10 Works by sequinnox
Listing Works
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Summary
No one prays to the goddess of Death anymore; not unless they're telling her to go away. Rukia would find it amusing, given that the selfish gods to whom they pray would never care to listen to the most ardent of requests; she was to meet multitudes in singularity, in thousands of places she had seen before.
It was the death of a star that burnt the brightest, wasn't it? Death was a new beginning, even before humans knew what to do with it.
Before they learnt to fear her.
// A reinterpretation of cosmology
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Hours. Coordinates. Fingerprints.
Loid tilted his head back, feeling the gentle stretch of his skin across his jaw, his neck; blonde eyelashes fluttered slightly as his eyes closed. Through the open window, stray tones of blues filled the air like a memory. Once again it seemed that he had started floating somewhere between timelines, an atemporal universe where all his emotions had been piled neatly, year after year. For the mission.
Or: A study in technicolour hues on Loid's identity issues
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"If the pantheon wanted her to be a sweet, tight-lipped little thing, Rukia had no qualms about setting it all on fire – what kind of goddess of spring would she be, if she couldn't make everything bloom anew? After all, hers was the fury."
Or: A king, a queen, and a bowl of strawberries.
(A Hades and Persephone retelling) -
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His name sounded like a curse in her mouth as she spit it out, like a snake propelling its venom. Ichigo. The one who protects.
The one who failed to protect Rukia.
The one who failed to protect her heart.
“Rukia, I-”Day 4: "Come on, let's go home"
Series
- Part 7 of Stars Not Fathomed Into Constellations
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Despite all the thermic charms that had been placed on their common room, astounding charms too, Rukia felt a shiver running down her spine. The Slytherin common room was truly a masterpiece, with the high arches and liberal view towards the lake, in true pureblood fashion.
Unfortunately for the students though, the pureblood fashion rarely had anything to do with practicality.
Day 3: Love potion
Series
- Part 6 of Stars Not Fathomed Into Constellations
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Figures everyone was too busy with the coronation ball to notice that the princess was gone, running barefoot on the marble hallways. With a death grip on her shoes, Rukia threw a cautious look over her shoulder as she finally reached the door to her chambers, familiar and oppressive and embellished with a kind of gold that Rukia had never bothered to care about.
Fools, the lot of them.
Day 2: “Your hands found a dark switch in me/That I never knew existed”
Series
- Part 5 of Stars Not Fathomed Into Constellations
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To Ichigo, Rukia had always, always, meant music.
The quiet solitude of Nils Frahm's Re, as she sat wordlessly on his bed when he had a nightmare. Close; not touching. Still, she was running cold enough that he could feel the chill from her fingers next to his, when she was close enough.Day 1: "I swore to myself just one kiss… just one time.”
Series
- Part 4 of Stars Not Fathomed Into Constellations
- Part 2 of Author's Favourites
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Mugs, slippers, tea blends and coffee beans that looked more expensive than Tomoko’s entire salary, a cute fluffy blanket. A drawing with some clumsy looking bunnies and some stick figures with their heads on fire. The hairbrush filled with dark hairs. The toothbrush.
Tomoko idly wondered if Ichigo realised that his lady friend was slowly moving in as the year went by. She shook her head, amused – boys like Ichigo, like Tadashi, her late husband, boys like this are oblivious, and wouldn’t know love if it hit them in the face with a katana. Tomoko rolled her eyes fondly. She would know.
Or: Ichigo's maid-turned-adoptive-grandmother sees the things no one else does.
(Might edit later)Series
- Part 3 of Stars Not Fathomed Into Constellations
- Part 1 of Author's Favourites
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Alright. Ichigo did not mind being robbed of a few eggs every now and then (okay, maybe he did, but he had no idea how to defend the chickens without dressing himself like one and having a first-hand experience with the thief), but this was already too much. He cursed mentally that his education has included too much of dead languages and too little of practical agriculture, since his plants and vegetables seemed to have seen much better days, even before being the prey of some seriously skilled bandit.
Tsk.
(IR Week Day 2: Don't get caught)
DISRUPTED
Series
- Part 2 of Stars Not Fathomed Into Constellations
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“We live at the bottom of an ocean filled with air”, Torricelli wrote once, yet she still felt like she was choking, gasping for a little more than hope. The Rukongai, a spectrum of grey and despair, was tough, but it had been her home – she was just another shadow adrift on the streets, clad in a well worn dotted purple kimono, with a few other unfortunate souls that she has taken to calling friends. It was not good, but it had been good enough – after all, that was all she had ever known. She was happy.
That was before she saw Death up-close, claiming her friends like daisies from a field.
Series
- Part 1 of Stars Not Fathomed Into Constellations