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tasogaretaichouTitle: Colour My World
Fandom: Bleach
Characters: Kurosaki Ichigo/Kuchiki Rukia
Prompt: Colourless
Word Count: 800something
Rating: PG
Summary: Rukia's thoughts on the differences between two worlds, and the things that have changed them both.
Author's Notes: So yeah, a lot less blatent IchiRuki in this one than I'm used to putting in, this is a good deal more introspective than most of my stuff, but don't worry there will be fluff soon. XD.
Whoever said that everything was coloured in the world... well, they'd never been to Seireitei. She'd tried to explain it to him once, how his world and her own differed so completely and utterly not just on the surface levels that were blaringly obvious, but on an even deeper and more profound sense. And like always, he'd totally missed the point. But then, that was part of the problem.
Kurosaki Ichigo had been raised with colours. He belonged to the world full of light and life and hopes and dreams. How could he have understood the dry, colourless painting that was her world.
Amidst the scowls and muttered insults, she'd simply plopped down on the roof and tried to explain -- at least enough to where she could make him shut up -- why they were different. It wasn't hard, at least in Rukia's eyes, to find where the colours from his world bled out into the faint washed-out mosaic that she was so accustomed to. There was a line, thin and wavering yet still so sharply defined to her eyes, that seperated them.
Seireitei; sterile, structured, with it's black and white constrictures of rules and regulations and traditions so deeply rooted in a foundation of certainty that it's stranglehold bled life out of the world, leaving it an empty and transparent husk. A film of cloudy opacity that swept over everything and bleached it to a mournful tone.
It wasn't even that she didn't love her world. She did, in a fashion. Or at least, there had been a time when she had. A time before she'd come to realize that the veil of wind-washed faint light shrouded everything, drowning what some would have considered hope and life beneath it's comforting and confining rules. Rules were safety, they were roots and grounding and a balance that ensured the continuation of everything this world stood for. But then, that was the biggest difference between her world and his. Hers... was a duty-bound world, a purpose-ridden world, with the wild abandon for life and hope and the unknown a foreign and detached thing, something to be feared and avoided the same way her noble Kuchiki family avoided emotions and the ties they wrought.
The emotions were missing from her world too, or perhaps they were simply the same as everything else. Bled dry of colour and life and warmth, a hollow and resounding cavity that once had held something that could be termed closeness. But then, it had to be like that. Had to be sterile and straight-foreward and dead. Because that was the life of a shinigami, a life of duty and restriction and mundane. They weren't meant to have lives like his, lives like those they watched over. That had been their due and this was now their reward.
His was different, his world of life and light. A shockingly violent maelstrom of colour and sound and sensation that threatened to overwhelm and overshadow everything it touched with it's own fire and colour and vibrancy of tone. Life seeping from every corner, challengeing the colourless swath that painted itself just beyond the reaches of most humans' perceptions.
That was what had really changed her life in the first place. Being trapped in his world, surrounded by and innundated by the rush of colour and warmth and activity. Choked and held down by the threads of emotion and thought and hope that made up the lifeblood of this world that was anything other than colourless.
His world had changed hers, and not just in her own meager circle of events and happenstance. With bright hair and even brighter hope and soul, he'd crept into her life -- well, more like crashed into it -- and brought that colour with him. Bleeding bright rays and trickles of light and life everywhere he touched, forcing back the walls and the curtains and shrouds and making her -- and others, she was sure -- begin to see, begin to covet that hope and strength that poured forth from the world they'd once known.
In her own life, the way she saw things, the way she coveted and yearned for those emotions now that should have been carefully bottled and placed on a shelf to mold and while away the long years until she'd forgotten what they felt like. In Seireitei, where his influence was still being felt even now, with war raging on all sides and the fate of the world itself hanging in a peril.
He'd brought colour into her world, but even moreso he'd brought colour into her life. Turne and twisted her and made her look, made her see things she should have avoided, would have avoided had she been given the chance. But he hadn't given it to her. Colourless no more, he had painted his influence on her and her world and challenged it. Dared it to remain, to fade and cover and ignore the way it always had. But somehow... she didn't know how successful it would be this time. Not after Kurosaki Ichigo had made his mark on it.
Fandom: Bleach
Characters: Kurosaki Ichigo/Kuchiki Rukia
Prompt: Colourless
Word Count: 800something
Rating: PG
Summary: Rukia's thoughts on the differences between two worlds, and the things that have changed them both.
Author's Notes: So yeah, a lot less blatent IchiRuki in this one than I'm used to putting in, this is a good deal more introspective than most of my stuff, but don't worry there will be fluff soon. XD.
Whoever said that everything was coloured in the world... well, they'd never been to Seireitei. She'd tried to explain it to him once, how his world and her own differed so completely and utterly not just on the surface levels that were blaringly obvious, but on an even deeper and more profound sense. And like always, he'd totally missed the point. But then, that was part of the problem.
Kurosaki Ichigo had been raised with colours. He belonged to the world full of light and life and hopes and dreams. How could he have understood the dry, colourless painting that was her world.
Amidst the scowls and muttered insults, she'd simply plopped down on the roof and tried to explain -- at least enough to where she could make him shut up -- why they were different. It wasn't hard, at least in Rukia's eyes, to find where the colours from his world bled out into the faint washed-out mosaic that she was so accustomed to. There was a line, thin and wavering yet still so sharply defined to her eyes, that seperated them.
Seireitei; sterile, structured, with it's black and white constrictures of rules and regulations and traditions so deeply rooted in a foundation of certainty that it's stranglehold bled life out of the world, leaving it an empty and transparent husk. A film of cloudy opacity that swept over everything and bleached it to a mournful tone.
It wasn't even that she didn't love her world. She did, in a fashion. Or at least, there had been a time when she had. A time before she'd come to realize that the veil of wind-washed faint light shrouded everything, drowning what some would have considered hope and life beneath it's comforting and confining rules. Rules were safety, they were roots and grounding and a balance that ensured the continuation of everything this world stood for. But then, that was the biggest difference between her world and his. Hers... was a duty-bound world, a purpose-ridden world, with the wild abandon for life and hope and the unknown a foreign and detached thing, something to be feared and avoided the same way her noble Kuchiki family avoided emotions and the ties they wrought.
The emotions were missing from her world too, or perhaps they were simply the same as everything else. Bled dry of colour and life and warmth, a hollow and resounding cavity that once had held something that could be termed closeness. But then, it had to be like that. Had to be sterile and straight-foreward and dead. Because that was the life of a shinigami, a life of duty and restriction and mundane. They weren't meant to have lives like his, lives like those they watched over. That had been their due and this was now their reward.
His was different, his world of life and light. A shockingly violent maelstrom of colour and sound and sensation that threatened to overwhelm and overshadow everything it touched with it's own fire and colour and vibrancy of tone. Life seeping from every corner, challengeing the colourless swath that painted itself just beyond the reaches of most humans' perceptions.
That was what had really changed her life in the first place. Being trapped in his world, surrounded by and innundated by the rush of colour and warmth and activity. Choked and held down by the threads of emotion and thought and hope that made up the lifeblood of this world that was anything other than colourless.
His world had changed hers, and not just in her own meager circle of events and happenstance. With bright hair and even brighter hope and soul, he'd crept into her life -- well, more like crashed into it -- and brought that colour with him. Bleeding bright rays and trickles of light and life everywhere he touched, forcing back the walls and the curtains and shrouds and making her -- and others, she was sure -- begin to see, begin to covet that hope and strength that poured forth from the world they'd once known.
In her own life, the way she saw things, the way she coveted and yearned for those emotions now that should have been carefully bottled and placed on a shelf to mold and while away the long years until she'd forgotten what they felt like. In Seireitei, where his influence was still being felt even now, with war raging on all sides and the fate of the world itself hanging in a peril.
He'd brought colour into her world, but even moreso he'd brought colour into her life. Turne and twisted her and made her look, made her see things she should have avoided, would have avoided had she been given the chance. But he hadn't given it to her. Colourless no more, he had painted his influence on her and her world and challenged it. Dared it to remain, to fade and cover and ignore the way it always had. But somehow... she didn't know how successful it would be this time. Not after Kurosaki Ichigo had made his mark on it.
