#Fractal Series

[valdevia]

July 23rd 2006. When the MV Cougar Ace transport ship capsized, an unidentified liquid leaked into the water. It formed a perfect Mandelbrot’s fractal pattern. In the following months, strange fish were reported in the area.

[Fractal Series]

[floofhips]

Amaranth

[irisfixation]

just slapping spirals onto gifs as a cheap eyestrain-y fixation point is trite and overdone.

it loses sight of the real optimal way to use spirals - to convey an infinite sense of falling, of a fractal shape with no beginning and end and thus no escape, of being swallowed up, of the vertigo in one's chest that won't cease and seems to suffuse every bit of their bodily awareness

[mrvelocipede]

[fiddles-ifs]

hi, i just wanted to say that the king's physician demo desc. sounds very intriguing. i will definitely check it out the moment i hear about it coming out. and also -- have you read the black company's chronicles by glen cook per chance? cause i will lose my shit if you had (in a good way)👍

I haven't, actually!! One of the other bartenders at work recommended it to me, so it's on my reading list!

[slimeclimbtime]

gyuvin 🤝 jiwoong monster buddies

[hardcore-gaming-101]

Save Room

Save Room might be the most “obviously a fan game but technically not” game in some time. It’s clearly a Resident Evil fan game, utilizing the presentation of the series’ older games and basing its entire concept on the attaché case item management from Resident Evil 4. You’re given a limited grid, and a variety of items to fit within it. You start off with weapons and boxes of ammo types, but more items are added as you progress through the game’s 40 puzzles including health restoratives, grenades, ammo powder and more.

Read more...

[red-dyed-sarumane]

ok ok but actually i want to know ur thoughts on the en titles like even with my limited understanding of japanese im????? on half these titles and worse i gotta memorize them bc youtube forces u to read them that way. nooo its not testament its kyuuyaku hankagai nooo its not blade its shuuen touhikou....

okay i actually have my yt set to jpn so all i see of the eng titles is actually second hand but from what i know

last i checked aru sekai shoushitsu was left untranslated. i dont know how i feel about that.

problem for me starts with kyuuyaku hankagai. kyuuyaku IS old testament yes thats where the eng testament comes from. hankagai is actually a bit of word play on magus part bc there IS a word hankagai meaning like a business district or busy downtown area but the hanka magu uses in the title is actually for scientific generalizations with the suffix of town at the end. so u end up with something like town of the old testament's generalizations which. right away u can see how much extra context ur getting from that alone. reducing it to JUST testament leaves out a lot of detail & makes it more open to interpretation. if i didnt know the og title id see testament & go "oh its called testament bc its a testament of her will to work so hard and go thru all this horror time after time after time" but thats not it. look im not a religious person at all but it goes beyond word choice here the opening text is reminiscent (at the very least) of dante's inferno, 2 songs later we get more church imagery & a whole angel, this isnt a one time thing its also a part of the story & to leave it as just testament makes it so easy to ignore or overlook that part. and then there's the fact its one of the songs tied directly to a certain world's disappearance. disappearance has its main lines distributed under specific headers of sorts, each being a single 2 syllable kanji. the first of which is kyuu which is literally "past". translating both to reflect this in eng is. difficult esp when it gets to other songs but even if u leave it as old testament the "old" is Still There & its a lot more possible to catch onto the connection (hard maybe but not impossible)

shuuen touhikou makes me need to talk a walk and im not joking. fucking "blade" sounds like ur trying to appeal to edgy middle schoolers. aside from that when i hear blade im thinking its going to be a fighting song - maybe not a physical fight, but theres going to be conflict- and yes! there IS conflict in this song! its not what i would expect from seeing blade tho! she is fighting & yes the lyrics are like. using her sword to try and forge her own path out when the others let her down, but blade makes it seem like idk some noble fight or something. but u read demise escape & u KNOW shit's serious. it IS a fight but its that kind of "god i dont want to die like this" type of primal fight and not some cool miku swordfighting action. this girl's been told to sit tight and it will work out & she knows thats wrong & the only thing left is for her try whatever she can so that maybe MAYBE she can make it out alive. demise escape as a title hits the type of fear & heaviness thats in the series and gets across and entirely different picture than what blade could ever do. and. again. as one of the main songs blade completely lacks anyway to tie back to the og song. the lines in shoushitsu are shuu which becomes the shuu in shuuen. end & demise are harder to accurately translate in both songs so even with the more accurate eng title its not that easy to tie back into shoushitsu but like. at the very least u can add it as a fun fact or something somewhere.

oumen mokushiroku i just have to sit here & accept that it actually works much to my own dissatisfaction. the direct translation is concave revelation BUT mokushiroku is part of the lyrics in shoushitsu & it has an alternate reading of being pronounced "apocalypse" so a series accurate title here is concave apocalypse & concave is for the most part just tying back to the ou/concave lines in shoushitsu. for as much as i think about this song i actually dont have anything deep to say about the concave part of the title beyond that so like. fine. reduce it to just apocalypse fine whatever i hate it but [throws my hands up] u win this time magu

unplanned apoptosis is accurate the only problem is in jpn u can catch the a-a alliteration in the title but thats not a problem with the translation thats a problem with the english language itself. the alliteration thing is in fact series context btw it keeps in with that repeating fractal theme they emphasized in shoushitsu and kyuuyaku. same with marshall maximizer but there u can actually see it. kanons fine.

kugutsu ashura is. hm. im nitpicking here. literally its puppet ashura. this isnt connected to a shoushitsu heading so ur not losing anything in that regard. however. from what ive been told about ashura (thank u my friend emimin) they arent very.... in control of things. per se. so when u compound that with puppet in the title it just really drives home what she's doing is not her own will. she cannot affect anything beyond how shes supposed to (i guess thats an okay way of putting it) which saying this is also why the motif isnt in this song either but thats off topic. ashura by itself doesnt bother me as much as the others but theres just that little extra context u get from knowing the first part is puppet that adds to it from a series standpoint.

laboratory is fine the only thing is in jpn it has the separation (labo-ratory) so its obvious its on of the songs with the alliteration theme going on. more of a fun fact than actually being wrong. its fine.

as far as i know yamete kudasai and kannagi dont have the official eng titles?? even if they did idk what to say about them bc these titles are already weird from a series standpoint anyway. they dont fit into the 5 kanji title songs category they dont fit into the alliteration category theyre just kind of here. if there IS thematic importance to them we're only going to know when more songs get posted. they dont have any keywords or kanji that tie into any other specific song either. theyre just here.

[squidwithelbows]

I’ve followed you for forever and I just wanted to pop in and say I’m so glad you liked the summer hikaru died! It’s so good and the art style is so unique

Oh my god, yessss I loved it! I really didn’t know what to expect from it but the premise sounded like such a fun mix of eldritch folk horror and romance so I picked it up… then I ended up binge reading it all over the past couple days and now I feel like I’m going insane having to wait for more chapters lol. But I totally agree, the art is so cool! And the way it builds up these ominous vibes nonstop even during the parts where they’re having fun just so you remember something’s not right here! The themes about personhood and otherness in small town communities! Ahhhh! I need to find more people who have read it so I can scream haha.

[autoneurotic]

i love how much of a cunt series 1 and some of 2 Jon is. Lensik’s statement on Hilltop Rd, at the end Jon’s like latent schizophrenia and head trauma! what a SHOCK! the one with peter lukas’ dead kid or nephew or whoever, he goes to leave so she can make her statement privately and says as much with THE shittiest little tone in the world. one of the spider ones, the first one w Annabelle i think, he straight up mocks the guy for CRYING when martin interviews him later. almost makes him getting burnt and deribbed and vertigoed and almost skinned and buried etc etc so on and so forth feel warranted

[crehador]

parting thoughts on fractale:

fascinating and robust worldbuilding, strong start. lost my interest at some point along the way but i can't quite put my finger on when or why. overall a solid sci-fi, not the best but certainly not the worst (cough listeners cough)

[valdevia]

Look at this beautiful fractal butterfly @unmichiart sent me, based on the same one from my Fractal series! Catch it on my stream background from now on :)

It's hard to capture with the camera but look, it even has the oil slick effect!

Check Michi's jewellery out here!

[floofhips]

Forge of creation

[evilwizard]

never has there been a series with more underutilized background lore than the Chronicles of Narnia. book one establishes that there exists a world-between-the-worlds, an infinite glade that can be accessed only via ancient Atlantean magic, fractaling in all directions with infinite crystal-clear pools of water representing the various dimensions of the multiverse—dimensions which contain realms of gods and technology, and magic of various types, and different magical systems for each dimension, and dead worlds, and worlds that have not yet sprung to life, and a million other wonders. book two has a talking beaver

[booksteacupandreviews]

Fractal Noise (Fractalverse #0) by Christopher Paolini - an interesting prequel to To Sleep in a Sea of Stars

Fractal Noise is interesting, deep, and thought-provoking sci-fi about the journey to self-discovery. Fractal Noise (Fractalverse #0) by Christopher Paolini Publication Date : May 2, 2023 Publisher : Tor/Pan MacMillan Read Date : July 9, 2023 Genre : Sci-Fi / Space Opera Pages : 286 ⭐⭐⭐⭐ Rating: 4 out of 5. Disclaimer – Many thanks to the publisher for the review copy.This post contains…

[shalotttower]

Fractalize (part 1)

Title: Fractalize

Fandom: Hunter x Hunter

Summary: Lack of hope creates a strange kind of numbness.

Word count: 3700+

Characters: Chrollo x Reader (female)

Notes: yandere Chrollo, kidnapped, depressed and miserable Reader, Reader is dissociating a lot, morbid pondering, suicidal thoughts, explicit/triggering language/words, Reader's thoughts on possible sexual assault in future. Part 2

Fractalize - making things into smaller copies of themselves over and over again.

Sometimes you stand in front of a mirror and try to picture yourself in another timeline. One where your life didn’t take this specific turn. You try to imagine a different setting, a different apartment - perhaps the one you had before Chrollo started moving you around like a luggage bag. Maybe living in a cottage by the sea or an old farmhouse. Someplace rural, peaceful. With a garden and fresh air, far away from the city noises.

It's difficult at first, your reflection keeps slipping through your mental fingers every time you think the image is set in place. But with practice it becomes easier, sort of, so you can now see yourself clearly as you brush your hair - not here.

A blue dress on, made for nights at parties with friends. Laughing until your stomach hurts and eyes become sore. Making silly faces over alcoholic beverages. Or you can wear your favourite jeans with a high waist and head out to the pub, the same one with crooked stools and a broken sign. Drink cheep bear, eat greasy peanuts from a little bowl, listen to some small band play unknown and unheard songs.

Leave intoxicated, and everything is too fast and vibrant and wonderful until you're back home.

It's your favourite pastime now: imagine, remake and slip.

Imagine. Remake. Slip.

You don't quite remember the last time you laughed, a month ago maybe. Maybe more. Lack of hope creates a strange kind of numbness, dull, cold, you would compare it to a winter plastered all over your insides, but it's almost colder than that. It freezes everything and turns it into icicles hanging off the roof.

Remake, slip.

You have new vocabulary now.

"Mm" - is for when he asks you if you like a dress or a top and it doesn't matter how you actually feel about it, because it's going to end up being worn anyway.

"Okay" - is for when Chrollo sets another fancy meal for you on a dinner table and "Eat, don't be shy".

"I'm not hungry" - doesn't work with him, even if it's the truth. You always eat what's put in front of you, that's the rule, because he's not above shoving the spoon into your mouth, so you spare yourself the tears and sobs that will probably come with that. It's so bizarre: how much effort he puts into keeping you alive when you're anything but.

"Whatever you want" - is for when he asks you something that requires a choice, between two or three options usually. He's not one for an extensive list.

"If you say so" - for everything else.

You used to delude yourself with the idea that if you managed to appear pleasant enough, pleasant-talking, pleasant-listening, smiling a bit here and there, it would gain you some privileges and perhaps a bit more freedom. It did. But never where it really mattered. Those little things were absolutely inconsequential in the grand scheme. Yes, you can have that sweater, dear. No, you can't have your own bed. Yes, you can come shopping with me, if you give me a kiss. No, you can't take walks without me holding your hand.

Yes this and no that.

Those moments were fragile and so very takeable that they didn't give you any sense of accomplishment, just a short respite and bitter aftertaste that made you feel pathetic.

Wasn't worth it.

***

"Do you like animals, dear?" Chrollo asks out of the blue one day. He's reading something on his tablet while you're curled up on the couch, watching TV.

It's a new series that's been on the major channels for a few weeks, a mystery drama about a girl who moves into a house she inherited from her grandfather. The picture provides a distraction enough to have you forgetting where you are for a brief period three times a week.

You pull the blanket higher. "I do."

He knows it.

The girl on the screen finds a mysterious box hidden in the attic. Perhaps there's something valuable inside. Or information about her grandpa; your fingers tug on a loose blanket thread without much thought.

"What kind?"

Or maybe it's just a time capsule with photos and postcards and random objects collected over the years.

Or-

You had a cat before he took you. A foster grey ragdoll with blue eyes who liked to rest on your belly and bump her head against your chin. You called her Miss Whiskerton and kissed her little nose, because she did act like a proper lady - poised, dignified and entirely too proud to eat food mixed with medicine. The worst enemy Miss Whiskerton has ever had in her cat life was the corner of your couch. When you weren't paying attention, she would dig her claws into the fabric and leave thin lines. You hope that someone took her in.

She probably thought you abandoned her.

"Cats."

Chrollo hums in acknowledgment and continues scrolling through whatever he's looking at - maybe news or auction listings, you don't know nor do you really care. You shift under the blanket, pulling your legs closer to your body.

"We can get one, if you'd like."

"No."

Your answer is immediate and short, without thinking. You know it, you know him by now - there's nothing Chrollo does out of spontaneous generosity, it always benefits him in some way. And you've studied him enough to figure that any pet would only be a tool to keep you tamed and compliant. Puppies make life better. Happier, lighter, with goofy smiling faces and wiggling tails. Cats make life better with soft purrs and paws stomping on your chest. They're too easy to love.

"Why not?" There's a sound of tablet set on a wooden surface.

The girl on the screen is trying to solve a combination lock on the box when the TV switches off and your little world of carefully shot scenes and scripted lines vanishes. You don't need to turn around to guess where's the remote.

She almost had it, but now you won't know what's inside until Thursday evening.

Your reflection stares back from the dead screen, blank-faced and with a blanket pulled up your nose. It tickles a bit. "Because I don't want one."

A chair creaks. "Why?"

You close your eyes shut for a moment before opening them again. This is tiring. Always probing, digging, pushing. Trying to find chinks in your armor, but all you're wearing is just a flimsy dress with thin straps and a blanket you wish could swallow you whole.

"Don't need it."

"You said you like animals," Chrollo sits next to you and places a hand on top of your covered legs. He squeezes your thigh and you stare ahead, wishing he would just leave you alone tonight.

"I do." Your fingers twitch under the blanket, nails scratching at the fabric.

Strange. Sometimes it feels like he understands perfectly that you want to be alone, have time for yourself and don't want his constant physical presence. At the same time Chrollo brushes this all aside like old tin foil wrappers - insignificant. He pulls the blanket down and you cling on it stubbornly for a few seconds before letting go. His thumb and index finger grasp your chin and turn your face towards him so you have no choice but to meet his eyes.

There's such still intensity within him that made your skin crawl whenever he looked at you with this much focus and attention. You don't know what he saw there most times, it used to be fear or anger or sadness - right now it's none of these things. Everything inside you feels jammed and stiff.

"We should get a fish then," he continues, brushing hair out of your forehead. "You can watch it swim around, wouldn't that be nice?"

Chrollo talks to you like this sometimes, as if you're a child who needs to be convinced to eat veggies or take medicine. Like you're simple-minded and he's reasoning with you out of good will. It's sickening. You hate it.

"I don't want a pet," you repeat the words slowly. "If you're going to give me something only to take it away, then I don't want it."

His finger leisurely stroking your chin pauses at the edge of your bottom lip. Something flickers behind his eyes, it's barely noticeable but you've become good at catching those minuscule shifts. He smiles, yet there's nothing joyful about it. "Take it away? Why would I do that, dear?"

"Because that's what you do. Because that's how you are." You don't try to pull free from his hold, he'll only tighten it; not enough to hurt, no, he is too suave and polished for that - or wants to appear so - but enough for you to feel trapped under his palm.

There's something off about you, you can tell, but are not quite able to discern what or where. It sits in the very structure of your bones and eats away with ravenous appetite. An imbalance in the gut. Fever-warm body, cold fingers. Thoughts like potholes.

"And how am I exactly, according to you?" His voice is light, playful, a stark contrast to his eyes that study you with unnerving precision. Chrollo rarely loses his temper and never gets violent with you (yet, you correct yourself), but he has other ways of expressing displeasure, and they're petty, ugly and cold.

"Cruel," the word rolls off your tongue so effortlessly that almost frightens you; it's easy to tell the truth when you're this numb.

He looks taken aback for a split second, and the smile freezes. His hand stops midway to your hair. Then everything's gone.

Chrollo releases you and leans back into the cushions, almost thoughtful, like your observation is something that requires careful consideration.

"I suppose, it depends," he says finally.

"On what?"

"On how you choose to see things. Your perspective is bound to be biased, dear."

You don't respond.

To continue this conversation would be pointless and circular, like running on a treadmill, like everything else between you and Chrollo, really. He simply has too many answers to any possible argument, and no matter how convincing you manage to make them sound, he'll poke holes into each one. You don't want a fish. Or a cat. Or a dog, a bird, anything that moves and breathes and looks at you with big, trusting eyes.

Chrollo is cruel. Not in a way that's straightforward and brutal. Not in a way of someone who'd tear your limbs apart or rip off a fly's wing to see it wiggle. You have no doubt that he is capable of such a thing, but that would be uncouth. Cruelty in his case is a quieter, more delicate affair - in a way of a sculptor who'd chisel off everything unnecessary and unneeded, no matter the size or significance, to produce something entirely his.

His hands are soft, his voice is always composed, and he wears well tailored clothes. But the rest is sharp, clean and merciless.

"I think I'll go to bed," you say and push away the blanket.

"It's early."

"Mm."

He takes your hand just as you're about to slide off the sofa. Chrollo's always faster than you, always ahead and always observing, and that little realization while bitter is not so shocking anymore, more like another fact that you file away from your interactions.

You watch him. Wait.

"You're distraught," he says. "But you should know by now that there's no need for that."

Your hand remains in his grasp, limp and heavy.

"I don't enjoy seeing you upset, dear. Even more if you make false conclusions."

You turn to see the expression on his face - and there isn't one, at least not the type that most people would make. There are no frowning eyebrows, no clenched jaw that would indicate irritation, nothing like that.

"You're giving me too little credit," his tone is quiet as he runs his fingers up and down your wrist. "My intentions are not to hurt you. They are much, much sweeter than that."

"But you would," you say quietly and lean closer, ignoring the obvious implication behind his words. There is a hollow sensation inside of your head that prompts you to speak, everything is hollow - body and mind, heart, the space in your guts, your throat. "You would hurt me, if that's what you thought was necessary. Rip me apart and leave me deformed beyond repair, to fit into whatever framework you've laid, you would do that."

You're not being deliberately cryptic or fatalistic. These are your observations, based on a period of months spent together. They take root in no one being there for you anymore, in your phone which is long gone, in your closed accounts, your missing laptop and old clothes, the entire previous life in the city that has been discarded for something new. Chrollo was very methodical, you can give him that.

He doesn't listen, he studies your responses. Every single word. He has a talent for that, for absorbing everything about you while hardly ever letting you glimpse his interior - all that you know about him are tiny slivers which you picked up through living together, observation, accidental bits.

You expect him to contradict your statement, to offer a logical explanation why you're wrong, but instead Chrollo brings your hand to his lips and presses a kiss against your knuckles. The touch is light and dry.

"You're not entirely wrong, dear," he says and moves closer until you can smell his aftershave, something fresh.

His proximity is uncomfortable, it always is and probably always will be.

"I'm right then," you say.

"No," he keeps your hand in his grasp. "But you're not entirely wrong either. That's what makes you interesting."

There's a strange kind of fondness in his voice, it's subtle, yet undeniably present. You've never felt less interesting in your life, in a dress with thin straps that's too fancy for a lazy day at home and your bare feet and tangled hair.

"If you say so," you respond and slowly tug your hand free. "I really want to sleep now."

You get up, and he lets you go without another proposition. The blanket falls off onto the sofa, and before you slip into the semi-darkness of the bedroom, he says,

"Not beyond repair. But I like to believe we can both agree it doesn't have to come to that."

***

The drive feels endless. Houses and streets blur in a mix of colors, shapes and people, which soon change to an empty highway with greenery on both sides. Trees and fields, tall grass swaying gently in the wind and rare cars passing you by. Chrollo's hand is resting on your leg; he hasn't moved it since the car started, but you choose to ignore it in favor of your regular pastime, the one that's made of imaginary worlds and places where the timeline stretches differently.

Mostly it's just you and the layout of your fake apartment.

Imagine, remake, slip. Repeat the steps until it becomes muscle memory.

You have this daydream on loop now. Wooden floor and wide windows, lots of sunlight. Books everywhere, comfy clothes and not a single skirt in your closet. A cup of tea with honey in the morning, and Miss Whiskerton curled into a soft grey ball on your lap. You feed her salmon in a shiny bowl, occasionally she catches a lizard outside and drops the tail on your doorstep as an offering, looking immensely proud of herself.

A smile slips on your face without meaning to, a wobbly thing; you promptly wipe it off.

It would be a crime to show such blatant joy. This fantasy has become so sweetly personal that every fiber of your being resists even acknowledging it in front of Chrollo. He can sense a stray happy thought from miles away, like a hound, and will never stop prodding until everything is raw and tender. You've learned to say less in his presence, especially if it's something that has you invested. Chrollo knows how to pick things apart.

You lean your cheek against the glass. This world would never happen, never in a million years, but dreaming doesn't hurt anyone, does it?

Your grandma, wearing an apron, sets a tray filled with fresh pastries on a table, because she's amazing like that. She fusses and worries and pretends to scold you. For not calling enough, for not coming sooner, for not eating well. For leaving.

"Dear."

You almost jump.

Chrollo's voice brings you back where his hand is heavy on your leg, you're wearing a dress above the knee and aren't allowed to use scissors or knives.

"Mm?"

"That frown of yours," he says, turning into a small road. The surroundings change again, it's quiet here, not a soul in sight. "It's been there for fifteen minutes now."

You sit up straight and move your hair out of your eyes. Chrollo's a perceptive one, so this is a reminder not to sink too deep around him, unless you absolutely need it.

"Was just thinking."

"You do it a lot lately," he states and looks at you from the corner of his eye.

True, but you have no intention to confirm it. First, he won't like the reason behind these thoughts. Second, he will dig and try to worm his way in. No. Most of what you've been fixating on, staring out of the window like a mindless drone, or reading and rereading pages that you barely grasped, would fail to create anything more complex in his heart than desire to pull it out.

For whatever twisted reason, Chrollo cares for your well-being, or, more precisely, your acceptance of his advances. Yet his way of caring isn't nurturing in any sense.

Chrollo's interest (you don't dare call it love) is crushing, too heavy to carry - he'll find what troubles you and "fix it" in way that will twist it into something pathetic. Something that shows how you have nothing else to cling on but him. You're not stupid enough to keep falling into this trap. Being a slow learner doesn't mean you don't learn at all.

He's done it before. He'll do it again. So you reply, "I haven't noticed."

His thumb rubs circles on your thigh; you press your shoulder against the car door as if hoping it might open. It doesn't, much to your disappointment.

"What was on your mind then?"

Something you shouldn't tell him, that's for sure. Chrollo's watching you, even if his eyes are trained on the road.

"Random stuff," you say. Half-truths, half-truths are safe. "A weird dream I had this morning."

If you bothered to look, you'd see a raised eyebrow and the faintest hint of amusement at the corners of his mouth. You don't.

"Tell me."

You hate when he does that.

"It was boring."

"I'm interested in anything that made you so pensive."

Chrollo likes conversations with you, even if they're short. You can tell that he does, or he wouldn't be trying to make you talk and getting subtly frustrated when you choose not to. It never shows outright, Chrollo is very gifted at keeping his calm exterior, but there are certain giveaways like the slight tightening of his hand, an emphasized "dear", a pause here, or a quiet exhale through the nose. You could make a list out of these.

If you ignore him, he gets quiet and handsy or petty enough to throw away the only dress you feel comfortable in. Stop bringing you new books. Take you to places you hate.

It's always the small things that kill you, not the big, dramatic ones. The devils in the details.

"There was a lizard," you begin, and he hums in response, prompting you to continue. "It was cute with brown spots and a tiny tail."

Lies weave themselves easily, intertwine with truths and turn it into something that resembles a story.

"It was sitting on my windowsill and I wanted to pet it. A cat came out of nowhere and almost ate it, then I woke up. It's a silly dream."

There. Nothing to dissect here, not that you can see. Just a nonsensical dream, filled with random happenings and strange emotions.

"And that's why you frowned for fifteen minutes?"

"Yes, I got sad."

Yes, you think. Yes, Chrollo. I frowned, because I care for the damn lizard that doesn't exist, an animal from a dream. A stupid musing, nothing special, a very mundane and simple thing, because people do have silly dreams sometimes, and it's not a crime. It's not a crime and has nothing to do with that fact that I have a whole dream world where I'm not with you in my head.

"How peculiar. You never struck me as the type to get upset over something like this."

"You never asked," you respond flatly and Chrollo's hand on your thigh moves an inch.

It brushes up, closer to where you really, really don't want it to be, so you squeeze his fingers hard and redirect them to the curve of your knee.

"True," he says after a pause, not sounding too bothered. A month ago you would've brushed his hand off completely, probably that's why. Chrollo is convinced that with enough patience and effort he'll be able to close that final barrier between you both. Time, coaxing, a dose or two of endearment, some carefully calculated touch - but you'd rather stick a knife through your ribs than have sex with him. Or his patience will simply run out and he'll rape you. You're not delusional. Not a fool. "Well, that can be fixed. I'll make sure to ask about your dreams more often, dear."

You lean back into the seat and stare ahead, this time without anything pleasant on your mind. Of course he will. Of course he'll take this as a sign to dig deeper and invade that small bit of solace, Chrollo can't simply co-exist. He wants it all.

"Mm," you say.

Your new vocabulary is such a handy thing.