#canghina

[hajiike-archive]

Title: I need you and it terrifies me.

Words: 1,600

Summary: CangHina-centric, minor platonic KarinHina, mentioned badship AiHina, mentioned platonic MikiHina. Post TYBW arc, canon divergent. A gift for @jiiaian. WARNINGS--  implied sexual assault/relationship violence, slurs, minor violence, panic attacks. She is as empty as his gestures, yet it anchors her to him.

She insisted she came a long way over the six years since Aizen was defeated. The Wandenreich threw a wrench in her progress for a time, but her friends were okay and she had time to grieve over the last five years.

She was put together. She was okay.

She was okay, she insisted, though he kneeled and stared at her with twinkly eyes and lips parted so slightly like she was something of wonder and awe.

“I brought you these,” he said. Daisies. Girlish, juvenile, sweet. She used to adore daisies. That was a long time ago, when she wore her hair in pigtails and had the energy to stop and admire flowers. Her bones were tired those days. Forty years of a dead run only to fall into that monster’s hellscape took a lot out of her.

Daisies. Harmless, like Cang those days. He slouched, his arms were as thin as they were strong, Karin said. He hurt a lot of people but he knew he hadn’t fight left. Five years of prison must have declawed him. Cang was refreshing like that, impotent, fresh. He treat her normally while she was either fragile or trash to anyone else.

“Thank you,” she said. She took his daisies and pet the fragile petals affectionately, like she sometimes wanted to pet Cang’s cheeks. “Does she let you pick these? I don’t want you to get in trouble….”

“Fuyuno-taichou says it’s fine.”

“Alright.” It was fine for the time being.

Tulips. They’re more innocent than roses but a step away from daisies, no way around it. He wooed her and it her heart stammered in a way that made her sort of queasy.

“More flowers?” she said, her voice thankfully even. Even those days her control was feeble. Anything scrap she had over someone else was a scrap more to her. No man would have anything on her she wouldn’t let them, especially not her unchecked adoration.

Never again, she promised. Cang gave her a run for her money however.

“Yes,” said Cang, “do you like them?” He looked at her with that look again. They’re yellow like your smile. I love your smile, my heart palpitates whenever you look happy Momo-san.

His flowers couldn’t disguise the stink of gobantai. Even her outward beauty was questionable. She was grey and had crows feet and stank of tobacco and she was dirty to her core. Daisies and tulips couldn’t change that she was still dirty.

“Thank you,” she murmured. Her voice left her like her bravery, like the measly six years she tried to pull her shit together.

Cang’s fists rest upon her knees. He must prostrate himself before her, not like Karin prostrated to like the photo of Masaki kept in a corner of her barracks. Like an idol. Like an object of worship. Like an object.

“I’m glad you like it,” he said as her belly somersaulted. She doubt he could see it. Cang knew nothing about her and it wasn’t as pleasant as it used to be. “Can I bring you flowers everyday.”

She smiled though she trembled. Cang smiled too.

He brought her roses next and he may as well have kicked her.

Her mouth was dry and her gut lurched into her chest. Couldn’t he hear it slosh? Couldn’t he see how her hand shook?

The rose was red was like Tobiume’s hilt, like her favorite chemise, like her blood on Aizen’s hand.

“I-I didn’t eat today,” she told Cang. Ever a pleaser, she was full of excuses.

“Shall I fetch you something? Karin tells me you keep the break room stocked.”

“N-no…” no. No. No, she wouldn’t be able to swallow, she felt so sick. She’d just cough it up, she’d choke on it. Cang would slap her back until she gulped air with tears down her cheeks and act like a fucking hero even though he was the one who did it to her. He was enamored like she was some priceless relic on a pedestal.

He was a man. They were good at being ignorant.

“Alright then,” he said. She wanted him to leave but her mouth couldn’t move. “Do you like roses, Momo-san?”

“I don’t care much for flowers…” she confessed.

“Oh.” Cang’s lips fell. He was hard to read sometimes, always stone-faced. When he did express something it felt like another knife in her ribs.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m very busy, Cang, can you leave me now?”

His head bowed apologetically. “Of course,” he said. “I apologize for badgering you, Momo-san.” Cang stood, finally, and he left.

She dropped the rose in the trash. It made her taste copper like her last heartbreak.

“I don’t have flowers today.” Thunder rumbled somewhere in the distance. Cang was soaked, his hair and his cloak caked to his frame.

“Lord, you look like a wet dog. Did you walk here, you fool?” she said. “Come inside, Cang. Take off your shoes and your cloak, I don’t want you tracking water everywhere. I’ll be back with some towels.”

“Thank you….”

She did. Karin’s eyes followed her as she returned with a pile of terry cloth in her arms. Cang held a book close to his chest as she scrubbed his hair. The sickness returned and yet her arms refused to stop drying him off.

“You should’ve stayed home,” she scolded him.

“I-I’m sorry. Karin says you’re off on Saturdays and… easily subject to boredom.”

“I wouldn’t say that. I’m knitting my brother a sweater so I’m occupied.”

“Am I intruding?”

Yes. “No,” she replied. She hated herself. “Come. I’ll put on something warm for you.”

Karin leapt onto the bean bag from the couch before Cang reached it. Funny little creature. Smoked like she did and still had the energy to hop around like a frog. She almost envied Karin.

“Fuyuno-taichou loaned me this poetry book she has,” Cang told her. “She tells me you like poetry. I am not a poet so much of it… um… I’m afraid I can’t understand much of it, but there are a few passages that remind me of you. I would like to read those to you.”

“Oh god, I’m gonna go before this gets corny. I’m gonna use your room, Momo,” Karin said.

Like that, her heart seized and she was left to listen to his driveling love bullshit.

She grasped the counter as she listened. Her ears rang like she caught Cang’s right hook instead of some sugary poetry he sat down and jerked off to. Streams trickled off her chin and sizzled on the stovetop, the kettle rattled like her knees but she could only seem to hear the high-pitched ring. Breathless, like he stabbed her again and again.

“Momo-san!” Cang reached around her and flipped off the stove. The kettle quieted, though it shook with the rolling boil, and Cang turned her around.

“Don’t touch me!” she shrieked. Her palm clapped across Cang’s cheek and he stumbled back. “Don’t pretend fucking love me, you’re full of shit!” Karin emerged from her room with some sort of curse. Cang was escorted out by his shoulder and she braced herself on the countertop, gasping like she narrowly avoided drowning. Her heart roared in her chest. She swore it would collapse any second---

Karin wrapped around her from behind. They sunk to their knees, her forehead on the cabinets, and she wept. She was supposed to be a fucking adult, she was supposed to be there for Karin, not vise versa.

“I’ll answer the door if he comes back,” Karin said.

She nodded. Her mouth was agape, she tasted salt, and she whined. “Please,” she begged. “I can’t breathe when he’s in the room.”

He came back. Karin, true to word, went for the door while she escaped to her room.

“She’s not here,” Karin said. The youth’s voice carried unlike Cang’s. “Oh, you dumb shit, do I look like her babysitter? She’s a grown-ass woman. If she wants to go out, she doesn’t need your fucking permission.”

Karin was cruel in a lot of ways. It was much of a relief as it broke her heart.

“Yeeep. See you in the morning, Caaang,” Karin sang.

She had no idea how she ended up out of her room, but she shoved her charge aside and tumbled into the engawa.

“Cang!”

He spun and he met her back at her door.

“I’m sorry.” She’d cry again if he got in a word. “About that and the other day. I… I shouldn’t have panicked like I had and I apologize for that and for striking you.”

Cang, stunned, merely stared at her. There was a blush-pink dahlia wrapped in paper machete in his hand. “Momo-san…. You have nothing to apologize for. I understand my actions were easily misconstrued as… as coming on to you. I came here to apologize for scaring you and to promise I will behave more conscientiously in the future.”

How eloquent, fanciful. How blatantly scripted.

It was more than she had in the past. She cried afresh.

Cang held the dahlia to her. “I’m sorry I made you cry again. I know you do not like flowers, unfortunately they are all I have. I am clumsy and I don’t have the words to express how I appreciate your forgivingness.”

She smiled again and brought the dahlia to her nose to smell it. It was as sugary as the poetry. It was like another knife. But she was needy. However it hurt and nauseated her, she knew she-- a whore-- wouldn’t get anything elsewhere.

[jiiaian]

the color of roses // a shortfic for @rcttedpeach

He was allowed to take one flower. Each day, just one, trimmed at the joint to keep it growing.

“What do you need them for?”

“There is someone I owe many flowers.”

She smiled knowingly, nodding in the direction of the daisies. No sweet scent, but pretty in a simple, straightforward way. Just like his beloved lady.

He thanked her, bowing too low, and began his work. He chose his daisy at the end of the day and tucked it gingerly into the fold of his shirt.

He always made a point to lay it at her feet like a sacrifice or an offering. She was often sitting at her desk, still, into dusk, but she would always move her chair out from beneath the wood to sit beside him. This evening he chose to kneel before her, staring holes into the floor to avoid looking at the utter shock on her face. Surprise bordered too closely on disgust...

“What are you doing--?”

“I brought you something from the garden.” He fished out the daisy from within his clothes. Its stem had gotten a little battered, but the petals remained.

“O-oh...thank you.” She took it with some hesitation, but she did hold it close to her chest. He smiled, unable to help himself, glad that he had pleased her.

“There are tulips blooming quite beautifully, you know.”

He snipped a yellow one at the base and wrapped it carefully in tissue paper this time.

He knelt before her and bowed his head, setting the singular bouquet upon her lap. She giggled.

“You don't have to kneel...”

“I do.” There is a deference he cannot shake. He feels it only for her, and he must be ever at her feet. She sets the tulip upon her desk and leans forward to pat his head. Platonic, patronizing. But still she has blessed him with her touch.

“There are roses. Be careful of the thorns.”

He took two, because he could not decide between red and pink. Greedy, he was becoming.

He tied their stems together with twine and held them in his palms to her, knees beginning to sting of late. Hours in the garden, time on the wood of her floor. This time she smelled them, noisily, grinning wide. She kept the roses in her lap and squeezed his face between her hands. She ought to have been able to feel the radiant heat, the pulsing through his temples.

“You've been so sweet.”

“I must.”

He must, so staunch he was, once he believed something. Once he had a habit. Flowers each and every day...

On the fourth day, it rained. The plants needed it, but he felt as tearful as the sky. His boss sighed apologetically, placing a hand upon his back.

“I'm sure she'll understand.”

He clenched his fists at his sides.

“But I owe her flowers. Every day.”

She folded her arms then put a finger to her chin. She disappeared and came back with a little book with a flower pressed between its pages.

“You can take this. Read the haiku in it.”

He was unfamiliar with the form, and poetry was difficult for him to understand. But he needed something to give her. He got sent home early from work because of the rain.

He looked over the book as he stood in the hallway of her division. The fairest lilies/do grow even when plucked/drying in windows. He blinked. Lily-of-the-valley...

He read it at her feet, stumbling over the meter, face red in bashfulness as he'd never once read a poem aloud. The book was set in her lap, his knuckles on her knees, the crushed flower laying bare. He saw the page turn wet, and he raised his eyes. She was crying. Yet again. He always seemed to make her cry. In a panic, he slammed the book close and held her hands to his chest. The flower fell out from between the pages and the petals fell off upon the floor.

“What is the matter?”

“I told you, you don't have to be so nice...”

“But I--”

“Don't.” Stern, as if angry, though her face, if he's studied it enough (and he has, staring when he oughtn't be, memorizing her eyes and lips--) just looks sad. Or maybe frightened. What had he done? “Don't say you have to because you love me or whatever bullshit--”

Like a pike through his chest.

“...alright.”

Though she wept, her cheeks were the color of roses. His too. He coughed.

“I will not say it anymore. But I will bring you flowers on days when it's not raining.”

“It rains a lot this time of year.”

“Then I will bring you seven flowers if it rains all week.”

She pursed her lips. He held fast onto her hands. Eventually, after what felt like hours of listening to nothing but the pounding in his head and the rain pouring down, her shoulders sloped and she sniffed back any more crying.

She nodded, and motioned for him to stand as she laid her head in her hand upon her desk. He did as he was told, as always, head bowed as he went for the door.

“Thank you,” she croaked, but a whisper as he stood at the exit. His clothes were just beginning to dry. He'd soak them again soon on the walk back to his room.

“For the gifts? Or for leaving?”

A long silence. He did not turn around.

“Both, Cang. Both.”

[zetsumei-shuuto-archive]

writes my url on a love note

Do I Follow Them?: you can’t not follow aaron 

Why Did I Follow Them?: bc i lov izu & now i lov aaron too

Do We Role Play?: snuckers bc it’s not as if half of momo’s interactions are with izu

Do I Want To Role Play With Them: y e s

An AU Idea For Our Muses: canghina forbidden love au :0, a modern au for fam kirakarin would be sweet too

A Song For Our Muses: pls don’t get me started

Do I Ship Our Muses?: kira/hina is love. kira/hina is life. fam kirakarin is The Shit. 

What I Think About The Mun: w e e p s aaron is a wonderful supportive funny frand im love him

Overall Opinion: y e s

Blog Rate: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 mortal scales do not capture the fantasticness of aaron & his blogs

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((if u can’t tell I’m redoing my tags))

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