Kiana Khansmith
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if i look back, i am lost
JVL
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"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
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let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
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KIROKAZE
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@kisshotcn
ɪ ᴊᴜsᴛ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ, ɪ ᴊᴜsᴛ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ʟᴇᴀʀɴ ʜᴏᴡ, sᴏᴍᴇʜᴏᴡ 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑑 𝑚𝑦𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑓 - independent multimuse blog featuring canon characters from kny, csm, mp100 and alien stage. mutuals only. 25+ | manga and anime spoilers written by amber/star previously: xstarlights est. 2022 (remade) kny muses: senjurō, mitsuri, daki, ruka, shinjurō csm muses: yoru, nayuta, reze 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐭𝐲: low and sporadic check CARRD for more info
quick rules under
peeks at the dash. sorry the slumpy depression got me for a few weeks. im here and im inspired.
i make. too few posts a week i need TO FIX THIS.
satisfied with both his outburst and the response, akaza retreats, closing his lips over those wicked fangs in a never-benevolent smile. i'm in, and with less resistance than i'd thought. that had been quite a brave (perhaps stupid) show of heart, but nobody can stand between upper three and something he wants for too long.
❝ you don't have to trust me. you ought not to get into the habit of trusting demons, anyway. ❞ the third moon gets to his feet, turning his stained-glass gaze into the darkness of the estate. the sickly-sweet odor of DECAY meets his nose as he tips back his head and sniffs the stale air inside.
❝ i'm sure you do, ❞ the phthalo-painted oni replies, squinting his eyes against the stinging smell originating somewhere in front of him. ❝ it must feel like entering a CRYPT every time you go inside. ❞
a pause, then another flash of thick fangs in the little rengoku's direction.
❝ i would apologize, but i wouldn't mean it and you wouldn't believe it. ❞
the cicadas keep humming ; the nightjars keep calling from their treetops. one demon offering to help one human won't cause the world to stop spinning. this choice doesn't mean anything ; its nothing more than a farmer caring for a sick cow. the end result will still be the same. and besides, kyojuro deserves a nobler death than rotting inside his own family home.
❝ now, just show me where he is and you can get some REST. we'll switch places when the sun comes up. ❞
acceptance doesn’t come easy to him, not when it comes wrapped in the wretched taste of desperation. it sits heavy in his chest, a weight he can neither lift nor spit out, and even as the thought takes shape senjurō’s eyes follow akaza’s movements from the engawa as his weight shifts and his interest piques into the stillness of their home.
this confidence oozing from him serves little to ease senjurō’s preoccupation, given that he’s not only just let the wolf into their own den, but has granted him the liberty -with his fractured confidence- to decide on his brother’s fate. he will have to sit with his guilt and face stern reproaches when the time comes, but until then, he will have to trust in the love and hope that keeps his very same bones together amidst this stellar tragedy that he has made the right decision.
the kizuki’s statement fuels his silence, so the boy remains solemn for a minute, letting the other bask in the first victory of this truce. he’s now part of this cursed house. whatever he says - perhaps he’s right, and perhaps senjurō has to start becoming familiar with all these crude facts.
in the face of agreed defeat he sighs, readying himself to lead him to where his brother rests until he remembers:
❛ —— wait ❜ it comes out thinner than he’d meant, almost lost in the stillness that had begun to grow between their agreement and setting of the night. he raises a trembling hand towards the oni with a sudden sense of urgency, halting him just as he’s begun to haunt his way to where kyōjurō lays.
❛ there’s something else. my father can’t find out. ❜ the very ghost of his father’s image in his mind is enough to make his shoulders tense, muscles already carrying a memory in a body so young; and he almost recoils back toward the garden on mere instinct, as if bracing himself for an unseen blow.
❛ he’s a former hashira. he will know you’re here. and i ca — can’t measure up to his strength. ❜ the boy’s warning comes in earnest concern shaped by his own instinct more than rooted on reason. he forces his voice steady, though the strain remains there: subtle, almost imperceptible but clear enough for a creature like akaza to hear it fracture on the edge of each word.
they’d be spared no benevolence if this plan were to come to light, neither the demon, nor himself.
by GOOTAI
art republished with artist’s permission
@kettensaege kicks down your door; With a stooped posture and bags filled with groceries in his hand he kicks the door to their apartment open, stumbling almost over his own feet as Denji maneuvers the goods into the small kitchen. He looks exhausted and one would assume it is not simply because of grocery shopping. „Nayuta, I bought something!”, he exclaims, hoping to get the little gremlin's attention this way as he peeks past the doorframe and holds up a small but well-shaped pumpkin for her to see. „I saw it on the TV. In other places of the world they carve faces into these. Wanna try?”
From somewhere near the floor, a rustling sound answers him before her voice does.Nayuta turns her face from the glowing screen of the TV, eyes almost dry with the intensity she had been focused on the learning channel. She’s been laying on the pack of dogs that trail her everywhere, resting in between their comforting fur, open snack wrappers and crisp crumbs for the past hour or so.
On a regular day for a regular Nayuta, Denji coming back home is enough to pull her from whatever hobby she’s entertained herself with, but the moment she catches sight of orange in his hands her curiosity flares - setting her on her feet before she remembers to act like she isn’t excited.
“ That’s a pumpkin! ” she echoes back at him, very matter of factly. She pads across the narrow space, over scattered dog toys and tangled blankets on the floor to meet his exhaustion with devilish childish wonder in her eyes. “ Heck yeah, whose face are we carving ? Should we make it scream ? ”
MAN. THE ENTERTAINMENT DISTRICT IS SO PEAK. i get heart palpitations rewatching it for the nth time. im on my knees
hello im here, gonna work on discord and tumblr replies. feel free to poke me or my muses!
WHAT A SNOT. akaza is immediately incensed, the fine hairs on the nape of his neck rising as a vein pulses to life in his temple. he moves like lightning to close the gap the boy had instinctively put between them, a sinister GROWL rumbling up from his blue-lined throat, a wolf closing in on a struggling rabbit that still thinks it can get away.
❝ you don't get a CHOICE, ❞ the oni snarls, enormous fangs on display just inches from the child's face. he needs to remember who is actually in charge, because it sure as fuck isn't him. akaza advances closer still, pink brows deeply furrowed, etched golden irises practically glowing with uncontrolled fury.
❝ if i leave him be, HE WILL DIE. you can't hope to take care of him all by yourself, and your silly PERFORMATIVE MORALS won't keep him alive any more than your nonexistent sword skills would have SAVED him. ❞ his tone is livid, unyielding, a complete turnaround from his previous lackadaisical air. extended claws click then screech against the wood of the engawa, a clear threat of the VIOLENCE that will come if the boy continues to petulantly dig his heels in. how could he possibly turn away such a generous offer when he needs it so badly?
and just on the other side of the shoji, kyojuro is barely hanging on, a shell of the magnificent warrior he'd encountered after enmu's colossal fuck-up. it almost makes akaza's beatless heart come alive with an almost desperate rage.
❝ i want to FIX what i did because he's earned the right to LIVE. if he dies because you were too stubborn to accept help, IT'S ON YOU, you little brat. ❞
the flash of bared fangs steals the air from his lungs, and with it, the warmth of his blood. in an instant he feels all color leave his face, and it is as though ice has taken the place of his marrow. clear as day and irrefutable: the threat slides past his flesh and nests in the constricted cage that his ribs have become.
akaza’s presence is insistent, a power that demands he be listened to and senjurō bends to his will — much to his own dismay. not that his options are many, he’s lost the fight as a courtesy of his fragile humanity from the start.
with a frantic heart lodged on his throat he swallows, and listens with precise attention, the reflective gold of his irises meeting akaza’s own burning light.
the silence that follows is not the empty image it paints, rather, it’s full of the things he’s already lost and will fail to salvage if he doesn’t take this chance. is as if akaza knows by the desperation etched into his plea, as if he’s shared every sleepless night he’s spent next to kyōjurō’s sweat-soaked futon, as if he’s seen every bandage he has carefully peeled back only to reveal the same angry tissue — as if he’s seen the hope leave the young rengoku’s eyes when every prayer he’s made has gone unanswered.
in the deadly quiet of this scene, the facts of his reality line up like the bared teeth before him: kyōjurō’s wound still leaks, shinjurō has coiled even further into his own grief and disapproval, leaving him alone once more; and through all of this his brother’s strength continues to fade. whatever stubborn pride he holds onto will not defeat the threat of time and sour, infected flesh.
the truth is uglier because of its simplicity, akaza can do what senjurō cannot: he can help and endure in a way that he can’t.
akaza can help. he repeats to himself, entertaining the idea, savoring how irresistible it is despite of the obscenity of the thought.
he let’s the sharpness of akaza’s words twist and prod his guts until they dissolve his false righteousness, working him until reason, finally, gives way. he’s got an obligation to the only person who’s ever loved and cared for him, his whole world, the lone beacon on his port. he’d give up his reason a thousand times if that meant his brother would live another dawn.
when he speaks again it’s hardly a triumph — still a prey to his own fear, he’s decided to bargain with the devil.
❛ i don’t trust you. i will never trust you. but… ❜ he wishes he had never showed up here, that his option had never been presented to him.
❛ help him. ❜ it’s almost a plea, the way he says it, corroded with an emotion so raw it bares his heart to the executioner before him; there’s no denying the desperation that forces its way through his words.
❛ do it. if there’s even a chance — help him. every time i step into his chambers i fear what i might find. ❜
" all i've ever got from you is judgment and disapproval ! "
( aikojuro to shinjuro haha ...... )
PROMPTS FROM THE FOUR SEASONS || accepting
❛ you — you and that fool you defend so much think the world will praise every single thing you do ❜.
he spits the words with venom, and like a serpent in the face of danger a threat, he recoils in a corner of this haunted house just the same: away from the streets full of life as they murmur past his threshold, from the duties he’s left behind, away from aikojurō’s accusing eyes — ruka’s eyes.
❛ it doesn’t hand out comfort, girl. it’ll tear you to pieces before you even realize it’s started… i’m just trying to save you the pain of being bitten by sharper teeth.❜
the words come fast, too fast - he doesn’t look at her, he can’t, won’t bring himself any closer to facing the reality he’s always running from.
❛ leave.
————i don’t want to see you right now. ❜
PROMPTS FROM THE FOUR SEASONS * assorted dialogue from the 1981 film, adjust as necessary
is this the fun part? are we having fun yet?
i can hardly remember the first time i got laid.
you've made soem friends, right?
for somebody who likes to get to the heart of things, you have this incredible knack for denying your own feelings.
god, i love that woman. she just kills me.
i feel like i wish you would just sort of shut up.
has it been really tough?
does he observe good bathroom etiquette?
i want a woman i can be excited by.
maybe we shouldn't go anywhere.
do you think they're going to do it again?
i get passionate sometimes.
you're kidding me, right?
are you mad at me?
everyone in connecticut knows that you're italian!
you picked a hell of a time to get irrational.
i'm not irrational. rational people get angry. irrational people pretend they don't.
i just told you my deepest fear. why can't you listen to what i'm saying instead of how i'm saying it?
do you have any idea what it is to be afraid of death?
don't laugh at him.
you think because i'm quirky, i don't hurt?
he's been having affairs all along. dozens.
you're kidding.
how could you not know?
he told you all of this?
[name] is driving me crazy.
what's the matter with him?
he's very needy, that's all.
that's a problem i have. when i get angry, i overanalyze.
i don't understand. i've hurt you in some way?
you didn't tell either of us.
all i've ever gotten from you is judgment and disapproval.
when you wanna talk intelligently, i'll talk. otherwise, forget it.
i don't find them all that adorable.
they're making this trip very difficult.
you're making me angry.
i'm enraged.
how was i supposed to know?
i think you should apologize to her.
i got excited, i spoke my mind, i said i was sorry, and it's over and done with.
how can you say that?
i just say what i think.
why do you always say what you think?
i think he's hurt. i think maybe we owe him an apology.
when people have been friends as long as we have, it's not such a terrible thing to kid somebody out of a depression.
don't get upset about what you don't understand.
i've just about had it with you people.
i'll tell you what's the matter. i'm mad!
let me tell you something. as far as i'm concerned, you are all demanding and unforgiving. every single one of you.
how come everyone thinks i'm paranoid?
you think whenever your brain has a thought, it has to just drop down onto your tongue like a gumball.
let's calm down. it's not all that bad. it's just a little embarrassing.
i don't see what the big problem is. we're all adults.
you're the one i wanted to make cry.
i'm ten years older than you, right?
i go to sleep at night on an ache so bad that it simply will not go away. i wake up in the middle of the night sweating, hearing my own bones decay.
you talk like a bad textbook.
i'm saying this in the most loving way: "shit or get off the pot!"
nobody can do what you do. my god, you're perfect.
how dare you call me that?
it's not hot enough.
why do you always have to do that?
why couldn't you have just kept quiet?
i know you're italian!
please don't take this the wrong way, you know how fond i am of you, but i think your mercedes sucks!
i am sick and tired of all this macho bullshit.
these people are vicious.
please don't tell me to calm down.
will you guys shut up?
i am the greatest!
why can't they fight it out?
did anyone sleep last night?
i don't wanna look at my friends naked.
"boy you want some......
hot dogs......................."
❝ RELAX, ❞ upper three cajoles, offering the frightened little cub a smile that was anything but reassuring. he pointedly ignores the mention of TANJIRO'S name, biting off the reply that grows in his throat like he wants to bite off that irritating brat's head : there's no need to be so irritated, not tonight, not now that he's finally found where kyojuro has been convalescing. instead, he curls and stretches blue-tipped toes, flexing one ankle and then the other in an almost singsong way —— totally carefree, unconcerned by the putrid scent of wisteria incense designed to keep him away.
❝ i'm not here to kill him. ❞
akaza is well aware that this must come as a shock to the young rengoku's system ; he gives him the time to process, cerise lashes fluttering over shattered-glass eyes, the tips of wicked fangs just barely peeking out beneath the smile that stretches his lips. in the garden, crickets churp and cicadas hum, the nighttime symphony the third moon is well acquainted with : he allows himself to enjoy it for a few long moments before continuing, his tone light and unbothered.
❝ if i wanted any of you dead, you would be stinking piles of meat by now. ❞ he drums one finger after the other methodically against the worn wood of the engawa, keenly watching the cub for any reaction he might have to what must certainly be a curious string of words to come from a demon. strange though it may seem, kyojuro doesn't deserve to die, not after so tenaciously clinging to life ; kyojuro had earned the right to live the second he'd taken such a catastrophic blow and managed to survive. akaza is impressed, and itching to tell him so. even at this distance, he can hear the hashira's pulse : weak, thready, barely a heartbeat at all —— if he is to do more than just survive — if he is to THRIVE — he needs more consistent care, care that no one human can provide alone.
and that's where akaza comes in.
❝ i have a PROPOSITION for you. ❞ the third moon shifts, crossing one leg over the other and leaning in close, intentionally invading the younger rengoku's personal space like he'd invaded his brother's before doing his best to execute him. etched gold irises almost seem to glow with intensity, practically illuminating the fangs of a killer as he gleefully lays out his simple but completely inconceivable prospect.
❝ what if i HELPED him get better? ❞
he’s not here to kill him, well color him surprised by the irony of his statement. even wolves know better — preying on kyōjurō would be like sinking his teeth into a bone already picked clean. there’s no fight left, no savor and just the hollow husk left behind by defeat. only scavengers stoop that low, and it’s obvious (mind you, almost insultingly so) that akaza does not fall into that rank. note the fact that his father, former flame hashira, has not picked up on his presence ( quite the underwhelming reassurance ); case in point: Shinjurō is nowhere to be seen.
it seems that he’s stuck in this situation, pinned into place by the kizuki’s piercing gaze. he should make no mistake of fooling himself: it’s clear who runs this situation at the time; even in his disbelief, he must listen to the torrent of discrepancies that spill from akaza’s fanged mouth, perhaps then he will finally make known the real reason why he has shown up at their door.
but then it hits him; picks his interest first, pulling the boy’s attention from the depths of his fear with shackles forged from the absurdity of what he hears. what in this drying, rotting and burning land could akaza even offer him? senjurō can’t say he can make any sense of the fever dream that unravels before him. his still-childish features tighten in utter disbelief, brows furrowing and lips pulling taut, as he questions if akaza truly believes the incongruity of what he says.
a PROPOSITION
he yelps - involuntarily with the sudden movement. in this closeness, akaza looks even more unnatural, dangerous. the burning, scorching gold of his irises forces him to lean back in a mere act of survival, urging him to create distance where none can be found.
❛ ———— you? ❜
the audacity of his offer is almost as offensive as his threats. and senjurō is not one to take offense to most things, akaza must believe him to be the failure his father makes them be. he comes into the tiger’s den hoping to find an abandoned, malnourished brood, but if there’s something that he can attest to his own name is the resolution and stubbornness in protecting everything kyōjurō believes in —- everything kyōjurō is, and that encloses not budging to the very thing his brother has sworn to destroy.
❛ you stink of blood. it reeks. you - you’re the reason kyō- my brother, almost died. ❜ akaza’s killer instict shines before him even when he’s not quite looking to hunt and prey on the young rengoku boy, his undeniable nature is a reminder of what he’s dealing with here, the unfortunate thing. ❛ i will not let you go near him. you’ve done enough ❜ he doesn’t want to get emotional - truly, it would be a step closer to his metaphorical defeat ( not that he ever stood a chance against the kizuki — not that he’s ever come victorious from the disputes in this cursed home ) but the image of carnage is still fresh in his mind’s eye: he tends to akaza’s testament every single day.
❛ your- your hands ❜ his fear presses him still, but instinct stirs his desire to keep the distance, to survive, to ensure his dear aniue makes it to the next dawn, ❛ are not meant to help. you cannot care for others. leave him be. ❜
i messed up while scheduling my pilates session for today..... i guess ill STAY HOME AND CREATE,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,cant be helped
He didn’t mean to disturb her, he knew she needed rest, she needed to recover her strength, but at the same time, his father has become more distant, more withdrawn, barely here … more out there than ever before as well, taking more missions, as if he was scared to be around there home, around what was slowly happening to there family, to his mother.
As he stared wide-eyed at his mother, his small fingers tightening around the fabric of her sleeve. Her words hung in the cool night air, shimmering like the fireflies drifting lazily above the garden pond. He could feel the weight of them settle deep in his chest—a promise, a challenge.
His world, usually so loud with the clatter of wooden swords and his own boundless energy, seemed to hush around her voice. The rustle of leaves became whispers; the distant hoot of an owl, a solemn chant. He didn’t just hear her—he felt the truth of it, thrumming beneath his feet like the heartbeat of the earth itself.
He leaned forward, his breath a soft puff in the moonlight. "The trees... pray?" He whispered, the word itself tasting sacred on his tongue.
Without another word, he stepped into her space, small arms wrapping fiercely around her waist. He buried his face against her kimono, the fabric muffling his voice but not the intensity vibrating through his small frame.
"I want to hear them now, Mother." He mumbled, the words thick with a child’s impatience mixed with profound longing. His grip was surprisingly strong, anchoring her to the spot. It wasn’t just a hug; it was a claim, a plea for the secrets she held, for the world she promised. He needed, to learn as much from her as possible, before he missed the chance.
“I know what is out there … why father leaves for days on end … I know I can face them and be of use to him, I’m not afraid.”
❛ That they do, but only those who are chosen can truly listen to what they say. It’s a big responsibility — to answer those prayers. And come to their aid. ❜
Ruka is not blind to the small changes in Shinjurō’s routine. It’s imperceptible to most, easily hidden under the pretense of reverent duty and the weight of being the Flame Pillar. He shoulders enough to burden himself with the hidden worries of a dying woman. She knows that his days of duty have grown longer, perhaps stretched with the sour intention of avoiding the future that edges closer into the door of their home. Futile in the end, there’s no changing the imminent return to the earth that had seen her birth.
If —- when the time comes, she knows he will center himself and carry on the future they have carefully planned and crafted together. Shinjurō is a man with a strong conviction and a clear path, there is no reason for his discipline to falter once the grief of her departure has become another member of this house. This is how things should go.
Kyojurō’s embrace is a grounding gesture, she revels in it: in his innocence, his enthusiasm, the warmth and weight of his body reminds her that despite the fate she has been bound to, life still offers her these moments of unshakable light.
( This is her legacy, the one thing she will leave once she returns to the earth. He is her legacy, fire that will keep burning bright once hers has gone out. )
Contentment and gratitude take the form of a gentle hum, a giggle, and her arm comes to rest on the back of his frame as he buries that little face in the softness of her kimono. His sweet voice is no less clear through the cotton of the fabric.
❛ You will hear them soon. And then — ❜ there’s a hitch in her speech, a pause when she’s simply taking a breath. A stolen heartbeat from the time she has right here, right now. But being the beacon that she is, she regains composure almost instantly, masking the fleeting distraction with a gentle stroke on her son’s back.
❛ — then it will be your turn to teach Senjurō how to listen too. ❜
What she hears next soothes the remnants of anxiety that she has for the future. It stands true that Kyojurō’s path has been defined from the moment he came into the world, but seeing his valiant resolve so early in life calms the water of uncertainty. Her chest heaves with pride, but she doesn’t rush to fill the silence that follows with lessons or warnings. There will be time for that later, and he would learn in his own fiery way.
❛ Right now all you have to do is train, and be kind to everyone around you. The time will come when you will walk next to him and see the world. You will learn so much. My brave boy. ❜ a whisper falls into his golden locks, she tightens their embrace, breathing in the warmth of him. For all the things he will come to be, right here, in her arms, he was simply her son — and that was enough.
r.uka is asymptomatic, which explains (for my things, anyways) why she's remained so serene and wise in the face of her reality: yeah, she's fading away but her conscience is intact. lucid all the way through since there's no pain, only a body that falters as things progress, but thats pretty much it 👍🏻.
MORNING HOMIES 🌞🌻 im gonna finish this guide i have @ work rn and THEN i shall reward myself with writing thingies........excitement
just a few pages left to complete then its off to revision. 🫡🫡🫡🫡
@fallesto approaches;
“At night, the silence here feels alive.”
His hand reached for her, a small but insistent tug, prompting her to lean in closer as though the matter were of utmost importance. Ruka wondered what could be so crucial that it demanded her immediate attention, judging by the way Kyojurō urged her to bend to his height.
“At night, the silence here feels alive.” Ruka blinked, surprised into stillness. Such rich words for a boy so young. Light of her life, fire in the darkness, Kyojurō was a force to be reckoned with even at such an early age, never allowing boredom to seep into their walls for too long.
Where had he learned to speak like this? Had he remembered his father’s half-invented nighttime stories? Had he, somehow, managed to steal a glance from her poetry recollections and retained the passages that had piqued his attention? Or had the words been born in him, presenting her boy with the path he was meant to follow, even at such a young age?
“ Alive? You sound like an old monk, Kyojurō.” she smiled knowingly, amused at his seriousness, taking a deep breath that made her chest swell with both pride and melancholy. Still a boy, yet already seeing truths that most grown men overlooked. Forward, always looking forward, following in his father’s steps.
Ruka reincorporated herself, raising her hand to cup her darling’s cheek. She pondered for a moment on how to further ignite the fire that he carried so naturally.
“ One day you will also be able to hear the prayers that the trees breathe. Just like your father does when he’s out there. You will learn to stay still — very still. ” There was a playful, gentle squeeze from her part, demanding his attention, holding him in place.
“ Every silence carries a thousand voices; listen, and they will come to you. ”
