Brasa is the one bonded to you, not the other way around.”

Lilah looked at her blank faced. The book had definitely not put it that way. Brasa had said he was the elder, he had said that he would be expected to lead.

The bartender brought their drinks and Kate fiddled with the little straw, stirring the ice around, “You’re weaker than he is.”

Lilah sneered, “Is it that obvious?”

Kate rolled her eyes, pushing Lilah’s glass at her, “Its always the strong party’s responsibility to protect and serve the weaker. Evens the playing field when—is it fate? Whenever whatever that decides these things steps in.”

“I don’t get it,” Lilah said blandly.

Honestly, she was getting tired of feeling confused. All these shifting realities were difficult enough to track and follow. She didn’t need to feel stupid on top of it.

Giving another little shrug, Kate took their drinks from the bartender, setting one in front of Lilah, “He’s like a billion years old and a literal demigod. The bond would weaken him long term, if he didn’t build you up, if he didn’t lend you some of his power.”

This rang of familiarity, and it made Lilah’s skin tighten with awareness of how she had never put two and two together. Still, the pieces weren’t locking into place cleanly enough for her to feel like she was on steady ground.

“What the fuck does that mean?”

Swirling the amber liquid in her glass, Kate fixed her with a coy smile, “It means that a large part of his life will be spent listening to and anticipating your needs. In return, your blood will make him stronger than he ever was, or ever could be without it.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Welcome to supernatural mating practices,” Kate deadpanned. “None of it really makes any sense.”

Lilah turned the whole thing around in her mind, “So, he has to do what I say?”

“He is inclined to do as you ask, but your safety and protection is his priority, above all.”

There was something in the statement that didn’t sit well with Lilah. She was used to commanding some sense of obedience during jobs, but this was far more intimate. It felt wrong to know that she could just...ask for something, and he would do it without question.

“But,” Lilah continued, “I don’t want to order him around.”

Kate set her glass down, “I don’t doubt it. I’ve had to learn to watch my words around Richie. If I even look at something in store for more than five seconds, It’ll be waiting for me when we get home.”

Lilah thought about it. Brasa hadn’t bought her anything, that she could tell, but he had given in to her will on numerous occasions. She couldn’t believe that she hadn’t figured it out yet.

“Have you had the dreams yet?”

Lilah snapped back to attention, “Dreams?”

“Yeah,” Kate prompted, her expression taking on a little excitement, “Where you’re sharing them?”

“Uh,” Lilah drawled, embarrassed, “A little.”

Kate nodded sagely, “If the bond is stressed, you’ll have more of them.”

“Why?”

“No idea,” Kate said as she fiddled with her glass.

There was a long silence, both of them lost in their thoughts. Lilah considered how far she’d come in her bond with Brasa, and how far she still needed to go. There were so many unknowns, and she feared that her reticence would eventually lead to him leaving her. And yet...Kate had said that he couldn’t—that would lead to worse things. Lilah could handle rejection, but eternal resentment was not something she was prepared to deal with.

“What’s he like?”

Lilah looked up at the question, her brows rising, “Who?”

Kate shot her a knowing look, “Brasa.”

Lilah considered the question, her breath flowing out of her lungs in a soft sigh, “He’s accommodating.”

“And?”

Lilah felt another little wave of embarrassment well up. She wasn’t used to disclosing this kind of information, and the thought of gushing to a girlfriend about a lover made her cringe. Still, this was likely the only person in the world who could really understand what she was going through, who could put things into perspective and help her make good decisions.

“He’s...smart. So smart. Every time we talk about the business, I feel like I’m taking a master class. And, he really listens to me, wants to know my opinion on things.”

“And?”

She thought further, “He’s attractive. Sometimes I look at him and I just…”

As she trailed off, Kate nudged her, “Have you had sex yet?”

“No,” Lilah admitted, “Although we’ve made out a few times—fuck, that makes me sound like a teenager.”

Kate chuckled, lifting her glass to her mouth, “That’s what I felt like, too. Although, I was actually, like, seventeen when Richie and I met.”

This was a story that Lilah had been waiting to hear. The two of them were so diametrically opposed in personality that the match seemed unlikely. She had asked Richie just the one time about how they got together, before Kate had been rescued from Amaru. His only answer was that he ‘kidnapped her.’

“Yeah?” Lilah prodded lightly.

“Yep,” she sat the glass down, “I don’t think either of us knew what was going on. Not until much later.”

“When did you finally figure it out?”

Kate pushed her dark hair from her face, her gaze contemplative, “After Amaru—in Xibalba, actually. We had a little time to talk when we were traveling between worlds. Richie had learned a lot while we were separated.” She paused, a smile forming on her lips, “He had to do a lot of convincing, but what Amaru knew, I knew. And, she knew about bonding. Even though I put it off for a bit, I knew eventually I would have to come to terms with it.”

Lilah felt the question she wanted to ask rise, and she almost tamped it down, but her lesser instincts kicked in, “Do you regret it?”

Kate shook her head, “Richie can be a real asshole, but he loves me. And all the other things that he is, all the things that make up our relationship, they satisfy me in ways I can’t describe.”

And that was exactly how Lilah felt, when she took the time to examine the bond more closely. All the restlessness of her life settled into a soothing, temperate pace when she was with him. Her eager ideas gained focus and precision, her impulsivity checked.

“You’ve given me a lot to think about,” Lilah said as she slumped in her chair.

Kate gave her sympathetic look, “I was trying to help you unload a bit of what you’ve been carrying around.”

To be fair, Lilah did feel lighter. There was still the issue of dealing with Seth and his temper when he found out, but she found that she liked having a secret ally in all of this. It lent her a small bit of safety that she appreciated.

Lilah glanced at her, “Does anyone else know?”

Shaking her head, Kate put her finger to her lips, “Its our secret, for now. But, it’ll come out eventually. Like I said, you can’t hide this kind of thing for long.”

“I know,” Lilah admitted, “Brasa is willing to keep this under wraps for the moment, but I can tell he’s frustrated by it.”

Kate watched her absorb that for a moment, then added, “Pro tip: Sleep with him.”

Lilah said her name in almost a yelp, shocked by the directive.

“I’m not kidding,” Kate said on a laugh, “Sex and blood are cornerstones of their relationships. They’re what bind them together, like it or not. Give him those things, and he’ll settle down enough so that you can figure this out.”

Lilah thought about it, then said the thing that had kept her hiding this secret for longer than she would like, “Seth is going to hate me.”

Kate acknowledged the statement with a salute of her drink, “He might not like it. He might mope around for a few months—hell, he might take off entirely. But, he’ll be back. He just has to have his tantrum first.”

“You think so?”

“I know so.”

“How?”

Kate lifted a shoulder, “He did the same thing with Richie when he was turned. Ran off for a bit. He’ll come around. Once he realizes that being a big baby about it means that you won’t be in his life anymore.” She paused a second, then, “We’re a family, you know? All of us. And, the most important thing to Seth is family.”

“You think so?” Lilah echoed.

Kate smiled warmly, “I know so.”

#from dusk til dawn #from dusk til dawn: the series #Brasa #In the Bond

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shikantazaart · 3 years

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Shikantaza Creativity Interview III - SPARTALIEN

At Shikantaza we are not content to just create art. We want to understand art. We want to understand the people who make art. Into the act of creation. Who are the people behind the art work? What motivates them? Where do they find their inspiration?

No two people think and act alike, so it is even less likely to find two artists who think and act alike. Yet, there will be crossovers, shared thoughts and shared experiences. Where do we adjoin and where do we diverge?

Our series of interviews with artists and creators aims to answer these questions.

In interview number three we speak to multimedia experimenter SPARTALIEN. You can find his creations here https://spartalien.com/visual as well as a collection of his work in the Shikantaza gallery.

1 - Starting with the most important question - Who is Memoria?

Memoria is Latin and means, when translated, memory / remembrance.

I named the merchandise for the album "2358" Memoria instead of Memory, because the main track titles are also translated into Latin.

I see my merchandise as small memories/artefacts. Not only because they are very rare, but because I can never go back to that time.

“Memory is the treasury and guardian of all things” - Cicero

2 - You work across different mediums. Do you have any preference for a specific form? When did you first find the format that was “you”?

I became really infected with the digital virus around in the late 90s when I built my first computer. A year or two later I started taking photos and manipulating them digitally. I also had a few printed, which allowed me to bring the digital into the real world. Then I discovered IRC and started learning a little bit of TCL. Since I had fun coding, I decided to learn the basics of web development because I needed a website to show my pictures to other people. In general, I was fascinated by the flow of information on the Internet. That distance is no longer a real hurdle when it comes to data transmission.

I've always loved music as a listener and small collector. I was then and still am one of those people who never go out of the house for long periods of time without a Walkman. Music production came into play when a couple of friends set up a small studio where they produced Techno/Psy. When I was there for the first time, I knew immediately that I wanted to try it too. A few old tracks from back then are still available on my website.

From then on, many of my projects have developed in the direction of music. The input for a program was often music metadata or it was a website that was about music in some way or another. But since I was still at the very beginning of my learning process, I kept discarding practically everything in order to improve it or to learn new things. Around 2001, I started a web radio with friends, which was online for several years. The music was mainly Downtempo, Trip-Hop, IDM and Ambient. Promos from unknown artists from around the world were also broadcasted.

The atmosphere, the feeling I got from this time - how the music finds me and not the other way around, how it can change people's thoughts - has never left me since then.

3 - Do you feel that each medium allows you to express yourself differently from the others? How do you choose which medium you work in any given moment?

Yes. But I think you can convey the same feelings with any medium. The question is how direct it is. For example, pain can be expressed with fire but also with a chair in an empty room. At the end of the day, in my opinion, it's not about the artist's intention but about the perception of the viewer and his or her subsequent thoughts and actions. For example, imagine you make a dark ambient track that you experience as sad and heavy, but someone else tells you that it helped to relax and develop thoughts.

In addition to all of this, each medium also has advantages and disadvantages when it comes to technical implementation. So, sometimes the choice can also purely depend on skill or resources.

We all have ideas and often out ambitions outweigh our resources. Sometimes we need more resources, but more often than not we need to chip away at our ideas until our ambitions and resources align.

4 - Do you seek different sources of inspiration for your music than you would for your visual creations?

It's everything in the world around me that inspires me. Everything I perceive and feel, so to speak. Most of the time I don't have a melody or a picture in my head. It is more of a feeling and then I look for the right tone or shape for it, so to speak.

5 - How closely are your creations connected to each other?

Very close one could say - through my thoughts that I have wrapped in it. I always had a bit of a problem putting my thoughts into words. I tend to stray through various topics when I talk about something. With music and visuals, it feels lighter and more natural to get to the point. The "message" doesn't always get through, but being able to do so is liberating and invaluable to me.

6 - If you were to direct people to a specific piece of work that you feel really nails what you are aiming for with your creations, which would it be?

This is a hard question. Maybe I would ask you to sit down and listen to the album "FLOATING HIGH" in one sitting. Since it felt like coming home to me while making it. The music is less intrusive and not as precise in its message as the previous releases. Like its cover art, where the clouds could be seen as opening or closing. I wanted to create tracks that leave more room for thought while still telling a story.

7 - You have “X minutes of peace” on your site. Why is this needed? Was this made for you or for others?

For others but also for myself. For me it is self-reflection that allows me to understand myself better. But since I have problems with "just switching off my head", the moments in which I just sit quietly and let the recording device do its work are very valuable. In moments like these I can really switch off and think about something very carefully. Asking questions even though I feel like I don't have an answer. Or simply enjoying the precious fresh air and sounds of nature.

Unfortunately, too many people don't have time for that kind of peace. Too much pressure is on them. They either get this or that, or they can't survive. It's so sad how the system works. I simply think that if everyone would have more inner-peace, the world would be a better place. But then again, what do I know living under a rock between mountains?

The videos should allow us to find peace for a few minutes, no matter where we are. So that new and hopefully useful thoughts can develop.

The series Let It All Go is actually the same thing, just with music.

For the really dark hours there is BRAIN I/O. From time to time I prefer to embrace the pressure. Difficult to describe. The concept is basically: don't think, just feel and record it. It's about things that I personally want to leave behind or at least want to learn to accept (not necessarily being okay with) them if I can't change them.

Peace is an issue for me. When I briefly find it only points the way to the next act. This is fantastic but self defeating. Why can’t we just stay in peace?

8 - When inspiration has left the building where do you look to find it?

I'm not really actively looking for inspiration. Somehow it doesn't work that way for me. So variety is important to me. That is why I usually have several side projects going on in the areas that I do not much publicize. Much of it never leaves my hard drive and is mainly intended to free my mind and get on to new ideas in the process. Coding, graphics, drawing, etc. But the music production is and remains the main focus.

9 - These are the questions I am asking all the interviewees. Why do you create? What is it that pushes you to keep creating?

The inner child is just too strong. I've been living for a while and I know exactly nothing. It kind of feels like that. So many things that you can create with the computer alone. I'm stuck in that loop where you just love to create things and learn - and use the new knowledge to create new things. Things!

10 - What would most assist you to create more works? Is there an ultimate goal for your creations?

More time and resources for sure. but most important to me is the feeling that my loved ones are safe. When I have to worry about their future because the system is going the way it is, it feels like a pile of stones in my head.

The creative / social goal of my art is relatively simple and based on my own experience. Art has helped me tremendously when I felt lost - or when I was just "bored". Taking time to really listen to or look at something can be very liberating.

My short-term financial goal is to generate a more or less regular income through art. But since I never released anything commercially before 2016, this world is still new to me.

My dream goal is to hear my music in film and games and to generate an income that supports my family.

Nonetheless, I think goals are here to create an initial path, not necessarily motivation.

I do not know of a single soul who has not been lost. Some never find their way back. Some don’t need to find their way back, they are happier in the place they found.

11 - If you were to offer a creator any advice what would it be?

Based on my own experience in no particular order:

Stay curious and open minded for different viewpoints.

Tutorials can limit your creativity. Sure, learn the basics, but explore as much as you can on your own and never be afraid to fail. It's a process, not a game.

On projects that take longer than a day to complete, set yourself a deadline when you want to have it completed. Not important if it takes longer, but in general that helps to stay more focused.

Very few things are easy when you start.

Limitations are not necessarily bad.

Don't wait for motivation to create. It will kick in usually a few minutes after you've started. Therefore keep your tools ready and organized so you can start creating at any time.

You can always turn off the internet.

Be open for constructive criticism.

Especially for the digital crowd, backup your stuff!

(All images and works by SPARTALIEN)

#shikantaza #art #music #video #visual #creation #peace

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ronsenburg · 3 years

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This one is for @reinmeka~♥

The sun shone brightly the day Apollo first met the summoner.

It’s a pointless detail to cling to—most days in Spira had been sunny, so far—but the state of the weather that day is ingrained into his memory all the same. Maybe it had something to do with the way the beams of light reflected off the surface of the ocean as their boat cut a path to Luca, throwing waves that glinted silver in their wake, looking more like rippled metal than water. Maybe it was the feel of the warm wooden deck, solid and steady under the palms of his hands.

It had been a peaceful ride, until then.

Until the spires of Luca’s stadium began to shift from a blur of color jutting from the darker tones of the surrounding cliffside into distinct details, until the wind that filled their sails began to carry the sounds of screaming across the water. Among those very human wails another sound arose, this cry piercing and bestial, the sorrow and pain expressed in that roar echoing down through Apollo and raising goosebumps along the skin of his arms.

“Sounds like we’re missing the show,” Phoenix commented. With his arms crossed and one shoulder leaned against the mast, he sounded unperturbed by the sounds of chaos, but Apollo could see the tightness in his expression as he gazed on. It was the look that gave him away.

“Is it—“

But Phoenix cut him off with a definitive shake of his head, his eyes never leaving the shoreline. “You’d know if it was. Doesn’t mean it isn’t bad though.”

Trucy appeared to his left, then, twisting the pompom antenna of the doll in her arms with an anxious energy that was nearly palatable. “The captain says it’ll take half an hour, at least, to get to the port. If they’ll still let us dock, that is.”

“It’ll be over by then,” Phoenix sighed. “For good or for bad. All we can do is hope the kid’s okay.”

Apollo couldn’t bring himself to ask who exactly Phoenix was referring to, then.

It took two hours, in actuality, for the authorities of Luca to clear their ship to dock.

Phoenix paced the deck for the majority of it, patience waning as time visibly slipped past with the subtle movement of the still blazing sun. What was bothering him was hard to discern—the screaming had stopped nearly an hour ago, replaced by the sounds of uproarious applause and cheers. Whatever had happened here seemed to be resolved, and yet, Phoenix had continued to wear a line into the already worn wood of the ship's deck.

Eventually, they were cleared to disembark; a gangway was lowered, swaying only slightly as Apollo took the tentative—and grateful—steps off the boat and onto the mosaic laden ground below. Only Trucy seemed to notice his discomfort; the deckhands were busy preparing to unload the cargo they carried and Phoenix was already occupied in conversation with an unfamiliar man who appeared to have been waiting for their arrival at the docks.

And though he still bowed before speaking, Phoenix’s tone could only be described as brusque. “How’d they get past the barrier?”

If the man he was addressing was bothered by the manner of address, he didn’t show it. He only smiled pleasantly, inclining his head enough that the coil of pale-blond hair that was collected in a cuff of embroidered fabric fell over the robes of his left shoulder. “Come now, Sir Wright. It’s been nearly seven years since the last time we met. Is that any way to greet an old friend?”

Though it was nearly imperceptible, Apollo was certain he saw the muscles of Phoenix’s jaw constrict as he set his teeth. “There’s a time and a place, Maester. Right now I’m more concerned about the people of Luca.”

The man gave a dismissive wave of his robed arm, indicating the general structure around them. “As you can see, everything is perfectly under control. The fiends have been dispatched with minimal casualties, the tournament will resume tomorrow. All without your assistance, might I add.”

“And the summoner?” Phoenix pressed, apparently relentless.

Something like displeasure flashed across the other man’s eyes, so quickly that Apollo could not be sure he hadn’t imagined it, before it was carefully smoothed back into the same affable smile from earlier. “Klavier is uninjured, but resting. If you wish to see him, I would ask that you wait until after this evening’s Sending.” And, as though sensing that Phoenix was still unconvinced, he added, “There’s no need to worry. Sir Edgeworth is with him. That should appease you, no?”

Oddly enough, it did. The hostility that had emerged in the lines of Phoenix’s jaw seemed to fade away, though it was only somewhat, carried off on the wings of a soft sigh released as he shrugged in apparent admission.

The other man simply nodded.

“As I thought. Now that’s settled, I must insist you join me for refreshments; it’s been a trying morning for us all and—“ he paused, his mismatched eyes sliding from Phoenix’s face to meet Apollo’s eyes directly, “—we are so very curious to meet your newest companion.”

With that, he bowed deeply.

“I am Maester Kristoph of Bevelle; I must say that I am delighted at the prospect of making your acquaintance.”

In a series of artfully levied whispers as the party made their way through the teeming streets, Trucy managed to outline the basics of what had occurred since they’d first set eyes on Luca’s shores that morning.

They were as followed:

The man who had introduced himself as Maester Kristoph was a priest of Yevon, in Luca with his brother, a summoner, to lend Bevelle’s support to the tournament. He and Phoenix had met years ago when serving as guardians for different summoners on their pilgrimage to defeat Sin. There should have been wards enacted within the walls of the stadium to keep fiends from entering, but they had been damaged in Sin’s last attack and, as a result, the monsters had gotten through. Though the Maester and his brother had promptly managed to dispatch the fiends, there had still been injuries and a handful of deaths within the stadium. A ceremony would be performed that evening for the dead.

It was a lot to process, even more so when the information was volleyed in broken sentences and cut off words while they’d dodged groups of laughing teenagers and all sorts of chattering families. The atmosphere—joyous, possibly even celebratory—was difficult for Apollo to fathom. The animalistic roar that they had heard from the distance of their boat was still lodged in Apollo’s mind, repeatedly crying out its apparent agony. What kind of creature made a noise like that? Nothing that he had encountered back in Zanarkand, at any rate. And, more importantly, what kind of world was this where only hours after an event of death and pain, citizens could resume their gaiety as though nothing had happened? Street sweepers worked diligently astride the revelers, clearing large pieces of rubble and what looked like puddles of dried blood from the ground while the sound of laughter rose around them. It was completely discordant.

The longer Apollo spent in Spira, the less it seemed to make sense.

The less he liked it, too, though, by now, that seemed a given.

It wasn’t until the sun had almost set behind the mountains to the west that the mysterious summoner was finally set to appear.

They gathered on the south facing piers, along the stretch of road connecting the stadium to the city proper. Though Maester Kristoph had indicated only six citizens had been killed in the attack—their coffins of woven grass and brightly dyed fabric sat in waiting by the edge of the water—nearly half of the city seemed to join the party of mourners crowded along the water’s edge.

“Should’ve used the stadium,” Phoenix mumbled, rolling his eyes at the people moving around them, each individual vying for what they perceived to be the best spot.

Trucy elbowed him squarely in the stomach in response. “Daddy,” she hissed, “we talked about mocking Yevon in public!”

Phoenix may have cowed his head in apology, but it didn’t stop him from snorting when someone nearly shoved Apollo directly into the water as they tried to make their way past him and to the front. It was only the hand that reached out, gripping the fabric of Apollo’s hood long enough that he was able to regain his balance, that kept him from taking an untimely and unfortunate dive into the ocean below. That alone made it hard not to agree with any point Phoenix was attempting to make.

The actual atmosphere of the sending was difficult for Apollo to pin down with words. At the head of the crowd, near the newly constructed coffins of the departed, a small group of people had assembled. The sound of their gentle sobbing rose above the murmur of the crowd, their obvious grief invoking an air of solemn ceremony over all those assembled. But it was difficult, despite that grief, not to feel the slowly building tremor of excitement that was passing through the rest of the group as they stood in waiting. The sound of indistinct whispering rose and fell in waves, as though everyone present was holding single, collective breath in barely restrained anticipation. Even Apollo felt it, a wrenching of expectancy from somewhere deep within his stomach. It was like the feeling was contagious and, though Apollo had no idea what exactly he was waiting for, he had somehow caught it too.

“I don’t get it,” Apollo murmured a moment later, though his eyes were still casting about the crowd. “Is this a funeral or some kind of a performance?”

The chuckle that Phoenix offered in response was nothing if not cryptic. “A little bit of both, I’d say.”

“Summoners are kind of like celebrities in Spira,” Trucy elaborated. “There aren’t all that many, so most people don’t get a chance to see them unless something really bad happens. It makes them mysterious, I think.”

Apollo frowned, “So all these people are here just so they can say they saw the summoner? Isn’t that disrespectful?”

“No,” Phoenix corrected, not quite smiling, “they’re here to see him dance.”

Just as the final rays of the sun began to fade into the edges of the distant skyline, the whispers around them seemed to rise to something of a fever pitch. All along the water’s edge, torches seemed to spring into life seemingly out of nowhere, their orange and yellow flames dancing on a sudden gust of the ocean breeze. And along with it, almost as though they had converged into one single entity, every member of the crowd turned to their right to watch the procession that had begun filing toward them from the direction of the city.

The group itself wasn’t anything ostentatious, just a handful of torchbearers and members of what Apollo could only assume were the church based on their robes, all styled similarly to those of Maester Kristoph. But at the end of it, set just slightly apart from the rest of the group, walked what could only be the summoner they had been waiting for.

He looked enough like the Maester that, if Kristoph hadn’t been standing just beyond, Apollo might have mistaken them for the same person. But as the advancing procession passed, the summoner’s eyes meeting briefly with Apollo’s own slightly widened gaze, he realized just how wrong his initial assumption would have been.

In the light of the dancing flames, the summoner looked like something ethereal, not simply bathed in the light of the fire, but composed of it completely, as though he were burning fiercely from within. Though his robes stylistically resembled that of his brother’s, they were both far lighter in fabric and bolder in color, dyed the shades of the sunset sky that were still clinging to the horizon behind him. His hair, also light in color and collected at one shoulder by a nondescript dark cord, shone like molten gold.

The sight of him was so far from what Apollo had been expecting that it nearly stole his next breath directly from within his lungs.

It seemed he was far from the only one; a hush seemed to fall over the entire assembly as the procession reached their final position, the quiet ebbing so suddenly that you could hear the sound of each Maesters’ individual footfalls echoing with each step against the ground. It felt as though a spell had been flung over everyone present, culling the latent anticipation and, instead, lulling them into a dream of soft tranquility.

What followed then was a short ceremony, words mumbled over each of the coffins that Apollo could not clearly discern in the distance that separated them. When they finished with one, two of the torch bearers would step forward, lifting each side and stepping forward to slide the casket into the waves that lapped rhythmically against the pier. The water was dark and very clearly deep; each made little noise as they sunk below the surface, disappearing for a handful of moments before buoyancy took hold and they emerged above the waterline once again.

At the end of it, all six coffins bobbed just below the crests of the rolling ocean waves, drifting around each other in an invisible current as they moved beyond the pier and into the open sea.

No one was watching them any longer, though. Not when the summoner had moved forward to the edge of the pier, stepping deftly out of his shoes and handing the outer layer of his robes to an attendant who was waiting nearby. And, then, without any sort of hesitation or address to crowd, he stepped off the pier and into the ocean below.

Apollo could not help the gasp that escaped his lips, then, so certain he was about to see the man disappear below the water like the caskets had each done a mere handful of moments ago.

But the summoner didn’t sink.

The soles of his feet settled against the surface of the water as though it were just as solid as the road he had stepped from. Tiny ripples expanded rapidly outward from each point of contact, a reminder to those assembled that the surface was, in fact, liquid and flowing gently beneath the place where he stood.

By that time, the sun had set completely; aside from the torches that still flickered along the shore, the only other source of light came from the moon and stars in the twilight sky above. With each step that the summoner took away from the pier and toward the open water where the coffins gyred aimlessly, the fire slowly relinquished its hold. In the span of just a few feet, he became only visible as a dark silhouette against the far off sky.

That was, however, until he paused in his steps, until he lifted the staff in his right hand far above his head.

From the darkness, a host of tiny stars began to emerge all around him from beneath the surface of the ocean, each throwing their own soft, white light. It was though they were responding to a call; with each additional wave of the summoner’s staff, more appeared, until the air around him twinkled like he had pulled the sky down in a cloak settled firmly around his shoulders.

“Pyreflies,” Trucy murmured to Apollo’s left, her tone nearly as awed as Apollo felt. He didn’t bother to ask what she meant, somehow he knew.

It was only then, illuminated in both the glow of the distant stars and the spotlight cast by the pyreflies that surged through the air around him, that the summoner began to dance.

#aa au: wouldn't it be wonderful?#ronsenburg tries to write #wtf is the past tense i don't know her #anyway jett said summoner klavier and my heart said dead mom anima and things kind of spiraled away from there #do you guys still remember the first time you played ffx? and you watched yuna step out onto the beach at kilika and start to dance?#and then they cut back over to tidus's face and it was exactly the same one that you were making?????#i want to see Klavier's sending #I couldn't sleep at 2 am last night because I was thinking about this #whomp whomp #i took so many liberties with your au i'm so sorry remind me to actually write down my fever dream so i can tell you about it

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tanadrin · 3 years

Text

Khoda Station

For a long time after she joined the Project, Sirrek had found Tjumak to be a puzzle, the most difficult to understand of her colleagues. She took as read that you had to have pretty good reasons to want to risk defying the Archive’s most sacrosanct law, and also to spend half of every year out in the middle of nowhere, hundreds of kilometers from the nearest transport routes and thousands from the nearest settlements. For most of the people at the station, their motives were actually pretty simple. Koridek believed passionately in the work; so passionately that he was willing to break his most deeply held convictions about what it meant to be an Archivist. For him it was all about values. His desire to serve humanity ran deep, and that was what made him a good fit for the Archive. His desire to serve Paradise, well, that ran even deeper; it was the source of his desire to serve humanity, to protect their nascent colony, but also to violate an order that had been created decades before Sirrek was born, to prevent terrible bloodshed. Depending on how you looked at it, that made him a very bad archivist indeed.

Ardhat was also simple. She was a problem-solver. That wasn’t all of it, but it was most of it. Of course, she believed mightily, too, but Sirrek doubted anyone could believe in anything as strongly as Koridek did. But above all else, Ardhat wanted to solve the biggest problems she could find. That was what got her up in the mornings, and drove her forward. She was a puzzle-cracker, a code-breaker, a solution-seeker, a builder-of-systems. She would have been a fine architect, or a talented engineer, or a clever physicist. But what greater puzzle was there than the Great Record? What greater problem to solve could there be than resurrecting a lost world out of the most ancient memory of the past? Of building a whole new ecosystem, alongside and on top on alien to it that already existed? Sirrek was quite certain that Ardhat would die to protect the Project if it ever came to it, but in the meantime, she would live for its mysteries.

Sirrek? Well, introspection wasn’t her strong suit. But where Ardhat had a cordial indifference to authority and Koridek a deep but respectful complaint against it, Sirrek just hated being told what to do. And they had told her, you shall not be a biologist. Not in the way you want to be. You shall not undertake any part of the great work--for it will not begin in your lifetime. They had said to her, you shall leave Paradise fallow, at least for a human definition of the term. And so Sirrek hated them for that, hated them for deciding before she was born that all her talents and her ambition must be sacrificed in the name of politics, hated the religious zealots and the blind ideologues whose fledgeling war meant that it would be many lifetimes before the Paradise she dreamed of would come to be. She was compelled to disobey. That was what got her out of bed in the morning.

But Tjumak. There was a mystery. He affected it a little, Sirrek thought. He spent his days ensconced in the middle of his dark laboratory, like the heart of an animal, or the engine of a machine. He did not come and go, like Koridek. The dim light of the displays shone on the glossy exterior of his support apparatus. He had once had a survival suit, Koridek said, and had gone back and forth from the surface like most of the other Archivists, returning to Ammas Echor when the strain of surface living became too great. Archivists were not born for planetbound life; they were humanity as it lived between the stars, made for the long dreamlike time in the cold and dark, and for keeping the long memory of their people alive. How long did our ancestors travel from star to star? Sirrek had once asked her mother, when she was young. For countless ages, she had replied. Since the Garden was lost to us in the beginning of time.

A survival suit was meant to be a temporary thing, a way to endure the stresses of gravity and the immoderate temperatures of the surface. What, do you go naked in space? Sirrek had asked Koridek. Koridek laughed. No, he said. We still have to wear suits on the vessel, though they are much lighter. You see me only as a hulking, heavy thing in this armor. In microgravity, I am considered graceful; above the sky, I can dance. Why someone would exchange that for a planetbound prison, much less one where they could not leave the room they worked in, Sirrek struggled to guess. But that was what Tjumak had done. From the outside, he looked almost like a silly toy: a round, smooth metal body, topped with a round, smooth head on a short, flexible neck. His arms were more graceful, and the apparatus in which he set could turn this way and that to reach th various monitors and keyboards around him; but apparently much of the interface was actually inside the suit, which in Tjumak’s case was more of a chamber, one in which he floated in a carefully-formulated synthetic fluid. And if the power goes out? Sirrek had asked. He will be very annoyed until someone finds the switch for the backup generator, Koridek said.

Direct neural prosthetics like the Archivists used, and which Tjumak relied on for his work, were rare among the younger generations, so it was probably a less claustrophobic way of living than Sirrek imagined. And if he really had to, he probably could switch back to a survival suit. Like if they ever got caught, and had to evacuate the station. That was a possibility she did her best not to dwell on.

She got a little window into Tjumak’s world, or at least his thought process, when they spent several long weeks working on a section of the Great Record. It was a frustrating and exceedingly difficult task, and the missing portions that Sirrek needed amounted to only a handful of characters, but the Record was nearly impossible to work with directly. When she was little, her teachers had explained that the Great Record was a library of the genetic information of every animal and plant and little microscopic beastie that had ever lived in the Garden, the world humankind had come from. And when their most ancient ancestors, the ancestors of their unimaginably remote ancestors, had had to leave the Garden as exiles, they preserved the Record, and kept it safe, for hundreds of thousands of years.

That was almost, but not quite, entirely a lie. When she had started studying biology, with an eye to genetics and to endobotany specifically (back when she imagined that she might be permitted to do something with her training), she started learning about how the Great Record worked. It wasn’t just a record of DNA; that on its own would have been quite useless, she was assured. DNA was an important part of it, of course, nuclear and mitochondrial both, but only a small part. Rather, the Record had been compiled as an image of the shape of a living cell: it described actual genetic code, but also how DNA was formed, how proteins were folded, how DNA and RNA were transcribed, processes of methylation and copying, how mitosis and meiosis functioned, and so on and so forth, attempting to describe the metabolism of an ideal cell, one which contained within it the potential to embody almost any form of life to which humankind had once been related; and it was by reference to this elaborate, ideal lifeform that literally millions of other species, from single-celled bacteria that lived in the human gut to storybook leviathans, were described. And the reason, Sirrek was told, that the Record had been composed in this way was that, long long ago, their ancestors had once had the technology to use those reference descriptions directly. The heart of the Record was a terrible lacuna, a tool that had been so widespread, and so useful, that it had once been presumed it would never be lost.

Oh, fathers of my fathers and mothers of my mothers! Sirrek had thought. How far your children have fallen. The senior geneticists referred to this technology as the key to the universal cell; or just the key. What, exactly, it was and how it had functioned was hard to guess. It was related to other technologies they had that barely worked, and that they did not understand at all, like the ones the Archivists used to modify their genes and to improve their neural prosthetics. There were baseline humans who had been brought all the way from Rauk on the last journey, in sarcophagi that had preserved them between life and death. It was a form of the key that had brought them back to wholeness, and let them live out the rest of a natural lifespan. But it was a specialized version, a crippled and ghostly version. They did not have the true key; and they were working to rebuild it. Perhaps one day, many centuries from now, they would live up to the promise of those long-ago masters of the living world, and they would read forth out of the Record a whole teeming world, as had been intended.

But they didn’t need the key to start understanding the Record, and ordinary genetic engineering and cell manipulation techniques would serve to clone the most basic organisms recorded there. Of course, all of this was hampered by the fact that the Record was at both extremely terse, intending to encode an enormous amount of information in as small a space as possible, and maddeningly repetitive. It was not really one Record, but many; the collocation of multiple copies, in some places defective, and in others damaged. Later, totally uncomprehending generations had apparently lost all but the memory of the importance of the thing, and carefully copied what they did not understand into new forms. It was only in the glare of Rauk, millennia ago, that the Janese had finally understood what they had had in their grasp, and built it into the skeleton of Ammas Echor itself.

Understanding the Record had been the original purpose of the Archive, and in the long, slow journey to Paradise they had labored ceaselessly at their task. Still, it was slow work. And since their station did not have the benefit of access to either the Archive on Ammas Echor, or to all the latest work from investigators working on the surface, sometimes they had to work at it themselves. At Ardhat’s encouragement, Sirrek had been trying to get a handle on some of the plant species that, by their position in the Record, seemed to be relatively basal. Much of the work in unraveling that portion of the Archive had been done by others, and was well-known, but little attention had been paid to the bryophytes. Under the logic of the agreement between the Renewalists and the Instrumentalists, this didn’t matter. Actual resurrection of species was not slated to begin for nearly eighty years, and even then it would be confined to laboratories. But Sirrek wanted practical results. What she ideally wanted was trees, flowers, grasses, important primary producers that also occupied slightly different ecological niches from the xenophytes, and could be integrated alongside them. But mosses were step zero. Possibly even step negative one. All she needed was a single viable spore. In theory, everything she needed was in the Record, somewhere.

In their long, slow labor, the Archivists had painstakingly indexed the Record, but it was an immense of information, and one that was only partly understood. The language of the record, if it could be called that, was a sophisticated polyvalent writing system that could encode chemical formulae, the structure of molecules and proteins and organelles, and dipped in its most specific registers into the subatomic scale, to describe the precise interaction by which choloroplasts captured the light of the sun, to convert into energy; and at its most general, sketched a mathematical relationship between the populations of a predator and its prey. Yet for all that it said, it also left maddening amounts unsaid, details that were perhaps assumed by its creators to be common knowledge, or which simply could not be fit in.

“It’s almost gibberish,” Tjumak had observed dryly. “Almost.”

“Why do you think they made it in the first place?” Sirrek asked Tjumak. “Do you suppose they really thought the umpteenth children of their children would be able to make use of it?”

“I can only assume so. Hubris, perhaps, or merely an unfathomably acute case of optimism.”

“It had to have been made in the Garden, right?”

A small movement suggested a shrug from Tjumak. “To speculate on the historicity of our people before the last journey is to engage in theology as far as I can tell. Whatever the Garden once was, it is now more myth than fact.”

“Maybe,” said Sirrek, tapping her chin as she moved the same section of the Record back and forth on the display. The curling, two-dimensional network of shapes blurred together if you tried to take in too much of it at once, not to mention it was dispiriting. It was far easier to concentrate on the smallest legible piece, and work through it one symbol at a time. Tjumak peeked over her shoulder, and glanced at her notes.

“No, that’s not right,” he said. “That’s not a DNA sequence, it’s a protein sequence. Look, that’s a symbol for a folding geometry, in the corner.”

Sirrek muttered an impolite word and started backtracking.

“They can’t have made it during the Exile, anyway,” she said. “You can’t put millions of species on a generation ship. Even if most of them are beetles.”

“Perhaps not,” said Tjumak. “But what is an object such as this? It is a monument against ruin. If they made it in the Garden, they made it knowing its desolation was close at hand.”

“So you’re definitely in camp made-to-be-used.”

“I think… I think it doesn’t matter why they made it,” Tjumak said. He was scanning his own section of the text, which in real terms was inscribed about a meter and a half away from Sirrek’s on the same section of Ammas Echor’s structural frame; but which felt like it might as well have been on the other side of the planet. “The question is, why do we want to use it?”

“Hubris, and/or an unfathomably acute case of optimism?”

“It’s a reasonable question. We could have come to Paradise, gone down from the Ammas Echor, and made our living on this world as it is, with no attempt to change it besides the introduction of ourselves. For that matter, we could have stayed in orbit, bringing up such resources as we needed, air and water and soil, to make life there far more comfortable than it ever could have been on one of the airless or gasping worlds our ancestors lived their lives on, and left Paradise almost entirely unchanged. Yet when we arrived, we nearly fought a war against one another, not over whether to make use of the Record to resurrect the creatures of the Garden, but only how.”

“Do you think we should have considered the possibility?”

Tjumak leaned back from the display he was hunched over. The head of his support apparatus tilted up toward the ceiling, which was as close as he ever got to looking pensieve.

“I cannot honestly say yes. I’ve known space, Sirrek, real space. Not orbital microgravity, but the deepness beyond the summit of the sky. Some of my earliest memories are of the firing of Ammas Echor’s great engines, to turn our path inward toward the light below. Of the long, slow spiral down to the inner worlds of Kdjemmu. And even that emptiness was brighter and warmer by far than the great darkness between the stars that my mother and father were born into. When they were young, ever joule of energy was precious beyond reckoning, every drop of water or puff of air worth more than a human life.

“The other worlds around this star, they’re airless, or formless giants, or scorching hot, or worse. And every world our ancestors ever visited, if the tales are true, from the Garden-which-was-lost to Usukuul-we-mourn, was as barren as them. I cannot imagine what suffering generation after generation endured to bring us here--and it would spit in the face of every soul that died on the journey not to bring Paradise to flower.”

“We will, Tjumak,” Sirrek said softly. She had never seen Tjumak speak so earnestly before. “And we will not ravage, and we will not burn. And one day we will call our brothers and sisters out of the darkness to live with us again.” The rhythm of the ancient litanies came back to her smoothly. Her parents had not been religious, but her grandmother had been. She had recited the litanies to Sirrek when she was small, a soothing voice to sleep to.

“Will they thank us?”

“The other Exiles?”

Tjumak shook his head, then pointed at his display. “No. The ghosts we’re going to call up.”

“What do you mean?” Sirrek asked, perplexed.

Tjumak swiveled in place to another display, and tapped a few keys on the panel next to it. The image of another part of the Record appeared, this one displayed alongside long sections of plain text. There were ghostly outlines of various creatures superimposed on it and displayed alongside it, gracile things with four legs and taut muscles, and things with sharp teeth and long claws.

“This part of the Record was indexed four generations ago, and pretty well translated,” Tjumak said. “It’s an unusual one--it’s organized by relationship between constituent elements, not by phylogeny. It’s probably from a lesser Record that was only integrated into the whole later.”

“What are they?”

“Animals. Warm-blooded, furry, placental. Very much like us, in some ways, but quadrupedal. And, to judge by the annotations, quick. Well-muscled. Herbivorous and carnivorous.”

“One is predator, and one is prey?”

“Likely.”

Sirrek had that dark feeling again, the one that was tinged with despair. Sometimes it came up when she looked at too much of the Record at once, or when she spent too long thinking about the aching gulfs of time that they hoped to bridge with the Project. The feeling that it was too much--too much for her, too much for anyone, too much for innumerable lifetimes.

“We’re a long way from placental mammals, Tjumak.”

“Yes. But we’ll get there one day. I don’t doubt that. What I wonder is, what would they say? If we could ask them. And, you know, they could talk.”

“I don’t think there’s anything alive that doesn’t want to live.”

“Ah, but they are not alive. Not right now. It will be us who make them live, if we choose to. And consider, my friend, what that will mean. For some, they will be the prey. The hunted. The fearful. The one whose existence ends with blood and pain and screaming. And others, they will be the predator. Hungry, ever-hunting, fearing that one day their source of food will move beyond the hills, or that a harsh winter will kill them all, and leave the hunter to starve.”

“You think it’s not a life worth living?”

“Would you want to live such a life?”

Sirrek shook her head. “It’s not a coherent question. Does the ferngrass or the swarmbug want to live? The ferngrass can’t react to external stimuli at all, and the swarmbug has six neurons wired in sequence--basically glorified clockwork that tells it when to fly and when to land, and when to lay eggs. There are more complicated xenozoa in Paradise, but they aren’t anything like us, either. And these mammals? Maybe they’ll be able to feel pain, and hunger, and a kind of fear in the moment--but ‘life worth living’ is a human concept. I’m not sure it applies.”

“Surely it must. Even to creatures without language, without tool use, without abstract thought. If they can suffer and feel joy, there is a place where suffering outweighs joy, however you favor one side of the equation over the other. Someone that brought a child into the world, knowing their whole life would be without joy and full of suffering, would be cruel indeed.”

“Are you really proposing we put the entire Project on hold to decide if the creatures we bring back might suffer too much for the Project to be worth it?”

“Just humor me for a bit.”

“All right, fine. A parent has moral responsibility for their child’s welfare.”

“Unless and until we discover something wiser than us already living here, we have moral responsibility for this world.”

“And it would be cruel of us to go out of our way to inflict suffering on the things living in it. You don’t see me pulling the wings off swarmbugs. But that moral responsibility only goes so far, because we can’t impose human values without limit onto things which live very different existences from us.”

“Not so different, these beasts here,” Tjumak said, tapping the display.

“Different enough. Different enough that in order to even begin to pose the question of whether their life was worth living, you would have to alter them mind and body until they were far more human than anything else. If you cannot pose the question without destroying the thing you propose to investigate, it is a bad question.”

Tjumak tilted his head in what Sirrek had come to recognize as the sign of a smile somewhere on the face she could not see. But he didn’t seem ready to drop the argument yet.

“Aren’t all values human values in the end? Unless you believe in a creating power with the authority to order the ethical universe by its own whim, which seems rather like a self-contradicting idea to me. The only values we have to judge the world by are human values. They’re limited tools, but they’re the best ones available. So if a human could have a life not worth living, so could an animal, by the only standard we have available to judge.”

“I don’t know if I buy that,” Sirrek said. “But even so: everything that lives desires to live. If you could bring one of those beasts back, and then you tried to hurt or kill it, it would run away. There’s something like volition there, and as far as I can tell, a vote in the ‘let me live!’ direction.”

“Hardly a spirited defense of the idea, though!” Tjumak said. “A mere stimulus response, maybe.”

“You can’t have it both ways. You can’t say a beast’s volition matters if it doesn’t want to suffer, but doesn’t matter if it wants to live. It’s not human, so you can’t ask the question as you would to a human, or to another creature capable of abstract thought, and in the only way it knows how to tell you, it tells you it wants to live. And, presumably, do other things. Eat. Run. Have babies. You might not let it do all those things. You certainly don’t have to let it eat you. But if the creature’s experience of the world matters at all, its desires must matter in some sense, too.”

“There’s always the option of just leaving out the carnivores, you know,” Tjumak said. “After all, your moss here doesn’t feel pain. Probably.”

Sirrek smiled. “I really hope not. And maybe that is an option. Or maybe we don’t know enough. Maybe the carnivores are as essential to the herbivores as the herbivores are to them, in some way we haven’t seen. I think a certain expansive humility is necessary when poking at these questions.”

“Humility. Humility!” Tjumak roared with mock outrage. “Expansive humility, says the woman who opposes the Archive and the consensus of the whole world, and seeks to resurrect an ancient biosphere from the dead! While remaking an alien one to boot!”

“You can be ambitious and humble at the same time,” Sirrek said. “It just means you set your sights high, but aren’t surprised when you fuck everything up.”

Tjumak laughed sharply. “You’re a good sparring partner,” he said. “Koridek always gets annoyed with me when I try to start an argument, and Ardhat has learned to ignore me. It’s good to have a new face around.”

And for the rest of the evening, that’s all Sirrek thought their conversation was--a verbal wrestling match for Tjumak, a way for him to sharpen his wits, and get to know Sirrek at the same time. But later that night, as she was brewing a cup of bitterstalk tea to take to bed with her, she saw a dull glow from Tjumak’s lab, when his monitors were usually all dark, and he was asleep. She went to the door, thinking to say goodnight, but paused when she got there. His back was turned to her, and he was looking at the image on his monitor, the one that showed the ghostly outline of runners and hunters, of the ones that long ago had died, and the ones that long ago had killed. He seemed to be staring at it, intently, one finger tapping slowly on the side of the display.

As she lay in bed waiting for sleep to overtake her, it occurred to her that Tjumak’s cynicism was just as much a kind of protection as his support equipment. It was his armor against the world, and the fears of his own heart. She didn’t doubt his commitment to the project. She did not doubt the commitment of a man who had exiled himself indefinitely to the loneliest place in the world. But he understood, perhaps, that he was responsible for the world he hoped to create. Maybe it was right that it should keep them all up at night from time to time.

#tanadrin's fiction

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mustardyellowanti · 3 years

Text

Sebastian Oh Summer // Before Senior

“Safe to say I think you have everyone else’s birthday present beat,” Finley commented, eyes glancing up to see Sebastian through the rearview mirror. Sebastian hummed pulling his earpods out, the low rumbled of one Anto’s favourite songs leaving his ears. She had decided to diversify Sebastian playlist with all her favourite songs and while Sebastian understood next to none of what was been said it was an easy listen. He glanced up at the elderly driver, Finley had been in his family for years, and over time he became more than just a simple chauffeur. He had been working for his mother since she in her late teens and now on the eve of her 45th birthday remained a trusted confidant to his mother and admittedly Sebastian.

“I don’t know if you asked certain people my presence is not a present at all,” Sebastian commented with a sigh looking out the window. While he had no issues about celebrating his mother’s birthday, he was unashamedly a mothers boy, but dealing with the rest of his family was never high on his to-do list. The rest of his mother’s family, the Vanderbilts, American royalty at its best were divided into blindly hating him because he was the heir apparent and the others sucked up to him for the exact same reason. Then there was his father and brothers, while there was no doubt his father was head over heels in love with his mother, his father didn’t share that same love for the fruits of their love. Sebastian’s father was all too happy to pretend Sebastian did not exist. His brothers weren’t too different, indifferent, borderline hateful of Sebastian all because he got everything they wanted without even trying.

“Who cares what certain people think?” Finley huffed, “No of them matter in the grand scheme of things, do they? You are coming back to surprise your mum and I know for a fact that she would be ecstatic that you here, probably going to end up crying when you step in the house,” he said. “Happy tears of course,” he tacked in causing Sebastian’s lip to quirk up in a small smile.

“As long as they are happy tears I guess I can handle the rest,” Sebastian said with a shrug. He was trying to come across as carefree as possible, fall back into the normal arrogance and aloofness he usually had but the growing pit in his stomach was hard to ignore and as they got closer and closer to the Hamptons.

“Of course you can,” Finley hummed. “Though once the tears are over your mum is going to be in full fret over Sebastian mode and then ofcourse its going to be a whole lot of people asking if you met their oh so wonderful daughter,” Finley said sounding far too amused. “Such a hard life you got there,” he teased. “I would offer my daughter but she has been married for the past 15 years, maybe granddaughter Lily,” he laughed.

“The five-year-old?” Seb laughed, “Well she might be more interesting than half the people at this party but I’ve got what another 20 years before I start dating girls half my age right?” he mocked. The men in this world are known for throwing their wealth around at younger women desperate enough to do anything to get ahead in life. He couldn’t fault the woman, if a man as rich as some of those men were and were dumb enough to get scammed then shame on them.

“Oh so you heard about Mister Langford, just turned sixty and his new wife turned 22 – “ Finley teased. “Lovely wedding, his kids looked like they really enjoyed it,” he laughed. “They were so in love with each other they forget to sign a prenup,” he added. Sebastian smirked he couldn’t only imagine how the Langford children would have reacted to that news. A murder was certainly on the cards, whether it be the kids getting rid of the 22-year-old obstacle or the 22-year-old obstacle getting rid of the old man who thought a little too highly of himself.

“Finn I am trusting you to off me before I ever end up like that,” Sebastian commented shaking his head. “Just make it look like an accident,” he said.

Finley snorted. “By the time you are at that age I am pretty sure I will be six feet under,” he said.

“What? No, you are a young lad,” Sebastian said biting back a smile at the way Finley rolled his eyes. “Besides you are like immortal anyway,” he continued.

“What? Who told you?” Finley said dramatically. “You can’t be telling rich old men that I found the secret to living forever they’d skin me on sight,” he joked. Sebastian snorted but dragged a finger across his lips to show his lips were sealed.

Silence fell over them once again, they were getting closer to the Hampton home. They were already on billionaire row, they’d be there in a few seconds. “You’ll be fine kid,” Finley spoke, Sebastian sat straight up straighter. He wasn’t a kid anymore and he highly doubted that he would be fine. “Don’t let them spoil your time here,” he said. “The last thing we need is them scaring you off, boy if you heard all the rants from your mother about you never been here –“ Finley shook his head.

“And here I thought you actually missed my company,” Sebastian teased. Finley’s lips quirked up into a smile.

Sebastian sucked in a deep breath as he stepped into his parent’s Hampton home, while his Grandfather’s home was the classic Hampton house, his parents were more modern in design. To some people it was considered modest, Sebastian knew he could be a bit insensitive to those who didn’t have the same level of wealth as him but even he knew an 11,000 square foot home on roughly 3 acres of beachfront was not modest by any standard.

“Did you forget something, Irene? I gave you the night off,” Sebastian heard his mother call out, Irene was her assistant/house helper. She had always kept the families staff to a minimum believing it was better if people knew how to do the basics their selves. “Did Jac-“ his mother said stepping into the corridor turning to see Sebastian and freezing, maybe Finley had got it wrong, that didn’t seem like a happy reaction. Maybe he stayed away a little too long and somehow managed to alienate the one family member that actually loved him.

“Hi,” Sebastian waved awkwardly his voice croaking slightly as he spoke.

The noise that left his mother’s mouth could only be described as inhuman, she ran down the hall to where Sebastian stood pulling him into a hug. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? How did I not you were coming? What happened to your trip with Theo? Is he okay? Is he here too? How did you get here? Oh my gosh,” she said frantically causing Sebastian to chuckle. “It’s so good to see you,” she whimpered burying her head into his shoulder. “Ugh when did you get so tall,” she said hitting his chest.

“Taller than you? Sometime after my tenth birthday,” Sebastian joked as his mother pulled back, “And I wouldn’t miss your birthday,” he said. “I know I am not –“

“Shhhh I know you are going to say some sort of nonsense so just stop,” his mother said quickly, eyes narrowing. “There will be no self-deprecating in the house thank you very much,” she said pointedly. “Now let’s get a drink and you can tell all about how you managed to keep this a secret from me,” she said grabbing his hand and dragging him to the kitchen area.

“Hmm,” she said grabbing two glass flutes before looking back at Sebastian. “I guess since it’s my birthday, letting you having a glass of champagne wouldn’t be considered bad parenting,” she hummed.

“What happened to no self-deprecating, it hasn’t even been five minutes mother,” Sebastian teased. “And you’ve changed the marble benches,” Sebastian commented running his hand among the new, well new to him, Granite countertops.

“Yes, the marble had to go, to easy to stain,” His mother waved a hand dismissively. “The amount of time someone has knocked their glass of wine over,” she tsked. “Anyway, that is not important,” she said handing him a now full chute of glass. “I am not going to sit here and talk kitchen décor when my baby is home,” she said sitting down on a stool. “Now care to explain how I didn’t catch wind of this?”

“Well,” Sebastian said taking a sip of his champagne. “I wanted to surprise you so Finley and I planned this, Theo let me borrow his plane and well here I am,” he offered as his mum rolled her eyes.

“Of course it was Finn,” she hummed. “Well I think this is the best present I am going to get so I won’t be too hard on him,” she said. “How is Theo? You could have bought him along, you know he is always welcome,” she said with a soft smile. “Just like you are,” she tacked on. Seb hummed around his glass, if it was just his mum he’d believe it but considering his father was lurking around somewhere that wasn’t exactly true.

“I know,” Sebastian with a weak smile, “But I figured having the two of us surprise you might be a little too much so I left him partying with our classmates,” he shrugged. “But he has sent a gift, it’s probably already at our New York apartment,” he said.

“Well that is sweet of him,” she commented with a smile. “I am glad you have a friend like him when I was your age, I had a lot of trouble finding real friends,” she frowned clearly getting lost in her memories. “Ah look at me getting lost in things that aren’t important,” she said shaking her head. “Maybe I’ve already had too much champagne,” she said shaking her head. “Irene and I had a boozy lunch,” she explained.

“It’s almost your birthday, If you can’t overindulge in champagne then when can you?” Sebastian joked with a cheeky grin.

“Exactly,” His mother nodded before reaching over and pinching his cheek. “Look at those dimples,” she giggled. “I remember when I first found out I was having a boy, those dimples were the number one thing I hoped you inherited from your father,” she said. Sebastian’s face scrunched up as he removed his mother’s hands from his cheek. He already knew that if his father could he would remove any trace of his DNA from Sebastian’s body.

“Seb,” His mother said, eyes softening. She opened her mouth to say something more but stopped. Perhaps she had grown tired of trying to make excuses for her husband, lord knows Sebastian was tired of hearing them.

“It's fine,” Sebastian said with a wave of his hand, swallowing down the lump that was forming in his throat. “You’re being nostalgic, it happens when you have had too much champagne, that or your old age is getting to you already,” Sebastian teased watching the way his mum’s face contorted at the mention of age.

“Hey,” she laughed. “I know I taught you better than to talk to women about their age.”

#story

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darisu-chan · 4 years

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Kaien vs Ichigo: A Memories in the Rain Analysis, Part 1

Hello

It’s me again, back with my bs lmao

I finally finished the mini arc of Memories in the Rain pt. 2 and, as I’ve been sort of discussing certain stuff that’s happened in Bleach as I re-read the chapters, I decided I needed to talk about MITR as a whole. If you’ve been following my posts, I didn’t really analyze the first part. I saved it to compare it with the second part. I also thought that instead of just saying my thoughts as I have been doing thus far, I’d go the extra mile and truly analyze both parts, specifically comparing Kaien and Ichigo.

So, sometime ago, I wrote this post about how it bothers me how people compare Kaien and Ichigo as being the same, and using that to establish IchiRuki. When, honestly, you don’t need to. Ichigo and Rukia’s relationship stands on its own. In fact, it is so strong that, years after the ending, people keep being fascinated by IR. The LA was centered on their relationship as well. And it’s still the Ichigo and Rukia show, thank you very much.

And though I made some good points in that post, I decided to further explore Kaien and Ichigo, as well as the events of both MITR and how that relates to Ichigo and Rukia.

It’s probably been done many times before, but I’ve never analyzed them in much depth, so here we go.

The first part will soley be about Ichigo and Kaien as individuals. On the second part, I’ll finally explore MITR

1. The Shiba Gene

So, as we all know, Ichigo and Kaien look like each other physically, and in Everything But the Rain we finally found out the reason why: they are cousins. This put a stop to all the “Ichigo is Kaien reborn” theories people liked to come up with back in the day.

Now, in the story, this resemblance was pointed out by Byakuya and even Ukitake, to an extent. Which means Kaien was designed to look like Ichigo on purpose to further draw parallels between them. What I mean to say is that this is a seed that was planted in the readers’ minds, and as such, comparing both guys was done on purpose.

Interestingly enough, neither Kukaku nor Ganju are ever seen to believe Ichigo looks like their older brother.

In EBTR we see Isshin as a young man, and we can see how Isshin, Ichigo and Kaien resemble each other, meaning the Shiba gene is a strong one, and, if Ichigo had actually stayed in SS, that same resemblance could have been used as a way for him to claim that part of his heritage, but I digress.

We are all aware they look like each other because they are family, so we don’t need to go deep into detail in that aspect. Now the true question is, just how similar are they to each other?

Physically speaking, there are a few noticable differences, like hair and eye color. Kaien’s hair is longer and there’s the fact Kaien has very long eyelashes, as Kukaku and Ganju have. He’s also taller.

Although key differences, they are not enough to negate their similarities. Hell, Ichigo does look more similar to Kaien than Ganju, his actual brother.

But there’s something very important that sets them apart: Kaien always carries himself as if he didn’t have a care in the world. When we’ve seen Kaien, he’s always able to smile freely. Sure, he also scowls, gets upset, and the like, but he goes back to smiling. This is something Ichigo hasn’t been able to do since his mother died. Hell, there’s a whole chapter about that (Can’t Smile Don’t Blame). There are very few times in which Ichigo actually smiles, and all of them are short-lived. In fact, whenever he’s tried to give big smiles, they seem off, as seen when he smiled to Orihime back at the beginning of MITR and later on, in the Lost Agent Arc, when he smiled at Yuzu.

Even when Rukia has a flashback of Kaien while looking at Ichigo, their smiles look very different:

Ichigo more often than not smiles through his eyes, while Kaien tends to smile with his eyes closed:

Although brash and arrogant as well, Kaien is also more mature. He can go from joking around to having deep conversations with Rukia. Ichigo, as a teenager, has yet to mature and will become more and more like a grown up as time passes by. At this point in the manga, he really isn’t there yet. Now, this will be important later on.

In short, even though they look very similar, they carry themselves with different auras. Kaien is more of a free-spirit, while Ichigo is a person who seems to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders.

2. Prodigies

Ichigo, as the MC of a shounen manga, is obviously special. From the very first moment, we know he’s not like everyone else. He’s able to see spirits, which is not the norm. And then Rukia informs us his reiatsu is too powerful for a normal human.

And as time goes by, as he keeps fighting hollows, he grows exponentially.

When Urahara trains him, he realizes that, which is why he tells Yoruichi that if there is someone who can achieve bankai in 3 days, is him.

As the story goes on, we learn that Ichigo is even more special, as he is also part Quincy and Hollow. But he also has very impressive skills when it comes to swordmanship, shunpo, and the like.

What is more relevant is Ichigo’s ability to grow at a fast rate, always learning from his mistakes.

And although he was never taught how to be a Shinigami in the traditional way, we can see how he surpassed his peers.

Now, although Kaien is not as special as Ichigo, we learn from Ganju that, for Shinigami standards, Kaien’s very impressive:

Hisagi, for example, failed the final exam numerous times. Rukia says she barely passed the entrace exam. Finishing the curriculum in two years is a great achievement. And the fact that he made VC in 5 years means a lot. It took Renji, let’s say, around 35 years to be promoted to VC. And Renji was in the special class at the Academy.

People like Ichigo and Kaien are not the norm. They are very skilled and special individuals. Might be because of their genes (it’s never explicitly said, but they might come from a long line of Shinigami), or just because they were gifted with those powers, but the point is these characteristics set them apart as more powerful than the rest.

3. Brash, Rule-breaking, Arrogant

The words above can be used to describe both Ichigo and Kaien, and that’s certainly Byakuya’s opinion of them.

Kaien and his siblings are not like the nobles we know. They’re certainly very different to Byakuya and the Kuchiki Clan, but they also live very differently than Soi Fon, Omaeda, the Shihouin Clan, and so on. They seem to live more like the common folk than like dignified people. Hence, Byakuya seems very against this sort of attitude, at least early on in Bleach.

Because of being loud, less refined, brash, and with a penchant of rule-breaking, Kaien seems totally different to other nobles. However, I dare say these characteristics extrapolate what Ukitake meant in this scene:

Not anyone would be able to go against the whole Soul Society, specially if you are a Shinigami.

Byakuya was certainly not going to do any rule-breaking. As we later find out, he had even promised not to break anymore rules and was going to stick to that promise.

Renji, until confronted by Ichigo, had decided not to go against the SS.

Even Ukitake wasn’t about to start a revolution to save Rukia. It took him seeing Ichigo to decide on what to do.

Basically, only Kaien would have been upfront about his own intentions.

And what we know of Kaien is that he was the sort of guy who would break the rules when necessary. That means, that he would do the right thing. Specially when it comes to saving his peers. He even tells Rukia as much:

He might not have been the most elegant of individuals, but Kaien’s brashness and even arrogance came from the fact he had a good heart.

Now, who does exactly what Kaien would have done?

That’s right.

Ichigo.

Here the comparison of Ukitake trying to imagine what Kaien would have done is directly compared and contrasted to Ichigo, as before that scene Ichigo confronted Byakuya.

Now, Ichigo wasn’t raised as a noble. He had no idea he was one until almost the end of Bleach. But he was raised with the idea of protecting other people and of doing what is right.

We have seen him protect other people, even before he became a Shinigami (his friendship with Chad, Keigo and Mizuiru respectively reflects this, as he saved the three of them).

Ichigo is not the kind of guy who can just do nothing while an injustice is taking place.

Ichigo has been, from the first moment we saw him, brash, rule-breaking and even arrogant, but note that from his introduction, we saw him protecting a little ghost girl. It goes to show that Ichigo would go to extremes to protect others and do what’s right. So, it’s no surprise he jumps at the chance to go to SS to save Rukia, and that he grows stronger and stronger each time to save her, as he cannot let her die.

However, there’s a key difference.

If Kaien had been alive, he would have saved Rukia as 1) he would’ve probably figured out an execution was too hard a punishment for Rukia’s crime, 2) he told her he would always stand by her as long as they were from the same division, and 3) he wouldn’t let her just die.

But Ichigo’s reasons to save Rukia are much more complicated than that. As I’ve said in other posts, Ichigo is filled with guilt, as Rukia’s in this position because of him, firstly because she saved him by giving him her own powers to protect his family, and secondly, because Rukia got taken away to protect him as he feels he failed to protect her.

But, even then, it’s not only guilt that fuels him or the fact that he owes Rukia.

There’s the fact that Rukia is an important person to Ichigo regardless. Particularly, she is kind and good. Certainly not the type of person who deserves to die, much less because of a stupid rule.

Then, there is something else at a deeper level Ichigo doesn’t say out loud

My point with this is that Kaien and Ichigo are certainly the same type of rule-breaking people and that’s the sort of person needed to pull a stunt like saving Rukia from execution, in such a way that this person would even inspire others to help. Both guys are special in that way. However, in practice their actions come from different places. Certainly there’s a closeness Ichigo shares with Rukia due to circumstances that adds more complexity to his intent to save her and that, may I add, also fuels him to such a degree he refuses to lose.

Which brings us to...

4. Rukia

The last main common denominator between them is no one else but Rukia, a person they both have inspired in different ways. However, the type of relationship they have with her is different.

Let’s start with Kaien:

So, their meeting takes place shortly after Rukia was adopted into the Kuchiki Clan and graduated early from the Academy. Ever since, it seems she was judged for both not really being from a noble family and from having been adopted by one. We can say that no one is looking at who Rukia truly is, but they are making assumptions about her at this point. This is isolating to Rukia, who now has to deal with a new identity and a new way of living. She’s now apart from the one person she had known most of her life to that point (Renji) and is feeling out of place.

Then, Kaien swoops in and he treats her like he would treat any other subordinate. He doesn’t treat her like a street rat, a pampered noble or even a pet. And she says it herself that having that normality is exactly what she needed. Rukia didn’t feel comfortable at home with Byakuya, but she could at least feel more at ease in her division, working under Kaien.

Their relationship was that of mentor and mentee. Later on we find out Kaien trained her in swordsmanship and probably other skills.

But he also taught her important lessons about life:

And these are lessons Rukia will carry in her heart the whole series. Protecting others, making others feel welcomed, forming hearts with others. Rukia made hers everything that Kaien taught her.

He’s very special in her life because Kaien was the first person to make her feel as if she belonged in her division, and even as a Shinigami.

In short, he’s acting like a parental influential, or even being the brother Byakuya failed to be at this point in time. Teaching Rukia and accepting her, so that she could feel she had a place she belonged to.

And we know that Kaien was the one to make her feel good

But here we have a power imbalance. Because Kaien is doing the teaching, he’s changing her life, but we don’t know if it’s mutual. We don’t know if Kaien was affected by Rukia’s actions and words. It’s a very unilateral situation.

Furthermore, if we go with the route of Rukia had a crush on Kaien, there’s more power imbalance and impossibilities, as we know that:

She already couldn’t be the person closest to Kaien, as Miyako existed.

Rukia recognized Miyako as having great qualities, probably what Kaien even liked about her, and aspired to be like her:

So, Kaien and Rukia were never in a position of equality for several reasons, starting from the fact Kaien was her vice captain.

This is even exemplified when the find the hollow that killed Miyako:

Rukia acts like a subordinate, trying to be helpful, and is denied:

Finally, there’s a key aspect that I will be analyzing with more detail in another post, but Kaien is for Rukia what Masaki is for Ichigo:

The root of her trauma is that she failed to protect Kaien, who was the person who taught her so much and helped her when nobody else did. Rukia feels as if she didn’t do anything to save him from his fate:

And when Kaien became a hollow, instead of running or trying to help him, Rukia let instinct take in and we know what happens next:

And the fact she couldn’t save him is worse becase Kaien doesn’t blame her:

So Rukia ends up in a state of guilt, because she couldn’t save the one person she probably wanted to save the most.

This trauma will continue on for some time until HM, where Rukia comes to terms with what happened. However, that doesn’t change the fact that her relationship remains a one-way street.

Now, as for with Ichigo, they have a different relationship altogether.

It is true that Rukia was Ichigo’s first teacher when it comes to Shinigami stuff, but it is not as if he never taught Rukia anything.

Their relationship is so special because they’re two sides of the same coin. The fact that one is a Shinigami and the other is a human being makes it so that they end in a relationship of equals. As Ichigo needs to learn how to be a Shinigami, Rukia has to learn how to be a human.

Even when they just tell each other their names, the panel demonstrates this equality

Even the way they’re both holding the sword symbolizes this equality:

They’re both holding it and directing it towards Ichigo due to a common goal.

The fact they also call each other by their first names is important. Rukia always used “-dono” to refer to Kaien, a term of respect, while he called her by her last name. Meanwhile, Ichigo and Rukia call each other by their first names, symbolizing they’re close, something that is even pointed out within the story.

They also grow together.

Not only does Rukia teach Ichigo about his powers and her philosophy of saving others, Ichigo keeps surprising her at every turn:

Ichigo teaches Rukia how to be human, and not in the way of how to appear human or do human things, but how to feel, how to make connections with others

We always say Rukia changed Ichigo’s world, but he had that same effect in her:

It was always a mutual thing.

A relationship so different to any other in this manga.

But the best example of how different Kaien and Ichigo’s relationships with Rukia are is the fact that Rukia doesn’t think Ichigo is like Kaien from the get go.

She’s reminded of Kaien twice:

1. When Ichigo’s fighting Grandfisher, and I’ll analyze that part in the next post.

2. When Ichigo finally appears in front of her in SS and reassures her he’s not going to die. He smiles at her and Rukia remembers Kaien’s smile. She closes her eyes due to all the emotions she’s feeling.

My best explanation as to why Rukia thinks of Kaien in that moment is, as I said before, because Kaien was also reassuring in the fact he was not gonna die, yet he did and by her hand. Rukia doesn’t want to cause Ichigo’s death and she already feels guilty about turning him into a Shinigami, Byakuya hurting him, and everything else he’s gone through to try to save her. Rukia doesn’t want Ichigo to be like Kaien and die for her sake, as she believes she’s not worthy of being saved:

This is yet another thing Ichigo and Rukia have in common, they both feel guilty for having in some way cause harm to the other.

Because, above all else, they both want to protect the other.

The thing is, the two actually achieve it: Rukia saves Ichigo’s life in the first chapter and when Byakuya is about to kill him. While Ichigo ends up saving her from execution, making it so their relationship stays equal.

That is the beauty of IchiRuki.

It’s never unilateral, but their feelings parallel each other’s constantly.

They want to save each other and they do.

They learn from one another, and they have faith in one another.

One doesn’t take while the other receive, they both give and receive something in return.

Because, in their eyes, they are equals.

Anyway,

This is the end of this very long post.

The rest of MITR will be analyzed in a later post.

Thanks for reading!

#ichiruki #darisu-chan reads bleach #tagging it ichiruki because you're the only ones who'd like to read this #lol

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