InsaneJournal

Okay, question
Pokemon (anime) canon confuses me. Are legendaries one of a kind or are they just like any other Pokemon? Because according to the movies, the legendaries are "special" and only one of them exist, yet in the TV series, it would seem that legendaries are just the same as every other Pokemon and no more powerful (considering two of them have already been defeated by normal Pokemon). Or are there the true Legendaries, and then there's the miniature legendaries?

And to make this not completely pointless, 2 more 20loves fic.


20loves: Table 2, themes 2 & 5

Author: Me

Rating: G for both

Disclaimer: Not mine, is Kubo's, etc.
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Theme 2

Ukitake stared at the bundle of overly dressed child in his arms. It was winter in Soul Society, the snow covering anything that hadn’t been swept, thick like duck down and nowhere as soft. Appropriately, Kuchiki Byakuya had been dressed in layers of thick fabric kimonos – 30 or so from the annoyed look Byakuya was wearing – and was sitting, or rather propped up by the stiff material, in Ukitake’s lap, staring into the whiteness of the royal Kuchiki garden.

“I don’t like it.”

Byakuya’s voice broke through the silence, muffled by the scarf around his face. A white puff of air floated from where his mouth was under the cotton, condensing in the cold then disappearing with the falling snow.

“Why not?” Ukitake asked as he tucked the lose ends of the scarf into the outer kimono. “Don’t you think the snow is pretty?”

“It’s death,” Byakuya answered succinctly. The words of condemnation were crisp, without hesitation, and Ukitake frowned at the description.

“It’s not really death, you know,” he appealed, wondering silently why he was discussing such topics with a child. “Come spring, the snow will melt into water and that feeds into the soil, which in turn brings new life. So snow is really life.”

Byakuya turned from where he’d been staring into the unending whiteness and cocked his head up to look at Ukitake. Then, when he was certain he’d gained Ukitake’s attention, he explained, “Winter is death. There’s enough death in Soul Society. That’s why I hate it.”

Ukitake moved at those words, without conscious thought, and brought Byakuya into a hug, the sleeves of his kimono swallowing the small figure as he held on tight. He wasn’t sure what made him move, but one thought rang clearly through his mind.

I don’t want him to see any more death.


Theme 5

There are times when you wonder why you try. Because it’s hard, harder than you could have thought, to watch that boy, now a man, but still so much a boy, shouldering the weight of Seireitei’s expectations. The responsibility of a noble was never heavier than when it rested on the man-child who lost everything he had ever cared for and you, who had watched him grow up, but still remain so painfully young, can do nothing but watch. Watch and wonder when that last straw will come, when that carefully crafted mask of indifference will crack.

You had told him many times to drop that façade, because it isolates him, more so than his own birth could, and no one, not even the child of a noble, deserved to be deprived of a carefree childhood. Yet when those pools of dark emptiness glance up at you, so devoid of the naïve shine that you’re accustomed to seeing in children, you wonder if your words are too little too late.

You had never imagined that one day, that there would come one day, when you fear the slip of that mask, that the carefully constructed walls around his heart would shatter and the pain which had been held at bay so carefully (because he couldn’t have harbored it all this time, it’s too painful to even contemplate) would finally break through and you would be forced to watch that break down from your carefully kept distance and wonder how much longer you must stay away. You don’t dare to offer a hand in sympathy, you know better than to, know that he will turn his back, because not even the threat of death of his most beloved person could crack that iron will, but you wonder, wonder so desperately with a guilty hope, if this time would be the time he accepted that offer.

But you know he won’t, so you stand by the side and watch as this man, who had lost and lost again, continue to bear his responsibilities, the shell around him becoming harder and more brittle by the day. And you watch, can’t take your eyes off of him in fact, for that tell tale sign of a hairline fracture that could be his undoing and wonder, uselessly, repeatedly, what you could possibly do to stop it.

So you watch, every day, as he puts on that heavy kenseikan and feel your heart break.