Fandom: Kamen Rider Revice Ship: Transfem Kagerou/Daiji Igarashi Words: 836
Devils are awfully fickle creatures. They never say what they mean and never make decisions that make sense, but that’s because they’re shadows: the dark, ugly impulses of each given person given form and character. Incomplete emotions and maladaptations, without the tempering social conditioning that tells you not to.
But devils, too, can love.
There is no one an inner devil loves more than its host, though often there is also no one it hates more as well. Why wouldn’t a shadow hate the fetters of humanity, after all? Hate all the self-imposed restrictions its better self deems sacrosanct?
But all in all it remains faithful. A devil’s mischief is born of true concern, of a true drive to help. Even if its actions are misplaced, never let it be said that it did not try.
As much as a devil cannot live without its host, so the host will fall ill without their inner ésprit of malice to breathe life into their actions through the perpetual motion of dialectical thought negotiation. Without the love of a devil, one is but a hollow shell.
This Tsurara Igarashi knows far too well.
In her scrupulous suppression of all her bad thoughts and overbearing needs, her inner darkness had grown so strong as to overtake her body and see them to an end herself.
Because she cares. Even as she shut Tsurara in the depths of their shared mind, Kagerou cared. Imperfectly, roughly, awfully - like the devil she is.
She made her face her own feelings, communicate about them, reach new heights in who she could be because of that. Tsurara could never be Kamen Rider Live, could never have that faith in the power of her own conviction, if she didn’t have her flipside of Kamen Rider Evil laying their one heart bare.
But Tsurara had never acknowledged this then. To her, Kagerou had just been a nuisance she’d overcome at first, and a terrifying one at that. She hadn’t realised the affection in it. She wouldn’t for a long while.
And that was the crux of it all, wasn’t it? Kagerou’s overwhelming love was impossible to read for a girl so kind and sweet, whose roughness had been harshly pruned away by herself in an attempt to restrain the thorny brambles of resentment that sprouted from being belittled and coddled at every turn. There was no fear like facing the crocus that grew from the shed foliage, the needly desert plant that thrived fed only by her dregs. How could something good come out of that?
But Kagerou does and always did love her, and she showed it at every turn; every time her sisters summoned her for something arbitrary, everytime Tsurara was in danger or consumed by despair. A warm meal without her overly sensitive restraints. Protection from schemes of overly involved scientists. Silly things, but still nice.
Somehow, Tsurara became paradoxically infatuated with the monster under the floorboards of her heart, even if she was still convinced that other self held nothing but contempt for her. In the throes of the excruciating pain the coming of the natural predator of all devils instilled in her corrupted body, all Tsurara could think of was that she wanted to continue living a life beside her darker half. She’d take any punishment, any belittlement, any disdain, just to be whole.
There was nothing Kagerou found more disgusting than that.
Only one of us can prevail, the ultimatum she gave her. Kill her own shadow or be killed by her.
There was no greater sorrow than that. Or so she thought, until she was victorious, until her darkness was truly gone and she stood a sanctified murderess of herself.
Alone, she was empty, starved, and empty shells are easy to manipulate, to break into tiny little pieces.
Without darkness, without the mist of summer haze, the light was blinding, searing. A greater evil laid in pure white than in charcoal grey.
It’s funny, one would say, that a certain charm lies in being angelic and traumatised. But those angels are not warrior angels, fighting like knight templars for an evil even their holy light is too weak to resist against. Will everyone be safe, if I just submit?
In the moment Kamen Rider Holy Live chooses to abandon herself, the voice comes from within, dyed in her tears.
Have I not always loved you?
Of course. Of course Kagerou had. The darkness so deeply entwined within her heart that it’d regrow from a single micron, because she could not exist without it.
If there’s no life in you without me, I can’t bear to see you decay.
So devils, too, can love. Even if their pride provokes them to extremes, it is only a passing fancy of a threat display, but their gestures of love, just as ephemeral, are much grander.
When the blue sky darkens to grey and white feathers become enmeshed with black, Kamen Rider Evilyty Live blooms into the sweet-scented crown of a moonlight cactus.
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FILL: TEAM TOKUSATSU
Date: 2025-05-27 03:01 am (UTC)Fandom: Kamen Rider Revice
Ship: Transfem Kagerou/Daiji Igarashi
Words: 836
Devils are awfully fickle creatures. They never say what they mean and never make decisions that make sense, but that’s because they’re shadows: the dark, ugly impulses of each given person given form and character. Incomplete emotions and maladaptations, without the tempering social conditioning that tells you not to.
But devils, too, can love.
There is no one an inner devil loves more than its host, though often there is also no one it hates more as well. Why wouldn’t a shadow hate the fetters of humanity, after all? Hate all the self-imposed restrictions its better self deems sacrosanct?
But all in all it remains faithful. A devil’s mischief is born of true concern, of a true drive to help. Even if its actions are misplaced, never let it be said that it did not try.
As much as a devil cannot live without its host, so the host will fall ill without their inner ésprit of malice to breathe life into their actions through the perpetual motion of dialectical thought negotiation. Without the love of a devil, one is but a hollow shell.
This Tsurara Igarashi knows far too well.
In her scrupulous suppression of all her bad thoughts and overbearing needs, her inner darkness had grown so strong as to overtake her body and see them to an end herself.
Because she cares. Even as she shut Tsurara in the depths of their shared mind, Kagerou cared. Imperfectly, roughly, awfully - like the devil she is.
She made her face her own feelings, communicate about them, reach new heights in who she could be because of that. Tsurara could never be Kamen Rider Live, could never have that faith in the power of her own conviction, if she didn’t have her flipside of Kamen Rider Evil laying their one heart bare.
But Tsurara had never acknowledged this then. To her, Kagerou had just been a nuisance she’d overcome at first, and a terrifying one at that. She hadn’t realised the affection in it. She wouldn’t for a long while.
And that was the crux of it all, wasn’t it? Kagerou’s overwhelming love was impossible to read for a girl so kind and sweet, whose roughness had been harshly pruned away by herself in an attempt to restrain the thorny brambles of resentment that sprouted from being belittled and coddled at every turn. There was no fear like facing the crocus that grew from the shed foliage, the needly desert plant that thrived fed only by her dregs. How could something good come out of that?
But Kagerou does and always did love her, and she showed it at every turn; every time her sisters summoned her for something arbitrary, everytime Tsurara was in danger or consumed by despair. A warm meal without her overly sensitive restraints. Protection from schemes of overly involved scientists. Silly things, but still nice.
Somehow, Tsurara became paradoxically infatuated with the monster under the floorboards of her heart, even if she was still convinced that other self held nothing but contempt for her. In the throes of the excruciating pain the coming of the natural predator of all devils instilled in her corrupted body, all Tsurara could think of was that she wanted to continue living a life beside her darker half. She’d take any punishment, any belittlement, any disdain, just to be whole.
There was nothing Kagerou found more disgusting than that.
Only one of us can prevail, the ultimatum she gave her. Kill her own shadow or be killed by her.
There was no greater sorrow than that. Or so she thought, until she was victorious, until her darkness was truly gone and she stood a sanctified murderess of herself.
Alone, she was empty, starved, and empty shells are easy to manipulate, to break into tiny little pieces.
Without darkness, without the mist of summer haze, the light was blinding, searing. A greater evil laid in pure white than in charcoal grey.
It’s funny, one would say, that a certain charm lies in being angelic and traumatised. But those angels are not warrior angels, fighting like knight templars for an evil even their holy light is too weak to resist against. Will everyone be safe, if I just submit?
In the moment Kamen Rider Holy Live chooses to abandon herself, the voice comes from within, dyed in her tears.
Have I not always loved you?
Of course. Of course Kagerou had. The darkness so deeply entwined within her heart that it’d regrow from a single micron, because she could not exist without it.
If there’s no life in you without me, I can’t bear to see you decay.
So devils, too, can love. Even if their pride provokes them to extremes, it is only a passing fancy of a threat display, but their gestures of love, just as ephemeral, are much grander.
When the blue sky darkens to grey and white feathers become enmeshed with black, Kamen Rider Evilyty Live blooms into the sweet-scented crown of a moonlight cactus.