Threads Tangled Together

The air burned. That was the first thing he noticed. The raw, searing scrape of it against his gills, the way each shallow gasp felt like dragging a blade through his chest. His tail, once powerful enough to carve through ocean currents, now lay useless against the asphalt, its scales dulling under the relentless downpour. The rain hammered against his back, cold and mocking, as if the sky itself conspired to drown him on dry land. His fingers clawed at the pavement, smearing streaks of indigo and gold where his scales had begun to flake away. That his attempt was just what it was, an attempt and little else, and he had not gotten far at all, thank god for the rain and puddles, that was in a way, aiding him a little bit more, without them, he would have been in trouble.

The padlock mocked him. Its steel gleamed under the flickering dock lights, utterly indifferent to his desperation. His claws, once sharp enough to shred flesh, scrabbled uselessly against the mechanism, leaving nothing but faint scratches. He snarled, a sound that might have been terrifying underwater but here dissolved into the storm like a dying fish’s gasp. Behind him, somewhere in the labyrinth of loading docks and storage crates, the distant hum of the aquarium’s nighttime generators thrummed like a heartbeat. His own pulse hammered louder. This was as far as he got, this was as far as he made it, but by the gods, he was not turning back.

Then saw her and looked up at her, rainwater sluicing down his face like the tank’s filtration runoff. His pupils were knife-thin slits in the downpour, the gold streaks in his irises dulled by exhaustion. For a heartbeat, they just stared, him crouched like a wounded animal, her standing with her hand outstretched, before his gills flared wide, sucking in air that tasted of diesel and wet concrete. "You!" He rasped, voice raw from disuse above water. The word wasn’t gratitude. Wasn’t accusation. Just a statement of fact, as if her presence was another inevitable torment.

“Help me?”

He lay in the spreading puddle beneath him, the rainwater pooling around his tail like a shallow, mocking imitation of the ocean. Each drop that hit his scales was a fleeting reprieve, just enough to keep his gills from drying out completely, just enough to prolong the slow suffocation of air. The storm had saved him, but only barely. His chest rose and fell in ragged bursts, every inhalation scraping his gills raw against the unfamiliar burn of oxygen. As he didn’t want her help, she left him there, didn’t trust him, thought he was weak or dangerous, but the choices, he had so little.

“…”

So slowly he nodded at her. Just once. A sharp, jerky motion that sent rainwater sluicing down the jagged ridge of his dorsal fin. There was no gratitude in the gesture, only necessity. His claws flexed against the asphalt, scoring shallow grooves into the blacktop. Trust was a luxury he couldn’t afford, but survival was non-negotiable. “Then help me.” As he held his hand out for her to take.

The moment his hand touched hers, Kikyo understood exactly how little time they had because his skin was wrong. The mermaid’s skin was too cold where it should have held life, too dry in places despite the relentless rain. Beneath her fingers, the texture of his scales had begun to change as the edges lifted, flaking where the air had already begun to claim him. She tightened her grip, not out of urgency alone, but to steady the subtle tremor running through him. It was not fear. The woman’s gaze moved over him quickly, clinically, though something quieter pressed beneath that practiced detachment. The rain struck harder, pooling beneath him, gathering along the length of his tail in shallow ripples. Kikyo could see it in the rhythm of his gills, how they still moved, strained but functioning. “You pushed too far without water,” she said quietly.

Her hand shifted slightly, bracing his wrist more securely as she adjusted her stance. His weight was unfamiliar like this, unbalanced, dragged down by gravity instead of supported by currents. Every movement he made worked against him, not with him. Her other hand came to his shoulder. “Do not fight the movement,” she instructed, her voice low, steady, something meant to cut through the haze of his pain. “You are not in water. If you force it, you will exhaust yourself before we reach anything that can sustain you.” She did not wait for agreement; instead, Kikyo shifted closer, guiding his arm over her shoulder with deliberate care. The contact was brief, controlled, but enough to redistribute his weight so he would not collapse back into the puddle that had become his only lifeline.

The distant hum of the facility still pulsed behind them, steady, mechanical. Down below, in the dark water, the sedative would still be working its way through massive bodies. Slower in one than the other. She had accounted for that, but not indefinitely. Her attention returned to Kaigaku as his breathing was still uneven, each inhale catching slightly, his gills struggling to process what little relief the rain offered. His pride had not left him, as she could feel it in the tension that remained in his arm, the way he still held himself just short of leaning fully into her support.

“We are not going through the gate,” Kikyo said, her tone shifting firmer now, more decisive. “You will not make it that far like this.” Her eyes moved past it, scanning the perimeter. A drainage channel ran along the side of the loading dock, half-hidden beneath the runoff pouring from the storm. “It will be enough,” she murmured, more to herself than to him. “Move with me,” she said, turning just enough to guide him. “Slowly. Do not waste strength.” Kikyo began to move, careful and deliberate, guiding him away from the useless gate and toward the narrow channel where water rushed steadily into darkness. The rain concealed their progress, softened their sounds, turned their escape into something the world might overlook if they were careful enough.

encvgh

{{ Please reblog this if you’re a mun who’s open for angst plotting. Death, pain, drug abuse, alcohol abuse, illness, misery, fighting, screaming, tears, hate, disgust, trauma, graphic gore, etc; I’m in need of threads. Thank you. }}

#psa;;

poohsources

🐝 * ― 𝑻𝑾𝑶 𝑾𝑶𝑹𝑫 𝑺𝑬𝑵𝑻𝑬𝑵𝑪𝑬 𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑹𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑺.

❛ act natural. ❜ ❛ be careful. ❜ ❛ but why? ❜ ❛ calm down. ❜ ❛ come here. ❜ ❛ do you? ❜ ❛ don't ask. ❜ ❛ don't cry. ❜ ❛ don't go. ❜ ❛ don't move. ❜ ❛ for what? ❜ ❛ good idea. ❜ ❛ guess what? ❜ ❛ hurry up. ❜ ❛ i forgot. ❜ ❛ it's nothing. ❜ ❛ join me. ❜ ❛ keep quiet. ❜ ❛ leave it. ❜ ❛ let's go. ❜ ❛ not bad. ❜ ❛ not now. ❜ ❛ now what? ❜ ❛ shut up. ❜ ❛ take care. ❜ ❛ take this. ❜ ❛ that's impossible. ❜ ❛ then when? ❜ ❛ think quickly. ❜ ❛ time's up. ❜ ❛ try me. ❜ ❛ wake up. ❜ ❛ watch out! ❜ ❛ well done. ❜ ❛ what happened? ❜ ❛ what now? ❜ ❛ who knows? ❜ ❛ why me? ❜ ❛ your turn. ❜ ❛ you're wrong. ❜

#memes;;specific muse

solismused

Demon Slayer Liner Call || @fedua1era

"It is a good thing you ran into me. Those pesky beasts! They never stood a chance against me. I assume you are quite alright?"

#solismused #threads;;kikyo

The priestess was standing on the train platform waiting for it to arrive when a group of three men started to harass her. Clearly, she was not interested in traveling and conversing alongside them. Thankfully, someone stepped in to help and made the group feel awkward enough that they quickly left. The miko glanced over at the man and recognized his attire as that of the Demon Slayer Corps. She had been a part of it for a few years before she quit, which the Master had been understanding of, but she didn't remember this person.

"Thank you. You have my gratitude for helping with those men. They were acting like beasts indeed. Yes, I was not harmed during the encounter." Bowing slightly, Kikyo showed her sincerity as the strands of her hair dripped over her shoulder.

jakotsuto

✨ bankotsu practice ✨

I feel much more equipped to draw Jakotsu, but I’m hoping I can even it out, considering Bankotsu is one half of my OTP.

04/04/2026

#visual;;bankotsu

reddoo-k

i love drawing water

#aesthetics;;kikyo #mermaid;;verse

mushinomai

' How unfortunate... ' A dramatic sigh, releasing her stance from the motion to strike. A second sooner, and the kill would have surely been hers. ' I knew someone else was here, but I thought I'd make it here first. '

@fedua1era , bankotsu !

#threads;;bankotsu #mushinomai

Bankotsu’s grin widened beneath the smear of dirt and blood streaking across his face, sharp and wolfish in the dim light. The weight of Banryū rested easily against his shoulder despite the carnage already painted across the battlefield, as though the massive halberd weighed no more than a branch in his hands. Her voice carried disappointment, but not fear. That alone made his pulse stir with interest. Most people trembled when they stumbled onto him. His dark eyes slid toward her with open amusement, studying the woman who had nearly struck first. The sigh she gave sounded almost theatrical, but the tension beneath it was real, the kind carried by killers who understood timing was everything. A low chuckle escaped him. “Yeah? Then you should’ve run faster,” he drawled, rolling one shoulder lazily.

The words came easily, coated in arrogance that only someone like Bankotsu could wear naturally. Confidence forged through slaughter after slaughter, through battlefields littered with corpses that proved his strength better than words ever could. He had faced monks, demons, soldiers, bounty hunters, and all of them certain they could cut him down, but all of them died. Something about her held his attention longer than it should have. The air between them thickened with suspended violence. The ravenette tilted his head slightly, earrings shifting against his neck while his grin sharpened into something more dangerous. “However, I gotta admit you almost had somebody.” His fingers tightened around Banryū’s handle with a heavy creak of wood and iron. His eyes narrowed. “Makes me wonder who you came here to kill.”

The excitement crawling beneath his skin became harder to ignore now. Battle always did this to him; it caused that electric hum in his veins, the anticipation before steel met flesh. The promise of bloodshed hung between them like the first crack of thunder before a storm, and the male loved storms. He stepped forward once, boots grinding against stone. “Guess it doesn’t matter now. Since you found me instead.” His smile flashed wider, reckless and eager.

He lay there, sprawled on the concrete like a half-drowned rag, his whiskers quivering with every strained breath. The cold, dampness of the deck seeped into his fur, yet he remained still. Not yet. His flippers throbbed from the unusual effort of dragging his lifeless body across the land, his muscles protesting in agony. Pathetic. Once, he had ripped open a diver’s ribcage with those very limbs, back when they were claws. Now, they were merely… stumps. Worthless. "Degrading," he muttered, the word twisted by his altered jaw. It emerged as a garbled sound, more grunt than language. His tongue felt heavy, wrong. He couldn’t even hiss properly in this state. Just pitiful honks and wheezes.

"Young, yes I told you that, I am the youngest of them all, and they like to remind me of that harsh truth."

As he gazed at her, observing, waiting for the mockery, the teasing, the insults, but none came from her, which was unusual for him. Kikyo didn’t laugh. Didn’t flinch. She simply regarded him with that same clinical detachment, as if he were a specimen under glass. Her fingers twitched once, almost imperceptibly, when his whiskers brushed against her boot. Testing. Always testing. He was uncertain of his standing with her; she struck him as peculiar, leaving him unsure of what to say or do. She always kept him guessing, an irritating human indeed, but ultimately, she was his human now, and he needed her far more than she needed him. As he exhaled sharply through his nose, droplets scattered across her shoelaces. She remained unmoved. The silence stretched between them, taut as a fishing line before it snaps. Then, slowly and deliberately, she lowered her hand the rest of the way. Her fingers glided over the damp fur between his shoulders. Not petting. Assessing.

"I have cautioned you previously, they are not trapped; they choose to be here. They can depart at any moment, without a doubt. They are simply waiting for a sufficiently large crowd to escort you all to their queen. Offerings, particularly those who are fat and plump, always delight her, and those who attend these events fit that description."

As he allowed her to touch him, he shuddered. Not from fear, but from rage. Her touch radiated warmth. Human warmth. The kind that penetrates your bones and makes you forget the chilling grip of the abyss. It was perilous. He bared his teeth, or attempted to. The blunt molars of a seal were inadequate for such a display. Another humiliation. As he exhaled slowly, being a seal was tolerable, he could move on land, albeit with great difficulty. His flippers scraped against the concrete as he pulled himself forward, muscles aflame with the unfamiliar exertion. The air was saturated with the scent of chlorine and old blood, but beneath it, he detected the sharp tang of Kikyo’s antiseptic-laden skin. Her fingers lingered between his shoulder blades, neither pressing nor retreating. A test. Always a test.

"Because I want to be as far away from here as possible! Are you deaf? They are going to kill me!"

He twisted his head, his whiskers brushing against her wrist. The movement was awkward, his neck stiff in this form, but he managed to meet her gaze with those same slit-pupiled eyes. "You’re not afraid," he muttered, the words distorted by his altered jaw. It wasn’t a question. As his flippers scraped against the damp concrete, each inch forward was a new agony. His breath came in ragged gasps, the air scraping against unfamiliar lungs, too dry, too thin. The deck reeked of bleach and decaying fish, a stark contrast to the brine of open water. He despised every moment of it. His muscles ached, his flippers pulsed, and worst of all, Kikyo's fingers still hovered above his fur like some cursed scientist studying a curiosity.

"And in this way, I can move more effectively, limited, but I won’t stand out too much. So, are you going to save me or not?"

#𝘐 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 (kikyo & kaigaku // fallesto)

Kikyo’s hand remained against the damp fur between his shoulders even as his voice rose, warped by the seal’s throat into rough, guttural sounds that echoed strangely through the empty aquarium. The outburst rolled through the room like the crash of distant surf, striking the glass walls and returning softer, thinner. Somewhere beyond the tank corridors, water churned behind reinforced barriers, accompanied by the endless mechanical drone of filtration pumps. Yet none of it disturbed her composure. Her fingers shifted slightly through the coarse black fur, feeling the tension knotted beneath it. Every muscle in his body was rigid beneath her touch, prepared either to flee or lash out at the slightest provocation. The trembling in his flippers had not stopped either, though whether from exhaustion or fury she could not yet tell. Perhaps both.

Kikyo studied him quietly beneath lowered lashes. Even now, after speaking of queens and slaughter and creatures hidden beneath the sea, he continued looking at her as though expecting ridicule. Waiting for it. Bracing for it. The realization settled strangely within her chest. The fluorescent lights overhead flickered once, washing pale silver across the wet concrete and illuminating the thin trail of seawater he had dragged behind himself. It looked almost pitiful now that she saw it properly. A desperate thing clawing its way away from the ocean instead of toward it. “You speak as though death is already behind you,” Kikyo said at last, her voice calm and low. Her hand slid from his shoulders to the side of his neck, fingers brushing carefully beneath his jaw where the fur thinned slightly. His skin was colder there. Colder than the water should have allowed. She could feel the uneven rhythm beneath it, not human, not entirely animal either. The woman’s dark eyes lifted toward the massive tank behind him. Red still clouded portions of the water from the sea lion carcass below, drifting in faint ribbons through the artificial current. The sight would have horrified most people. To Kikyo, it was simply another truth to examine.

“You had opportunities to flee before this,” she continued quietly. “Yet instead, you approached a human.” Her gaze returned to him slowly. “Not because you trusted me, but because you were desperate enough to risk it.” The seal’s whiskers twitched against her wrist. Kikyo noticed the way his slit pupils narrowed when she touched beneath his jaw, the instinctive tightening in his body when her warmth lingered too long against him. Not fear of her specifically. Fear of what closeness represented. Attachment. Dependence. Vulnerability. Her expression softened by only the smallest degree. “You are wrong about one thing,” she said. Kikyo shifted closer until she sat fully upon the damp concrete beside him, unconcerned by the water soaking into the hem of her coat. The movement brought her near enough that her shoulder nearly brushed his slick fur.

“If they intended to kill you immediately, you would already be dead. They are hunting you, or you are entertainment until they grow bored enough to eat you,” she murmured. The woman tilted her head slightly, studying him from the corner of her eye. “Which means you possess something valuable enough for them to pursue or dangerous enough,” her gaze sharpened faintly. Outside the tank, the building groaned softly as distant water shifted through enormous pipes. The sound reminded her of whale-song buried beneath concrete. For the first time since meeting him, Kikyo allowed the silence to remain without immediately dissecting it. “You asked if I will save you. I have not decided yet.” Her hand rested lightly against the side of his neck, still, steady and warm against the cold dampness of his body. Kikyo said softly, “I do not abandon frightened creatures simply because they bare their teeth at me.” At that, her fingers brushed once through the fur beneath his jaw, a strangely gentle motion despite the clinical calm in her face.

He maintained his gaze on her, all six of those piercing eyes, unblinking and steadfast, resembling a predator analysing prey that refused to act as it should. The water that separated them vibrated with the intensity of his presence, thick with the aroma of salt and something ancient, something profound. His claws flexed once more, the movement intentional, probing the silence like a blade testing flesh. "You speak," he whispered, the words echoing through the water like a bell tolling, "as if you comprehend us." The accusation hung in the air, sharp and palpable beneath the surface.

"Humans have destroyed the world, and you are quick to defend your own kind, hm?"

His grip tightened just enough, not enough to leave a mark, but sufficient to stop Kikyo's gentle retreat. A ripple of water surged outward as Doma's fingers reached toward her, his grin expanding with predatory pleasure. Before the pale mermaid could bridge the gap, his tail flicked once, a silent command that made Doma recoil with an exaggerated pout. "Tsk. Always so possessive," Doma chimed, twirling a strand of silver hair around his claw. Yet he complied, floating just out of reach, though his gaze remained locked on Kikyo with an unsettling hunger.

"You are mistaken," He intoned, his voice a deep rumble that resonated through Kikyo's ribs. His six eyes traced the contour of her throat, the quickening of her pulse, always observing, always analysing. "This is not mercy." Each word was pronounced with intention, each syllable heavy like a stone sinking into deep water. "You entertain me. That is all." His claws brushed against her side, not breaking the skin but marking her with the promise of their potential. "And entertainment is... scarce."

The weight of his gaze enveloped Kikyo like a tangible force, six golden eyes scrutinizing her with a meticulousness that sent shivers across her skin, even in the frigid water. His claws hovered near her ribs, neither digging in nor pulling back, as if he were torn between the urge to slice her open or allow her to float away. The silence elongated, interrupted only by the sporadic flick of Doma’s tail as he circled them like a predator awaiting its meal.

"You entertain me, human." He reiterated, this time more deliberately, savouring each syllable. His voice echoed through the water, vibrating against Kikyo’s bones. "But do not confuse this for compassion." His fingers twitched, claws brushing against the fabric of her shirt without tearing it. "Compassion is for the feeble." The corner of his mouth quirked, not a smile, but something more sinister, something that made the shadows in the tank seem to tighten around them.

"I have no intention of killing you." He stated as he reached out, his hand encircling her throat, applying a slight pressure to pry her mouth open, while his other hand moved to her face, a claw gliding down to slice her palm, the blood mingling with the water as he covered her mouth. "I intend to enlighten you." He declared as he pressed his hand over her mouth, allowing his blood to blend with the water in her mouth.

"You will become like us... you were... curious about us, observing, learning, mocking us with your studies; now you can experience it firsthand instead.”

Kikyo did not understand what he meant at first. The cut across her palm came suddenly, a thin bright sting against skin already chilled by the crushing cold of the water. For a moment her attention lingered there instead, on the strange beauty of the blood unfurling from her hand in delicate crimson ribbons, twisting weightlessly through the dark water between them like strands of silk. The sight was almost hypnotic beneath the dim blue light of the tank, but then his hand closed around her jaw. Her head tilted back slightly beneath the pressure of his grip as his claws pressed against the curve of her cheek, sharp enough that she could feel the threat of them without skin breaking. His other hand covered her mouth before realization could fully form. Warm liquid spread against her lips, thicker than seawater, flooding across her tongue before she could wrench away.

#gearrscealta #modern;;verse #threads;;kikyo

@gearrscealta

Kikyo had scrubbed her hands twice already, however, the feeling lingered anyway. The awareness of the blood that did not belong on her skin in this quantity outside an operating room. Her scrubs had been changed into old loungewear, but even that did little to erase what had happened on her living room floor hours earlier. The apartment smelled faintly of antiseptic and rain-damp fabric. She stood in the bathroom doorway for a moment longer, staring at the sink, replaying the steps without emotion. In the living room, the guest was still there. The man laid on the couch she had cleared for him, too large for it in a way that made the furniture look temporary. He had not moved in a while, but his breathing had been steady enough for her to risk leaving him unattended for a few minutes at a time.

Kikyo opened the bathroom door further as she wanted to check in on her younger sister. The high schooler had been interested in their guest since the moment he came through the door unconscious and bloody. “Kaede, are you in bed?” she called softly, voice controlled. Her eyes narrowed slightly when there was no answer or noise from her sister’s room. The faint line of light under Kaede’s bedroom door was gone and Kikyo’s expression didn’t change, but something in her posture tightened. “Kaede.” The ravenette stepped out into the hallway, bare feet silent against the floor. The apartment felt smaller than it had before, every corner suddenly too exposed, too close to the unconscious stranger in the next room. The living room came into view with the couch and Kaede crouched near it staring at the man. Her younger sister had clearly tried to be quiet. She was still in her pajamas, hair messy, eyes wide with the kind of nervous curiosity that always got her into trouble. She had been leaning forward slightly, as if trying to confirm that what she was seeing was real.

Kikyo opened her mouth to speak just as the man moved. His hand flexed against the couch, fingers curling with slow intent, and then his head turned as his eyes opened.The change was immediate as the air in the room seemed to tighten around it, like pressure dropping before impact. Her younger sister froze for half a second, she didn’t even process what she was looking at. Just the scale of the stranger, the wrongness of his presence in a normal Tokyo apartment, the way his gaze locked onto her like she was something that shouldn’t exist. Kaede made a sound that was half breath, half shock before it broke completely. “AH!” The scream ripped through the apartment and Kikyo moved before thought caught up. Her body reacted on instinct, the same way it did in emergency situations when silence suddenly turned into crisis. She spun from the hallway and crossed the space in a few fast steps, still wearing the clothes stained with his blood, still damp at the sleeves, still carrying the lingering smell of antiseptic and metal. “Kaede, move!”

Her voice cut through the room as she reached them. Kaede stumbled backward, knocking into the coffee table, eyes wide with pure alarm. “Sis..he—he just—!” The older woman didn’t look at her long enough to let fear settle. Her attention locked onto him instead as the man was fully awake now. The woman stepped between them without hesitation.

Her posture changed as it was protective and calm, the absolute way of someone who had made decisions in worse conditions than this. Blood on her sleeves, bare feet on the floor, and hands steady at her sides. Kaede was still breathing too fast behind Kikyo, but she had stopped screaming. Now she just looked between them, face pale, trying to understand why her sister was standing in the middle of their living room covered in someone else’s blood, treating a man who looked like he belonged in something far larger than their apartment. Kikyo didn’t relax as she reached back slightly without turning her head, guiding Kaede a step farther away with a firm but gentle pressure. “Go to your room,” she said quietly. “But…” “Kaede.” The tone left no room for argument. After a moment, Kaede hesitated, then backed away, still watching the couch like it might decide to stand up and end the world. The nurse was still standing there in blood-stained clothes in the middle of her ordinary Tokyo apartment making sure to be in the middle of her sister and the man at all times as the teenager escaped to her room.

silkchvffon

having multiple threads with your partners is SO validating and rewarding like oh you liked writing with me enough to want to explore other dynamics with me ? oh you trust me with more of your muses ?? oh you wanna expand on our little literary universe ??? i love you tiny people inside my screen

#psa;;

@fallesto

Kikyo’s body reacted before her thoughts could fully settle, instinct overriding exhaustion the moment his words confirmed what her instincts had already begun to whisper. The woman’s expression did not break into panic or outrage as it dulled instead, becoming something colder, more distant, like the world had already been judged and found inconvenient. The same emptiness she had worn in the days after her resurrection settled into place behind her eyes. Something quieter and far more unsettling: detachment sharpened into intent. Her fingers tightened on his back once more, not for balance now, but assessment. The surface beneath her palm was wrong. Not flesh in any natural sense. Not beast nor man. It yielded just enough to suggest life, yet resisted just enough to suggest design. Her brows narrowed slightly as she shifted her weight deliberately to the side, testing how he responded.

Immediately, she moved. Kikyo pushed herself upward with what little strength remained, sliding her knee to one side as if to dismount mid-motion. It was not a frantic attempt, but a controlled refusal like someone who had once stepped off a moving mount a hundred times before without permission. Her sleeve dragged against his back as she tried to lever herself free, ignoring the way her drained spiritual energy protested like a wound reopening. If the woman could not stand on her own power, then she would refuse to submit so easily.

The creature jolted beneath her, so she adjusted again, shifting her center of gravity to roll off the side of his body entirely. Even half-falling would be preferable to remaining in his control. Her hair spilled forward as the wind tore at her, and for a brief moment she nearly succeeded with her weight sliding toward open air, but something resisted her descent. Not physical restraint in the obvious sense, but an unnatural adherence, like the world itself had decided she was meant to remain exactly where she was. Her eyes sharpened instantly knowing that it was a binding. The ravenette’s lips pressed into a thin line. “So it is like this,” she murmured softly, more to herself than to him. Her voice carried no fear and only confirmation.

The creature’s voice rose again, annoyed now, demanding stillness. Kikyo ignored it entirely. Her fingers flexed, and she tried again, this time not to simply leave, but to separate herself from the mechanism holding her in place. Her hand slid along his back in a slow, deliberate line, searching for the point where influence became attachment. Her tone, when she finally spoke, was quiet enough to be swallowed by the wind.

“I have been restrained before by men who believed the same thing you do,” she said flatly. “They all bled when they made the mistake of thinking I could not leave.” She shifted again, forcing her body sideways with renewed intent. Even weakened, even drained, there was something unnerving in the way she refused to behave like prey. Her gaze lifted slightly toward the horizon ahead without turning her head fully, as if the destination itself meant nothing to her yet. If this creature believed ownership was as simple as placing someone on a back and naming a destination, then it had already misunderstood what it meant to carry her. Kikyo tried to slide off again, slower this time, more deliberate, testing the unseen resistance with clinical patience rather than force. Her voice followed, calm as still water before it freezes. “Let go,” she said. A statement of how reality was expected to behave.

He strolled alongside her, reluctant to share his sorrowful tale, yet it was undeniable. His brother had passed away, and now his brother's children were gone too. The grandchildren were out there somewhere, residing in the capital, living in the estate he had entrusted to them. However, he never set foot there; he never paid them a visit. He wanted nothing to do with any of them. It may sound harsh, but people died around him. He could save towns, cities, and kingdoms, yet those closest to him always ended up disappointed. Besides, they were better off without him. He wouldn’t be the great uncle they expected, the legendary figure they had heard stories about. He knew they were teenagers now, growing strong, becoming knights and heroes in their own right. Perhaps when he finally passed away, one of them would rise to become a sword saint, after all, they shared his blood. Even if they were better individuals than he was, with stronger hearts, they might excel in this line of work far beyond his capabilities.

"Of course they like me, what’s not to like? These little rascals come in handy," he said, shooing them away. He despised spirits; dealing with them made him feel terrible. They were the dead, the people he had failed to save, the untold part of the hero's narrative. He only addressed problems after they arose, never before. He couldn’t foresee the horrors before they struck; people had to die, villages had to burn, before he became aware. Innocent lives were lost so he could save more, and that was the part of being a hero that no one discussed, the death that precedes his efforts to prevent further loss. "I am not violent!" he shouted, waving her off. How dare she! He was… well… perhaps she had a point. He did have anger issues, and he enjoyed a good fight and brawl. Nothing brought him joy quite like beating someone up, except maybe being pinned down in the bedroom by a beautiful woman on top of him. "I see, huh? No, you don’t! You don’t understand what I’m talking about!" he laughed at her.

"The great sage hailed from another realm, distinct from ours. I know, it sounds absurd, but the more I journeyed alongside him, the more my faith in him grew. He possessed a strength that surpassed mine in countless ways, kindness, gentleness, wisdom, and he crafted so much for us. Life has not been the same in his absence. I believe that in time, people will doubt his existence, just as I sometimes do."

As he exhaled, he recalled that the chopsticks were a gift from a remarkable man. Even though he had them on him and had already repaired them without her knowledge, he simply desired new chopsticks from her, a present from a lovely lady was indeed a splendid gift. "I mentioned this before," he chuckled, waving his hand in the air, a few strands of her hair caught in his fingers as he swiftly tucked them away, free souvenirs, the hair of a lady, a win. "There’s no man like me out there." If she inquired in the right places, not in throne rooms, schools, or similar venues, but in bars, underground markets, or brothels, she would grasp his meaning. He was the sword saint, the world’s greatest hero, yet also the finest lover across the lands, a bane to married men as he whisked their wives away for an unforgettable night.

“Hm.” As he stepped into the inn, he surveyed the surroundings. Towering over everyone else, he was dressed differently; while others wore traditional attire, trousers, shirts, armor, he donned a robe. With short hair and a neat beard, his red locks cascaded down to the back of his legs as he dashed toward the chopsticks on display, his single eye widening in excitement as he beheld them all, struggling to choose.

“Buy them all for me! What you broke was priceless; it will take all of these to replace them.”

Kikyo stepped into the inn behind him, immediately greeted by warmth, lanternlight, and the rich scent of cooked rice and grilled meat lingering in the air. The room buzzed with exhausted celebration. Survivors gathered around crowded tables clutching cups of sake, their relief loud and overflowing after the horrors of the day. Then Reid entered fully. Conversations faltered almost instantly. A merchant near the counter stiffened mid-laugh. Two armored men seated near the hearth straightened instinctively. Somewhere deeper in the inn, a woman whispered his title beneath her breath with something dangerously close to reverence. Kikyo observed the shift quietly. People looked at him the way villagers once looked toward sacred shrines during disasters with awe sharpened by fear. Their savior had arrived. The man who slew dragons. The hero whose stories had already become larger than life itself.

The moment he spotted the chopsticks displayed behind the counter, his attention abandoned everything else in the room with startling speed. He moved toward them immediately. The priestess watched in silence as the legendary hero of humanity leaned over a collection of dining utensils with the excitement of a child discovering treasure. “Buy them all for me,” after he stated this several nearby patrons nearly choked. Kikyo closed her eyes briefly as a quiet sigh escaped her. When she opened them again, Reid was already hovering over the display, inspecting lacquered wood, polished bamboo, carved ivory, weighing them in his hands with alarming seriousness.

It was then that his earlier words returned to her thoughts. There’s no man like me out there. At first she had dismissed the comment as arrogance, another layer of noise wrapped around an already impossible man. However, now, standing in the inn surrounded by stolen glances and whispered admiration, she understood what he had truly meant. His reputation.The stories women told behind closed doors, the scandals hidden beneath heroic ballads or the wandering hero who never stayed long enough to belong anywhere. A man adored too easily and held onto by no one. Kikyo’s expression remained perfectly calm despite the realization. She neither acknowledged nor encouraged it. Though internally, she found the entire thing faintly exhausting. Of course the legendary hero would also be a shameless flirt. The soul collectors drifting around her shoulders floated curiously through the inn, pale blue lights weaving between lanterns overhead. One circled lazily near Reid again despite his earlier attempts to shoo them away. “They are persistent around you,” Kikyo observed softly as she stepped beside the display herself.

Her eyes lowered over the countless pairs laid before them as many were extravagant lacquered sets adorned with gold, delicate painted ones crafted for nobles, plain travel pairs worn smooth with use. Kikyo reached forward at last and selected a single pair from the display. “These should suffice.” The chopsticks that the ravenette had picked a pair that laid across the lacquered tray like twin slivers of fire held still, their red surface deep and luminous, as though the color had been poured rather than painted. Light slid over them in slow, liquid reflections, catching on the faintest ridges of carved detail that ran their length. Each stick was crowned with a golden phoenix, its wings unfurled in mid-flight, etched so finely that the feathers seemed almost to tremble if you stared too long. The bodies of the chopsticks tapered elegantly, blackening slightly toward their tips where the red deepened into something richer and more solemn, like embers fading into dusk. Along their length, faint swirling patterns echoed the phoenix motif, curves and spirals that suggested flame, wind, and ascent, all bound into the same quiet design.

The inn around them remained noisy despite the constant glances cast their way. Someone near the back began quietly recounting one of Reid’s battles to an eager table of listeners. A child peeked from behind a chair trying to stare at the Sword Saint unnoticed. Kikyo ignored all of it. Instead, her attention lingered briefly on Reid himself. “I will not buy the entire display simply because you ask dramatically.” Holding onto the pair of the chopsticks, then, with a subtle movement of her fingers, that energy began to seep into the chopsticks, threading through wood and lacquer as though they were no longer solid, but receptive memory.

A faint pale glow traced the phoenix carvings. The phoenix, once ornamental, began to feel alive in a different sense, not animated, but awakened. Its form subtly resonated with her power, as if the spirit of rebirth it symbolized was being acknowledged and given weight. The chopsticks did not change in shape, but their presence deepened, as though they now remembered every flame they would ever touch. Kikyo’s expression did not soften, but something in her attention sharpened, like a seal being placed upon a sacred object. The energy she wove into them was protective, an unseen barrier against corruption, a quiet amplification of intent, and a resonance that would respond to strength of will. When she was finished, the glow faded, leaving only the faintest lingering warmth, like embers tucked safely beneath ash and she turned then toward the one who would receive them. The ravenette stepped forward and extended the chopsticks toward him. “They will not break easily and they will respond to the spirit of the one who wields them.” she said quietly. “If you are dissatisfied with this, then I will pay all of them, but will not infuse any others and keep that pair for myself.”

imoeyn

I did another fanart~ kagome’s such a girls girl— I love her. Kikyo just needed some gal pals.

#visual;;kikyo

celtic-catgirl

“Stick with me kid…I’m gonna teach you SOOO many curse words…”

@shcrdcdlifc

#visual;;kagura

“What did you have to gain from .. such a thing ..”

The entire time she was with him, not once, not a single time did he remove his gaze from her and his expression didn’t shift, but something dark flickered behind his eyes as his claws flexed slightly at his sides. The water around them pulsed faintly with the motion, a ripple of warning as his tail moved lazily beneath him, keeping him effortlessly suspended in the tank’s depths. The silence for the moment now stretched between them, thick with tension, broken only by the occasional flicker of bubbles rising from Kikyo’s lips. Then, slowly, his head tilted just slightly, six golden eyes narrowing as he studied her anew, as if reassessing something he had missed before. His voice came low, distorted by the water but unmistakably intrigued.

“Yet humans .. don’t kill there own weak .. so why interfere .. in our ways?”

He exhaled through his gills, sending a slow stream of bubbles curling upward between them like smoke from an extinguished candle. The corners of his mouth, thin, pale slashes in the pallor of his face, did not quite curve into a smile, as he knew humans. Had seen enough of them. Had dealt with them. Had killed more than he could ever recall, they die so easily, such fragile, breakable, weak little things that they are. Amusing." He said, the word rippling through the water like a struck gong. His claws flexed again, not quite grazing her skin this time. "A human who does not scream. Who does not beg." His head tilted, hair drifting like ink spilled in reverse.

"You are either very brave... or very stupid."

He had observed humans for centuries, watched them scurry like insects beneath the weight of their own hubris, their fragile bodies breaking under the slightest pressure. Yet this one didn’t tremble. Didn’t plead. Her pulse thrummed against his claws where they hovered above her ribs, but her gaze held steady, dark as the ocean’s abyss. The scent of Kaigaku clung to her still, mingling with something else—salt, yes, but also the faintest trace of iron. Not fear. Resolve.

“Where did you take him?”

He asked, voice low, powerful, controlling almost. When he spoke, everyone paid attention, they listened, even if they didn’t wish to. “You should have killed him ..” A weak one, injured and pleading, needed to die. Kaigaku was many things, but his growth had stalled and his power had not increased, he was not making progress, and they had no time, for any of there own kind, who could not rise to his loftly expectations.

“You would be wise to kill him .. he is weak .. and he failed in his tasks …”

Behind them, Doma circled lazily, his grin sharp enough to carve stone. "Ohhh!" He cooed, fingers trailing through the water like a child stirring syrup. "She’s interesting, isn’t she? Like a little fish with teeth." His laughter bubbled upward in silver bursts. He ignored him.

“Can I have her, just a lil tiny bite off her arm?”

Kikyo did not answer him immediately as the water pressed in from all sides, heavy and sound-muting, turning every movement into something slower, more deliberate. Even the tension between them seemed to thicken in it, stretching the silence until it became something tangible. The faint trail of bubbles that escaped her lips drifted upward in uneven spirals, catching the dim light before vanishing at the surface far above. She watched the six golden eyes that fixed on her without blinking.