hi i have a question :3 i didnt rlly fully get these panels but was killua over the edge here bcuz he was worried of gon? like knowing bisky said he would leave gon to die someday.. i was guessing he got so paranoid of it and did this for gon's safety. (^^; help
Yeah, primarily what's going on in this exchange is Killua knows Gon has issues with seeing innocent people being killed, and he worries Gon will intervene if he sees the reality, and get himself killed or injured before they can complete their mission. So he's pushing Gon away for his safety, and so Killua can do what he needs to do without putting him at further risk. Killua did promise himself that he'd protect Gon and make sure Gon can fight Pitou, so this is a part of that.
It's actually part of a larger pattern we see with Killua's behavior towards Gon, where he decides to "protect" him by leaving him out of things and not giving him the full context of what's happening. Think of way back in Heavens Arena when Gido and Sadaso were threatening Zushi. Instead of telling Gon what was happening, Killua went behind his back and handled it himself. Another example is dealing with Rammot during the date with Palm. Not that Gon could have done anything then because he didn't have nen, but Killua doesn't even tell him anything about what happened after the fact.
Of course, it comes out of protectiveness and knowing Gon tends to take things too far, but at the same time it means their relationship can't be fully equal as things are--if Killua feels like he has to hide his own feelings and even what's going on around them in order to protect Gon, it means Gon can't make his own decisions or react to the full truth of a situation, and Killua has to make all these judgment calls about what he thinks Gon should and shouldn't know.
I actually think this exchange is interesting because here Killua is a lot more forthright than usual about what's going on and why Gon needs to stay out of it. But I think it also shows that the issues between them aren't entirely Gon's fault--it also comes from Killua pulling away as a result of his own ways of seeing Gon. Rather than laying out what's going on, discussing it, and letting Gon make his own decisions or talking it out so they both can figure out a solution, he makes decisions for him.
In this case I don't think he's necessarily "wrong" to do this within the context of the mission (though it ends up being a dangerous choice for Killua), especially because he tells Gon what's happening and why he's making the decision he is more-or-less, but it's part of a continuing pattern of Killua trying to shoulder burdens for Gon while (usually) shielding him from knowing Killua is even taking those burdens. In the process of taking on everything himself and not believing he needs backup or help, Killua very nearly gets himself killed (the needlefish scene). Only his kindness in seeing an enemy as a potential friend saves him ultimately.
We don't even know if Killua tells Gon the truth about what happened with that, either--my strong guess based on Killua's repeated tendencies is that he didn't, and he hides the seriousness of what happened to him because he knows it'll upset Gon and split his focus.
Also worth noting that Killua gets so worried about what Gon thinks of him and whether he sees him as a friend or a teammate in this arc, but here within the same arc we see Gon actively disappointed that Killua won't rely on him and stick with him, and wanting to continue to act together. We even see him thinking about it after they split up, worrying about Killua:
Of course this is well before he goes into his full rage hyperfocus that causes him to lash out at Killua, but I still think it's telling that here Gon is wanting to stick together and worrying about Killua's feelings. He seems pretty upset that Killua insists on doing this alone, even though he accepts Killua's logic.
This is all part of the communication tendencies on Killua's side that he's going to need to work on in order to have a better relationship with Gon. Of course, Gon has plenty of maturing to do himself, but I think it's worth remembering that Killua makes decisions like this a number of times that he thinks are in Gon's best interest, but it stunts their communication and means they can't work out the issues between them until they blow up in their faces.
Even their parting seems to be an example of this, where Killua makes all the decisions for Gon and tells himself it's in Gon's best interest, but likely doesn't explain fully why he's doing this. So again Gon is left in the dark about Killua's true feelings and motives.
It makes sense this is Killua's tendency, as is explored in canon Killua was raised with a smothering love, wherein he isn't able to have agency over his own life and others are constantly making decisions for him without his input. It makes sense his love for Gon contains some echoes of that.
Of course, it's something I'm sure they can overcome with time and maturity, but this scene is one example of Killua's protectiveness of Gon getting between the two of them.
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it's been a while, but the brainworms would not stop festering until i wrote this little prequal to my original Vampire Hunter!Hob ficclet. dedicated to @mathomhouse-e, the biggest instigator for this au lol. thanks @quillingwords for some mad crazy beta skills <3 i appreciate you!
“Don’t look now, but that guy in the back has been staring at you since we sat down.”
Hob hummed as he took a long sip from his tankard for his mate’s benefit. Hob didn’t have to turn to confirm this; he’d felt the stranger’s eyes on him as soon as he’d entered the crowded pub, though he hadn’t spotted him yet.
The revelation fascinated Hob now, after weeks and weeks of scattered moments where he had felt that itch of being watched, Hob could recognize the feeling and pinpoint it to one, singular person.
Their eyes had met a handful of times, Hob turning away politely at first, sometimes lengthening the stare with a curious look, or more recently, staring back with challenge in his gaze. Intentionally holding the man’s icy blue– visible even in the murky, darkened room– stare until Hob was forced to look away first, a chill running up his spine.
The feel of the stranger’s eyes on him had become frustratingly familiar. It was a bit hair-raising, to be sure. But it was also… alluring. Inviting. Titillating.
Hob had begun dreaming of this mysterious man, drafting up introductions in his mind, anticipating a confrontation eventually. Whether their meeting would be easy or difficult was warring within Hob’s chest until he’d finally made a decision to confront the pale man with striking blue eyes. It seemed like divine intervention that, the day after making this decision, the stranger would appear in his usual spot, at Hob’s usual haunt, precisely as he sat down to join his friends.
“Want me to tell him to fuck off for ya?”
“Nah,” Hob downed the remainder of his pint before slipping off the barstool, tossing some coins on the counter. “I got it.”
Hob made his way to the man’s table, tucked away in a corner, where he sat alone. Where he always sat alone. The mud brown of the pub's interior seemed amplified by the yellow glow of the electric sconces on the walls. It made the White Horse’s patrons seem dull and muted, even those who wore many colors or laughed raucously. Hob’s stranger in the corner, however, seemed to push through the soft and warm glow like a supernova.
And strangely enough, he was dressed in all black. Darker than shadows and just as intangible, like the starless night sky when the moon was hiding. The lights hit his cloak and revealed a matte, velvet texture that looked rich and soft and clean. Too clean, too pressed. Like the man had walked straight out of a tailor’s and came right in here. The man stuck out like a sore thumb amongst everyone else, and yet no one seemed to be paying him any mind.
Hob kept eye contact as he drew near, his posture lax, unimposing, though he could feel his heartbeat in his throat. And he wondered, briefly, if his stranger could feel it too. The way his eyes seemed to brighten as Hob approached, the way the corner of his mouth began to curl, making Hob’s stomach twist with a mixture of unease and delight.
“Hello,” Hob greeted as he finally stepped up to the empty chair opposite the man. “May I sit?”
The man lifted one elegant dark brow in response and Hob took that as an affirmative, pulling out the rickety chair and dropping himself into it.
Hob had to remind himself how to breathe, looking upon the man who’d been unashamedly watching him for the past few weeks. The dark clad man was already a vision from across the room, his eyes alone making a statement. But up close he was devastating. His coal dark hair was thick and messy, long tendrils that framed his ghost-white skin and severe cheekbones like a painting. A vision of lust, secrecy, and– Hob realizes belatedly with a stab into his gut– danger.
And he hadn’t even spoken yet.
“Are you aware of how obviously you behave?” Hob managed to find his voice again, dredged up from where it had fled moments prior. “Maybe instead of staring at me all night, you can buy me a drink.”
The man across from him tilted his head a fraction, imperceptible. Hob forced his usual smirk, roguish and sly. The one he used countless times to woo women to his bed, as he waved down a barmaid.
“And what is obvious… about my behavior?”
Hob looked twice at the man, unable to parse the words at first, convinced he had just heard a rumble of thunder outside. But as he stared, the stranger’s face became more and more curious, waiting for an answer.
Hob swallowed. The question– spoken in a low murmur, deep and decadent– fluttered around his chest before finally settling somewhere low in his gut. Hob felt his bravado promptly leak out his ears.
“Ah. It’s not exactly what I’m used to,” Hob hid his hands under the table to hide how he began to fidget. “Typically a ‘hello’ or ‘how do you do’ is more acceptable than silently watching.”
The barmaid finally arrived and it gave Hob the excuse to pull his eyes away from the indigo sea swirling before him, almost hypnotic. He took a shuddering breath and blinked, staring up at the woman who was waiting for an order.
Hob ordered two cask ales, forgetting about the bold way he’d suggested the man buy his drink and operating now on autopilot. As the woman left, Hob brought his attention back to the enigmatic man before him, his skin prickling with gooseflesh at the realization he hadn’t moved an inch, piercing gaze still on Hob, posture straight and solid as a wooden stake.
“I was watching,” the man spoke again, his voice soporific. “Because I’m interested.”
Hob’s heart, which had finally calmed down a bit, flipped over in his chest. “In me?”
The man hummed, his chin tilting down, considering, while something akin to a smile tugged on his lips.
“In a way…” he replied cryptically. He spoke slowly, as if mulling each word over, making them deliberate. He closed his eyes for a moment and Hob belatedly realized the man hadn’t blinked once thus far.
“You are an apprentice.”
Hob couldn’t help it, he grinned, pulling one hand back on the table’s wooden surface to drum his fingers.
“How can you tell?”
The man tilted his chin up, taking a moment to study him and Hob felt his smile grow with the attention. Though there was something in the back of his head, tickling his base instincts of self-preservation. It was odd, Hob didn’t feel as though he was in any danger, but there was a certain… air about this gentleman. Hob couldn’t be sure yet, but there was definitely something off about him. Perhaps he was a lord– he certainly dressed the part. With his thick cloak, parted just enough to see an expensive looking waistcoat made from damask, the design threaded in gold that glinted with each microscopic movement.
The way he carried himself too, was with arrogance and power, and without a trace of sympathy. It was cold and hard. It was also breathtaking and Hob delighted in the man’s sharp gaze, his scrutiny, focused solely on him.
Not just now, Hob had to remind himself with his own smug grin. But for the past few weeks.
“You dress the part,” he nodded down at Hob’s clothes. “But you are still young. I assume you’re in training.”
Hob looked down at himself, hardly dressed for style, but comfort. For easy movement during his training but also leather clad to protect against blunt force and brutal encounters. His coat, which he’d draped over the chair, had deep pockets for concealing weapons and the thick utility belt around his waist had many compartments to hold his tools… though he had very few at the moment.
And like his stranger, Hob wore all black, to blend in with the night. He wouldn’t say what he was, even if the handsome man asked… it was frightening enough that he’d managed to even guess at his occupation thus far.
“Good observation,” Hob said, offering nothing else.
The barmaid returned, setting their drinks on the table and leaving again with a smile.
Hob brought his own up for a long drink, for thirst and also to distract his hands, which desperately needed something to take hold of.
A beat passed before the stranger spoke again. “A priest?”
It’s the tone of the question that made Hob set his drink down slowly, swallowing deeply and eyeing his stranger again, his own brow arching. His tone was polite. As if he did know what Hob was and only asked to prompt him to reveal his true work. Like the man was playing dumb.
Hob looked down suddenly at the wooden cross hanging low on his chest, which is what might’ve provoked the inane suggestion. He laughed and he could hear in his own ears the edge to it.
“Far from it,” Hob tucked the cheap jewelry into his shirt. “Just superstitious, is all.”
The man hummed and seemed to relax, imperceptibly, in his chair. Hob took note of it with a curious expression
“And what about you?” Hob leaned back, fiddling with the handle of his pint. “What is your business?”
“Hardly worth mentioning.” The man responded quickly, his words premeditated. “I am curious though, young apprentice. Do I entice you?”
Again, Hob’s heart lurched at the forwardness. His blood racing through his veins and nearly making him dizzy.
Unexpectedly, the stranger took a slow, deep breath through his nose, his chest rising with it and Hob unconsciously felt himself leaning forward. It is as though the man intended to pull Hob in, like he’d tied a rope around his chest and tugged. Hob caught himself on the table’s edge, forcing his eyes down at the man’s untouched drink and took a shaky breath, stolen from him, back into his lungs.
Hob laughed, shaking his head, pulling himself back up and hoping he hadn’t made too much of a fool of himself. His chest and neck were burning.
“What kind of question is that?”
For the first time all night, the man took his hands from where they’d been hidden under the table and clasped them on the surface. Hob sees no rings but couldn’t help but to fixate on his long pale fingers, his knuckles smooth as silver bullets. Hob wondered if they’d be just as hard and cold, too.
“You approached me. You sat at my table.” His hands turned palm up, fingers spreading wide. “What kind of question do you think it is?”
Hob laughed again, nerves getting the best of him. His young, traitorous heart was like a racehorse galloping along his ribcage.
“I’m afraid to answer that question,” but Hob smirked anyway, taking his drink up again to distract himself.
A small, barely there smile crept through his stranger’s carefully composed visage. A proper smile filled with pure amusement and– Hob blinked dumbly as realization settles in– desire. His eyes seemed to glint with excitement, hunger.
Ah, that was it. Like looking upon something you craved, pupils dilating with it and lips unconsciously parting, which Hob’s stranger did now. It was an intoxicating sight, and Hob could only stare, caught like a mouse in a trap.
Then he rose, so fluidly and gracefully that it took Hob a moment to even register that he was staring up at the man.
“What’s your name?” Hob asked, his voice gone quiet, awestruck.
The man hummed again, eyelids low, considering.
“Next time.”
He set a gold coin on the table, right next to his untouched ale, and left.
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