Welcome to my account! I will use this account more for my own use, and with that, I have no intention of creating content of any kind. Thanks for reading.
HIII so i had like a cool idea right what if we get like individual hashira reactions to an ex hashira reader than turned into a demon and feels bad for it and find that the reader has been following them around cause they miss them but has to keep their distance and will avoid interaction at all costs until they’re cornered
so how we feeling guys 👅
Note: Feeling good! :] This can be read as platonic or romantic.
Contains: Hurt/Comfort (Giyuu, Mitsuri, Shinobu, Tengen, Kanae), Hurt No Comfort (Sanemi, Obanai, Kyojuro, Muichiro, Gyomei), death
Those Unwanted Wisps
Giyuu Tomioka
Your disappearance has haunted him for months by now. The mission you parted for was not meant to be difficult; it was supposed to be just another common check in to murders potentially related to demons. However, later reports hinted towards Upper Moon activity in that area. Although your body is yet to be recovered, Giyuu has found himself preparing for the worst. Sorrow sweeps over him in calm, cold waves, and he wishes the memories would stop crashing through him.
You saw past his aloof personality, being the only Hashira to bother with actively seeking him out. Neither his equanimity nor silence deterred you. The occasional sarcastic remarks never annoyed you, if anything you were entertained by them, and thus to his delight, you grew quite close. Over time, Giyuu found himself admiring you, the way you knew your limitations and shamelessly admitted to your faults. You were bright and bold and selfless, so much so that the depths of his soul may as well have been pierced by the rays of your light.
His expression twitches in a sudden burst of pain, the casual grip on his sword tightens. It would not have been like you to carelessly throw your life away. If you were alive you would have returned by now and apologized for causing worry, only to rush straight onto the next mission. Lately, like a tidal wave, Giyuu has been tearing into his enemies with quiet, careless rage. All because he knows you are gone.
To make matters worse, a strange presence has been following him as of late. The phantom stalks him through the trees, and part of him wonders if it may be your spirit chasing after him. Those thoughts are swiftly shaken off, Giyuu cannot afford to ignore the possibility of a demon just because he got sentimental. He grasps the pendant hidden beneath his uniform, a gift for him, you said, the aquamarine reminded you of his eyes. Allowing them to flutter shut for merely a second, Giyuu hopes holding onto the present will keep him stable as he finally snaps to face his stalker.
His eyes shoot wide open anyway, mouth parted as he finally gazes upon the creature's form. Your face, your complexion, your clothes, even your sword- the figure holds all of them. However, everything that made you yourself has been warped and his stare sharpens. This is without a doubt a demons doing. Giyuu readies his sword, more than eager to tear this crude illusion apart, but the being's reaction forces him to pause.
Although accompanied by a swift movement, your blade blocks his passively. Please, you plead of him to speak with you first. Torn between rage to cut down the creature for impersonating you and rushing to hold you, Giyuu's face betrays him as it twists in a surge of grief. It reverts back to its usual stone cold form as he demands an explanation. In spite of his disbelief, Giyuu can tell the demon is genuine when claiming to be you; the rumors of an Upper Moon having been in the area were true, and you were turned against your will.
His gaze drifts downwards to the damp grass, hand flinching against the hilt of his katana. Responsibility clashes against every memory he has tried to drown. Playing tsume shogi and talking late into the night, sharing rare smiles and eating fish together- everything Giyuu has tried to stifle crashes over him once more. His chest constricts as if his lungs were filled with water instead of air, but he knows now is not the time for distractions. He breathes in and forces himself to relax his shoulders. Face as emotionless as ever, Giyuu asks if you have ever devoured a human.
You deny it, and he knows it is the truth. Although still hurt and furious towards whichever monster made you this way, Giyuu approaches you as a friend. Wordlessly, he embraces you like the tides embrace the moon. Hands firmly pressed against your back as you return the gesture, he swears to make this right. Even if he needs to violated the Demon Slayer Corps' code of conduct, he will keep you safe.
Selfish as it may be, Giyuu cannot afford to lose another loved one. Your absence already left an abyss in his heart, and as wrong as it is, a sense of relief washed over him even as he saw your demonic form. Though a twisted visage, a warped reflection on the surface of water, it was still you, it is still you. His hold tightens, eyes half-lidded, actions speaking the words he could never say.
Giyuu was not there to aid you when you needed him most. Guilt claws in his chest at the thought, and it likely forever will keep doing so. He has never been good enough to save those who have always had his back. However, you are still alive, in his arms, speaking as the person you always have been. Although it is a horrifying and terrible turnout of events, Giyuu holds on tighter and decides this is his second chance. He could not save you then but he will protect you now even if it puts him at risk, and even if it means protecting your humanity instead.
Mitsuri Kanjori
She has tried her best to remain positive. Each day Mitsuri waits by the porch of your mansion, a box of handmade sweets in her lap. Daydreaming of all the topics she will get to catch up with you on, the Love Hashira kicks her feet back and forth as the hours pass by. Sometimes she falls asleep leaning against a pillar, sometimes she has to leave with a wistful sigh. No matter what it is that forces Mitsuri to leave, she has been eating her meals all alone.
There is no way she could accept someone as powerful, wonderful and beautiful could be out of her life just like that. In spite of Iguro's careful attempts at reasoning with her, Mitsuri likes to think you simply found someone to love wherever you disappeared. That person must be very important and in dire need of help! Ah, how truly selfless and radiant you are! Hopefully you will be back soon to visit.
Deep down, she knows this is all only wishful thinking. Mitsuri is not childish enough to believe everything went so perfectly for you, but she is not willing to accept your departure just yet either. Many of her colleagues have passed, and their deaths have left her trembling in anger and sadness. However, as someone so many depend on, she cannot afford to be distracted. Even if this is the first time someone so close to her has met the kind of horrible end many in this line of work do, she must keep her head on straight.
Besides, your body has not even been recovered yet! You could totally be alive! Mitsuri will ignore the ghostly presence following her around, it has got to be just her mind playing tricks on her. Ghosts very likely do exist, but that is not your spirit behind her, nope! See, she will prove it right here and now!
Mitsuri spins around with her green eyes barely peeled open, only to let out a loud gasp. Before her stands the very person she has missed so much. Sure, you look like you were hiding and now are hesitating, but there is no need to be shy! Mitsuri cries out your name and rushes towards you with her arms spread out. You both fall to the ground as she giggles in delight upon seeing you alive and well, but you spare no reaction to what should have been the air getting forced out of your lungs.
The silence shocks her and she apologizes for tackling you as her giggles die down. Soon Mitsuri pulls herself up by her arms to hover above you, cheerful tone replaced by worry. You avert your gaze as she scans you over for injuries, only for her breath to catch in her throat. The cute parts of your pretty face have become tainted by demonic features! You are still rather attractive though... but that is beside the point!
Panicking, Mitsuri rubs her eyes frantically and hopes it will make those demonic bits go away. When this does not work, she pleads you to tell her what happened. This is still you, it has to be! You have not eaten or killed any humans, the you Mitsuri knows would never do that. She believes you with her whole heart when you say you have not, and embraces you the same way she always has, like all the love in the world is hers to give.
Sweet like honey and warm like spring, her heart envelops yours. It is as if everything will be alright, just because Mitsuri loves you. Slowly, your shoulders go slack as your hands settle over her back as well. Mitsuri promises she sees you the same way she always has, and will invite you out to eat even though you need no food anymore. Maybe you will finally join her in taking care of her bees now that your skin is more durable and heals easier!
That earns a short burst of laughter from you and she giggles as well. Through some sort of miracle, you retained your whole consciousness in spite of your transformation. Mitsuri refuses to let an opportunity like this slip past her. Her friend is back and the Demon Slayer Corps has a cooperative reference for demon studying. The studying part is only if you agree, of course!
Mitsuri just needs an excuse to get everyone on board with keeping you around still. They all have good reasons for hating demons and she does not want anyone to get hurt. However, she cares about you far too much to allow you to simply be executed Besides, you have not even harmed a single human! Those months apart were nothing but pangs of hurt slashing through her heartstrings. Now that she finally has you back, she is never letting you go.
Obanai Iguro
The days muddle into a blur as he wraps himself up in work. Obanai curses himself for not having taken those rumors seriously. One Hashira was not enough, that is the only reason why you could have been gone for so long. He does not allow himself to grow close to people often, not that many are worth his time to begin with. However, through your persistence in befriending him, he grew to see your strengths.
Embarrassingly soon into knowing you, Obanai had to admit it. You are an ideal demon slayer. The rules and etiquette of the organization are engraved into your very bones. Not a shred of mercy lurks in your body, no sympathy at all wasted on those undeserving of it. Even so, you remain humble and lively, so assured in your cause and comrades that you speak eagerly of what you will do when the time comes that demons are no more.
Although he regarded your optimism as foolish at first, Obanai grew to respect it over time. In fact, it is how every slayer should function. The finish line is in sight, the Demon King will fall. Therefore, all energy should be expended towards training and working for that destination, that future. These weaklings the Corps has become infested with are all stagnant and cowardly, but now he finds himself wishing you would have shown more care for your own limits.
If he could, he would find you and coil around you, keeping you beside him at all times. The number of people he cares for has been at an all time low for years now. The more Obanai thinks of it, the more grief and hatred slither within him like his veins. Even if only for a while, the way your sights were locked onto the future made him wonder if even someone as filthy as him could move forward. In spite of your own struggles, which you never attempted to mask, all you ever said was that the past is dead and gone, only today is worth considering... but today, you are gone.
The bandages over his mouth shift with his subtle grimace, eyes narrowed. There is no way he can move on from your death. Obanai has never had much to himself, has not had the chance to lose something so valuable. Now he knows how to hold on, but it is far too late. So, to turn his shortcomings into something of value, he snarls and decides to finally deal with the creature he knows has been following him since your disappearance, close enough at last to prevent it from slipping away.
He whips himself around, only to freeze. You stand before him, face devoid of life. At first Obanai cannot believe what he sees, then forcefully steadies himself. Demanding an explanation with a threat, it surprises him when you speak calmly. Your fate was even worse than he thought; you lost and became a demon.
Handing over your weapon to him, you offer a faint smile, telling him to give it to a slayer he deems worthy of it. Obanai grasps it in his hands, then stares at you with wide eyes as you ask him to end you. That is what he should do, what would be natural to do in spite of your intact consciousness and memory. The past flashes through his eyes and he falters. Sharing poems, watching shows of artistry together, sparring, and walking beneath the silence of the stars- no, how is he meant to let it all slip away from him?
His hands tremble over his sword. He should not hesitate, he should not waver. This is his duty as a demon slayer. Church bells seem to toll in the distance as you wait with half-lidded eyes, reflections of tired grief and wasted dreams. Tears prick at the corners of his own, and Obanai knows if he allows himself to dwell on this, he will never go through with it.
The cut is sharp, fast, and clean, like the bite of a gaboon viper. He stops right before you, stumbling in the position his strike landed on. A bittersweet and grateful smile grazes over your lips as you mutter a thank you. Your head falls off from your shoulders before your body collapses. Obanai stands still as the skin flakes, cracks, and disintegrates, but you are not a shedding snake. No new skin will peek out from beneath after the old one is gone.
Soon, whatever remained of your corpse is gone. Obanai's stoic expression falters, eyes squinted with unshed tears, face scrunched in despair. Everything about demonkind is utterly unforgivable, but even after becoming one you remained true to yourself, offering up your life rather than clinging to that mangled form of existence. No matter what you have told him about the act of moving on before, he will never forget you. The future you had hoped for may have been robbed from your deserving hands but he will ensure your dream will come true nonetheless- even if you will not be there to see it.
Sanemi Shinazugawa
He is not the type to sit still when something is bothering him. He is the wind that picks up and rises to a hurricane, which shows in the way he searches for you. All of his patrols are directed near the area you were meant to visit, but nothing turns up. Wrenching off the head of demon after demon, Sanemi still comes up empty handed. Frustration rages inside him, and that storm is what he tries to focus on rather than the fear floating in like dark clouds before rain.
Someone with your level of power would not have fallen to some measly demon. Sanemi refuses to accept that as even a possibility, anyone who says it is so can run off and die for all he cares. You are still alive, he just needs to find you. Only after seeing your corpse would he even consider the thought. He mulls over what you will do together once he finds you instead.
One of his beetles gave birth recently. Sanemi knows you would enjoy seeing the little ones grow and change over time. Once you recover from whatever has kept you from him for this long, he wants to spar again. Nothing thrills him more than testing which one of you will come out on top, strengths matched. Maybe he will even take some time to cook for you, depending on how bad your condition is.
All he needs to do is find you, but he keeps getting distracted by the burning feeling that someone is watching him. For the entire duration of his search operation he has been catching glimpses of a shadowy figure and hearing the creaking of branches. Each time he has tried to confront the creature, it has slipped away from him. Since the noises only follow him at nighttime, the thing is undoubtedly a demon, a particularly fast one. For whatever reason all it has done so far is following him, but tonight Sanemi would dig out the truth from the demon itself.
He set up a trap and although the demon narrowly avoids it, Sanemi finally gets a look at his stalker. His eyes fly wide as they settle among a figure that looks eerily like you. Sword raised, he scowls and strikes. The figure parries on instinct, form an exact replica of your breathing technique. Jumping back, Sanemi slices his arm and grins, deceivingly offering to give the creature some of his rare, valuable blood in exchange for answers.
The demon licks its lips on reflex, then shuts its eyes and shakes its head. When it speaks, its voice is a carbon copy of yours. Sanemi freezes as the creature, the one he has been looking for, explains what happened. An Upper Moon turned you into a demon, but you have continued your duties in spite of your ongoing metamorphosis. However, your hunger has been growing stronger with each passing day. Although you want to keep going, you are not sure how long your self-restraint can last.
This is a transformation neither one of you wants to see through. Sanemi grits his teeth, eyes squinted in pure frustration. He wants to cry and scream, he blames himself for letting you go alone. There is already so much loss he has endured. He knows he must do this, but dammit he does not want to! Steeling his resolve as he blinks the fog out from his eyes, for the first time in his career, Sanemi presses the blade gently against a demon's throat.
One swift, clean slice, and he hopes he did not cause you any pain. His hands tremble and he drops his sword, rushing to hold your crumbling body. Sanemi's breath shakes as he buries his head into your shoulder. A quiet mumble leaves your lips. You would have liked to stay with him, just a little longer.
Tears roll down his face in fat streaks as he grits his teeth. When the final remnants of your body disintegrate, Sanemi slams his fists into the ground. Uncaring of the rocks and branches that tear into his skin, he lets his red, marechi blood pour out. Even so, the pain is not enough to distract him as rage tears him to shreds from the inside out. Fist grasping at his uniform, chest burning with wrath, he swears to eradicate every single demon in this world, all in your name.
Gyomei Himejima
Each morning and every night, he prays for your safety. He fulfills his duties and sticks to his routines as devotedly as always. However, his days feel undoubtedly emptier. Without you to contrast his easily shaken soul, Gyomei has found himself weeping even more than usual. Calm and comforting, your presence was steady as the earth beneath his feet.
He longs for the soulful talks you shared, the distinct echo of your voice and every intonation of your words. Even the quiet moments, relaxing in a field of damp grass and flowers filled him with peace. His flute lays dormant within his robes, waiting for someone eager to hear it be played. Of course with Gyomei being the strongest Hashira, many would be honored to watch him do anything. However, he cares not for empty praise. What he misses are the deep, detailed insights to the melodies he would play.
Gyomei trusts you to be honest with him. That was why when you said the mission would not be a problem, he let you go alone. It was meant to be nothing but a routine check-up on rumors. Those do not often lead to battle at all, and if they do, it is nothing a Hashira could not take care of. However, your absence can only mean one thing; the situation's severity was vastly underestimated.
Only an Upper Moon could have kept you for so long, could have killed you. Still, Gyomei has committed himself to finding you. As unwavering as steel, he searches for your kind voice and familiar heartbeat. Each disaster has you have endured has only proven your true nature as determined and brave. Although being in the Demon Slayer Corps means there is no guarantee of tomorrow, he hopes to meet you once more in one of his future days.
However, one peculiar thing has been distracting Gyomei from his tasks as of late. A presence stalks him through the trees, fast enough to flee before he can face them. It owns the footsteps and aura of a demon, yet its heart beats with purity. It is a demon indeed, but one that has never taken the life of a human being. Such a strange thing warrants an explanation, which he shall finally get tonight.
As he faces the demon, however, he pauses, unconsciously lowering his weapons. There is no mistake when your voice gently breaks through the silence, you are this demon. His pale eyes are quick to start shedding tears; this is why you have been gone. Gyomei understands when you reveal why you did not come to face him immediately. Allowing oneself to die is against the very nature of any living being.
These past few months, you have been tying up loose ends and ensuring his safety. Now that you are done, there is no reason to stay in this world as such a hideous monster. Although you have held in your hunger for now, that could change at any moment. Gyomei loathes that you are right. His heart breaks as you lower yourself to the ground, to your knees, the back of your neck open to him.
If there ever was anyone you would have liked to be beheaded by, it would have been him. You know he would give you a graceful death. Salty tears slide down his face, brows furrowing in pain. Gyomei commends your resolve; you retained your humanity, even until the bitter end. Mumbling a quiet prayer, he does his best to keep his voice from wavering, blessing your soul. Although your body may have failed you and yielded to the demon blood forced upon you, he assures you will die as a human in spirit, your dignity intact.
Your heartbeat thrums in your neck, veins and nerves tensing in anticipation. Raising his axe like an executioner, Gyomei knows he cannot listen to this for much longer. Your head severs from your body in such a quick flash, you feel nothing at all. It all fades to black as he kneels before your fading corpse. He remains seated in the silence for a long while.
The blood burning away from his large hands stings as it goes. Hurting living beings is hell. Ending the life of someone so close to him... infernal flames may as well be reaching for him from below. Even so, Gyomei will not let those get to him. Your sacrifices will never be forgotten, not as long as he lives, and in your next life, you will be reunited.
Muichiro Tokito
Something is missing, he can tell. Pangs of emptiness run through him but he does not know why. At times Muichiro wonders if that something may be someone. That guy with blonde... or was it red hair, asked him about someone earlier. The name that loud stranger mentioned sounded familiar, but he can only connect a blurry face to it.
Muichiro finds items that bring up quiet whispers of the past. A painted birthday card rests on his nightstand, that smudged name written in the back with a personalized message to him. Your thoughts seem kind, and your handwriting is pleasant on the eyes. On top of his drawer are a couple of origami, but much more sloppily made than his. That makes sense, in one of your letters you thanked him for teaching you. Hm, he should find this person... maybe tomorrow.
Although each day he wakes up having forgotten, everything in his daily life to leads him back to you, whoever you may be. Muichiro should not care, emotions of this nature should not distract him from his duties. However, he finds himself more and more troubled with each passing day. Knowing of this only due to his notebook, yet another thing brought upon him through your influence, he decides to get this over with and reach out to you.
Someone scolds him again for forgetting a meeting, then sighs in exasperation. The lower ranked slayer, a kinoto, complains about a Hashira needing another by his side, how inefficient this is. Though the evident dislike towards him slides past him like fog through trees, his eyes narrow on instinct when the slayer questions your bond with him. With cold and cutting words, Muichiro harshly tears the slayer to shreds. By the end of it, the insignificant moron shakily apologizes and hurries off.
If all the other proof was not enough, this confirms it; whoever you were, you were someone important to him. He needs to find you, but as he tries to figure out where you could be, Muichiro notices a figure following him from behind the trees. Oh, he mentioned this in his notebook too... or maybe it is more of a diary now that he thinks of it. Anyway, he turns around fast and faces the one following him.
Part of his mind clears upon seeing your face. Ah, this is the one who has been haunting him, physically and mentally. Well, a demon is a demon and therefore should be slain. Muichiro takes a stance and a deep breath, mist gathering as he readies his blade. However, an intense squeeze of his heart freezes him in place.
At first Muichiro wonders if it is a Blood Demon Art at play, but that is quickly ruled out. His body forced him to stop as if hurting you was inherently wrong, against his very nature. At first it frustrates him, then he gasps, eyes soon glossed over. For a moment all of it shrouds his senses, overpowering the fog. Your fingers brushing through his hair, struggling to fold paper with an embarrassed smile, playfully competitive games of shogi- all of that and more flows back into the forefront of his mind.
No, he cannot kill you. He could never kill you, let go of someone like you. Never have you berated or looked down upon him for his forgetfulness. Your endless patience engraved you into his dazed mind. At times Muichiro even found himself laughing with you under clear skies.
A sheer layer of water shrouds his vision as he shudders. Your gentle hands brush the soft tears from his eyes as a quiet sob escapes his trembling lips. The hollow wrath plaguing all that he is takes a side role as horrible grief sets in, suppressed emotions rushing in like a tsunami from a broken floodgate. All Muichiro recalls from these upcoming moments are your familiar voice telling him it is fine and comforting hands wrapping his own around the blade. The rest is a blur that he can never remember, but Muichiro can recall a horrifying, soul-crushing pain, so maybe it would be better for him to remain ignorant.
Time seems to pass by as it always has the moment he wakes up in the morning. Not even thunderstorms have kept him up, yet something strange kept him from falling asleep last night. Muichiro cannot quite put his finger on why that is, nor why his normally good appetite is gone as well. Though most importantly of all, as he wanders through the mist with his head in the clouds, he wonders why he his heart sounds so empty again. All he knows for sure is that the persistent rage within his soul, it has grown tenfold as of yesterday.
Shinobu Kocho
She has grown used to the silence. The heaviness that settles soon after a loved one has passed, brought out by the tapping of a deathwatch beetle. Hatred boils within her, fluttering with sharp edges and bleeding cuts. The smile on her painted lips remains ever-present, but it grows tighter, even more maintained. Shinobu's words turn into jagged scalpels, though passive-aggressive derision can only alleviate pain so much.
With each passing day her frustration grows as no news reach her. Although Shinobu remains composed on the surface, those who know her better can pick up on how she clenches her jaw or taps on the paper when she writes. If only her body had grown strong like her sister's. The tip of her pencil breaks at the thought and she curses her fragile, dainty form. Alone, Shinobu drops her smile and allows her expression to warp into a grimace, deep in turmoil as she trembles in anger, tears running down her reddened face.
By the time only her lashes are damp with her grief anymore, Shinobu has successfully forced down her emotions. A practiced mask settles over her features, certainly eerie to any outsider. She must remain focused, she needs to push forward. Wisteria poison pumps through her veins, lethal to any demon yet she injects more. One way or another, she will be useful.
Even if it is against her late sister's wishes, she cannot bottle her wrath without taking action. Remembering the innocent lives lost- her parents, her only sibling, her apprentices, their families- there is no way Shinobu could ever live a normal life. Helping to defeat the demons is the least she could do, and even as she gives it her all, she wishes she could do so much more. Though even her all is never enough, Shinobu will at least make way for the true saviors that will come, all those stronger than her. Her eyes reflect only hollowness as she watches her goldfish flounder in its tank.
So unburdened by life, Shinobu wonders if she herself would have been happier taking to the oceans rather than the dark sky like her little friend. However, that is not the fate meant for her. She knows that on her patrols, she knows it when dealing with the side effects of her own poison. Perhaps she truly will fill herself up with her own venom, she hums alone, wholly uncaring of the habits that will inevitably lead to her doom. However, even in this somewhat distracted state, she notices the figure trailing her.
Shinobu appears behind the demon with the stealth of a ninja, whispering sweet vitriol into its ear as always. The monster remains strangely still as she trails a manicured hand down its cold cheek. Something about this seems eerily familiar. Her eyes widen before she freezes. You are the one who stands before her, you with sharp teeth, discolored claws, and an unnatural stare.
She knows she should embed her sword into your flesh. To follow her vows, she should sink this blade into your guts and let the poison flow through you. However, Shinobu does not. Memories flash between her violet eyes. Your carefree laughs, feeble attempts to stifle your fear when telling ghost stories together, even cooking with the Love Hashira- all of her love crashes over her.
Although her sister's wish never made sense to her before, Shinobu understands it better than ever now. Stepping back, she allows you to explain yourself. When you reveal the gory details of your battle, she recalls what she always has known. The road of happiness lies upon a thin sheet of glass. In spite of all her wishes and effort, she could not stop you from falling beneath your feet.
A frown falls to her lips, facial muscles straining not to show more emotion. Taking in a deep breath, Shinobu steadies herself as you speak of your own future, offering to have yourself be slain willingly. She is swift to reject your suggestion, tone firm and decisive. You have retained your humanity despite your transformation, and that is far more valuable than gold, rarer than the Wind Pillar's blood. This is something that must be studied.
Shinobu does not let you argue, her decision is final. As the chief executive of the Demon Slayer Corps' medical and scientific research department, she more than has the authority to do this. All of this talk of experiments is nothing but a front though. Shinobu cannot handle any more grief, even this scare was far too much for her. Even if you are a demon now, she has you back and won't be letting go; creating a cure for you is her utmost priority now.
Kyojuro Rengoku
The sun has risen and fallen far too many times in your absence. As Kyojuro pushes on forward, he does his best to ignore the dread flickering in his chest. In moments of doubt such as these, he truly is grateful for having embraced the way of the ancient swordsmen. He enjoys every meal as his last, lives each passing day like he will die tomorrow. So far he has survived, but that does not mean no endings will come to pass him by.
Nothing lasts forever, such is the fleeting beauty of all things mortal. He knows what your absence means and as he closes his eyes, he recalls your face. Like Kyojuro does with all that he loves, he has pressed its visage into his memory. Your bright eyes, tired yet hopeful smile, every pretty crease and bump and scar- any moment he gets to do so, Kyojuro makes sure he remembers each and every one of them. If he knew how to paint he could recreate yours with no reference, and perhaps he should commission an art piece just to be safe.
Though as much as he tries to remain focused on the present and what he still has, his thoughts trail to their old paths. He turns to you with a smile as he watches a dance performance to see your mesmerized eyes, only to come face to face with no one. The expression remains as a shallow reflection of its original self as Kyojuro tries to enjoy the show on its own. He finds himself always trying to seek you out, to ask you about food and flowers and anything he has not heard you express your opinion on. Everything about life is short-lived, and in spite of his best efforts he still did not get to know you as well as he would have liked to.
People continue to greet him with grins and enthusiasm to which he responds as he always has, only to wish you would be there to welcome his presence with the same delight. The apricot sky seems to be taunting him, Kyojuro thinks but shakes the idea off fast. How rude of him to insult such a beautiful sight. Wherever you are, he is sure you would have loved the visual. He hopes the sunsets are just as beautiful there, and that you have the best paintbrushes at your disposal, the smoothest of canvases.
Even if the rest of the world were to forget you, he would keep it all in mind. Your determination and hard work, persistence in spite of struggle, the meaningful passion your words always exuded, they would all remain in his burning heart. Above all, Kyojuro would keep your love the closest to his chest, your innate need to shield others. Truly, you lived and died as true warrior, fulfilling your duties with honorable grace and dedication. If he could, he would sit beside the flame of your memory for the rest of the evening but alas, life simply does not work in such a generous way.
The shadow he has been trying to face since your disappearance shows itself at last, and his suspicions are confirmed, it has been you all this time. Your explanation scorches his heart into ash, golden eyes hazed over as he listens. To think all of this could happen in his absence... no, Kyojuro must not dwell on the past. All he can do is ensure the same mistakes will not be made again. Knowing you cannot live any longer, you step closer and carefully wrap your arms around him.
Assuring him that it is alright for him to perform his duties, you press your cheek onto his own, leaning into his warmth. You wish to die as human as you possibly can, and only he can grant you that peace. His eyelids droop as he engraves this one last memory of closure into his very bones. Only then does Kyojuro press the blade through your throat. The movement is swift and painless. All he sees is your sad smile and grateful eyes, a heartbreaking and bittersweet display.
With a deep breath, Kyojuro sheathes his sword. Not even a single muscle shifts as he watches your body fade to dust. All of those moments have turned to memories now. Being prepared does not make his heart hurt any less. However, this ephemeral nature of life is something he must continue to accept over and over again as a demon slayer.
Kyojuro does not cry. Weeping after taking a life would be the most utmost selfish thing to do. Even so, his heart sinks further in his chest with the weight of another lost future. His usual smile is gone, as much as he tries to continue living day by day. Memories are not something he can shake off but he hopes to keep on living for you, dreaming for you.
Tengen Uzui
What an unsightly, dull emotion. Grief should be suffered through with elegance, devotion, and promises. He should only kneel before your grave with the humility of a warrior, dedicate himself to carrying your wishes, and vow to never let another one so close to him slip from his grasp. However, that is not all Tengen does. As much as he tries to keep his head held up and his resolve firm, the burdensome weight over his chest tries to pull him down with just as much intent.
Truly, Tengen deserves the most heartfelt of apologies from you. What, do you think you can distract him from his duties with no consequence? If you return, that is what he will demand. He knows too well you would only cackle at his request, well-maintained teeth flashing in the sunlight. This would serve as nothing more than a way to bring out more exasperated yelling from him.
That was the routine you had fallen into. After years of the same cycle, of teasing and mocking words with no bite at all, it was difficult to slip out of old habits. At a certain point it stopped being bickering caused by genuine dislike, what it had started off as. For a long time, it has been a way to call out each other's flaws. Stumbling in battle, poor manners, forgetfulness- you would tear into another for just about anything.
To an outsider your relationship could have easily been mistaken as one built on hatred, but that was far from true. On the occasion you would praise his skill in combat, and Tengen would be gracious enough to commend you for being able to stand beside him. In the end, the jabs became only a way to keep your pride intact. Your bond built itself on mutual respect and genuine enjoyment of one another's company. As infrequently as he would say it, your honesty and confidence were far more than flamboyant enough.
You were mind-blowing and outstanding, never struggling to choose in difficult situations. Hard work and dedication were all it took for you to rise to your rightful rank of Hashira. In comparison to you and many of his other peers, Tengen felt like an utter bumbling fool at times. With all the lives he has let slip through his fingers, there is nothing else he could be. Even now he cannot seem to catch that one single demon who has been trailing him.
That figure has continued to evade Tengen for months by now, almost mocking him with how it slips away. Frustrated, he finally turns to face that shadow, catching it off guard. With how surprised the figure gets, he can tell he could have easily beheaded it if he had chosen to. However, Tengen is not cowardly enough to do so, no matter what those old fools from his past tried to teach him. Now, seeing your shocked face connected to the demon who has stalked him, he is more than grateful he is not.
Despite himself he smirks, teasing you for thinking he could not have noticed you. He is the Sound Hashira, you foolish trash! Your expression of surprise, guilt, and sadness morphs into an annoyed scowl. Still, your voice rings with no bloodlust or threat as you call him a slow, frail old man for failing to catch you. Tengen shouts out a response in faux offense, berating you for being weak enough to get yourself turned into a demon.
However, that causes the both of you to pause. The gravity of the situation sets in, silence falling over the empty forest. Tengen adjusts his posture and places his weapons away. You say nothing as he approaches. There was an Upper Moon, is all that you reveal when he stops before you.
Tengen does not need to hear anything else. A rare moment of sincerity unveils beneath the quiet stars. The bells on his uniform jingle as he embraces you. His heart hurts as he holds on like you may die the moment he lets go. He swears to fix this with a low, almost desperate tone and somehow, in spite of your doubts, you cannot help but believe him.
Above all, selfish as it may be, Tengen values those he cares about. No mission is important enough for him to forsake those he loves. There is far too much he has lost already. The two of you can work this out, he is sure of it. Even if a bitter, tragic end may be all that this will lead to, he promises to see it through with you.
Kanae Kocho
The gentle smile on her lips remains as ever-present as it always has been. Her eyes, however, gloss over with a watery sheen, reflecting nothing but pain. Kanae plants white lilies in her garden and brushes a few into her stygian hair. Her grief is silent: dewdrop tears, whispered prayers, and averted gazes. There is much left to do, being left behind is far from an option.
As expertly as Kanae hides her wrath, the thorn-covered vines of rage wrap around her heart as well. She is not so different from her peers, no matter how much they marvel at her empathy. The moment you were declared Missing In Action, Kanae swore to personally slay the demon that took you from her. Once a Kocho decides to defeat a demon, she will defeat that demon. When she decides to win, she will win whatever the cost.
Perhaps one day there will be a demon she will lose to, forsaking the promise she made with her sisters. That, however, cannot hold her back. Thinking of her own fragile body would only be an excuse. Anything Kanae can do she will, with all her might. So, she pours all of her energy into finding you.
Your jokes, banter, and silly smiles bloom in the depths of her mind. Kanae asks around if anyone has seen someone of your description, and remembers all the details herself. Her smile trembles when comes across another dead-end. However, Kanae does not give up, knowing you would never have done so either if she were to disappear. The girls miss you too, and anything she can pull more determination and strength from, Kanae keeps in mind with the utmost clarity.
As she searches, she slays the demons from the surrounding area. Being active at nighttime, Kanae picks up on the branches shifting oddly every once in a while as if something abruptly fled from her gaze. Kanae's brows furrow in confusion; this is a phenomenon that has followed her for a while now on her patrols, even in her everyday life. It disappears in daytime, but if a demon were following her, why would it not have attacked by now? Perhaps it is a peculiar way for a demon slayer to approach the situation, but Kanae calls the demon forth from the shadows, saying she only wishes to talk.
The hope Kanae has had for a peaceful interaction with a demon shatters and blooms into desperation as she recognizes the figure. Although buried beneath demonic traits, this face still holds all of your pretty features. Kanae knows the answer when she asks if this truly is you. The truth wounds her heart, pruning shears cutting off her dreams of watching you flourish as a human. Even so, she can tell you are starving.
Stepping forward, Kanae approaches you with concern in her glossy eyes. Her warm, soft yet calloused fingers gingerly trace your cold features. Kanae's hands settle to cradle your face in a familiar gesture. She used to examine your body for wounds with the same gentleness. Although unnecessary, the act keeps the both of you grounded.
Kanae treats you with the same carefulness as before, like handling an orchid. Her observing touches are softer than whispers as she memorizes your new face. Hope swells in her heart once more as the minutes pass by. Time slows down as you cautiously explore your new predicament. Kanae's curious smile grows into one of relief and delight.
In spite of the changes in your body, you are fully human by mind. This is wonderful news! Her dream of peacefully coexisting with demons seems more possible than ever. Kanae wishes you would have shown yourself to her earlier, but understands why you had your reservations. Still, she assures you that she will vouch for you when you return to the Demon Slayer Corps, so will the rest of the Butterfly Mansion.
Although an unconventional situation, it is also a source of hope for change. It is far too soon to be getting too excited over it, but a sense of happiness flowers in her heart. Kanae does not have to let go and say goodbye for once. Not only do you still live, but offer answers to so many questions everyone has about demons. No matter what happens from now, Kanae has chosen to defend you- and once she decides to do something, that decision is final.
HIII so i had like a cool idea right what if we get like individual hashira reactions to an ex hashira reader than turned into a demon and feels bad for it and find that the reader has been following them around cause they miss them but has to keep their distance and will avoid interaction at all costs until they’re cornered
so how we feeling guys 👅
Note: Feeling good! :] This can be read as platonic or romantic.
Contains: Hurt/Comfort (Giyuu, Mitsuri, Shinobu, Tengen, Kanae), Hurt No Comfort (Sanemi, Obanai, Kyojuro, Muichiro, Gyomei), death
Those Unwanted Wisps
Giyuu Tomioka
Your disappearance has haunted him for months by now. The mission you parted for was not meant to be difficult; it was supposed to be just another common check in to murders potentially related to demons. However, later reports hinted towards Upper Moon activity in that area. Although your body is yet to be recovered, Giyuu has found himself preparing for the worst. Sorrow sweeps over him in calm, cold waves, and he wishes the memories would stop crashing through him.
You saw past his aloof personality, being the only Hashira to bother with actively seeking him out. Neither his equanimity nor silence deterred you. The occasional sarcastic remarks never annoyed you, if anything you were entertained by them, and thus to his delight, you grew quite close. Over time, Giyuu found himself admiring you, the way you knew your limitations and shamelessly admitted to your faults. You were bright and bold and selfless, so much so that the depths of his soul may as well have been pierced by the rays of your light.
His expression twitches in a sudden burst of pain, the casual grip on his sword tightens. It would not have been like you to carelessly throw your life away. If you were alive you would have returned by now and apologized for causing worry, only to rush straight onto the next mission. Lately, like a tidal wave, Giyuu has been tearing into his enemies with quiet, careless rage. All because he knows you are gone.
To make matters worse, a strange presence has been following him as of late. The phantom stalks him through the trees, and part of him wonders if it may be your spirit chasing after him. Those thoughts are swiftly shaken off, Giyuu cannot afford to ignore the possibility of a demon just because he got sentimental. He grasps the pendant hidden beneath his uniform, a gift for him, you said, the aquamarine reminded you of his eyes. Allowing them to flutter shut for merely a second, Giyuu hopes holding onto the present will keep him stable as he finally snaps to face his stalker.
His eyes shoot wide open anyway, mouth parted as he finally gazes upon the creature's form. Your face, your complexion, your clothes, even your sword- the figure holds all of them. However, everything that made you yourself has been warped and his stare sharpens. This is without a doubt a demons doing. Giyuu readies his sword, more than eager to tear this crude illusion apart, but the being's reaction forces him to pause.
Although accompanied by a swift movement, your blade blocks his passively. Please, you plead of him to speak with you first. Torn between rage to cut down the creature for impersonating you and rushing to hold you, Giyuu's face betrays him as it twists in a surge of grief. It reverts back to its usual stone cold form as he demands an explanation. In spite of his disbelief, Giyuu can tell the demon is genuine when claiming to be you; the rumors of an Upper Moon having been in the area were true, and you were turned against your will.
His gaze drifts downwards to the damp grass, hand flinching against the hilt of his katana. Responsibility clashes against every memory he has tried to drown. Playing tsume shogi and talking late into the night, sharing rare smiles and eating fish together- everything Giyuu has tried to stifle crashes over him once more. His chest constricts as if his lungs were filled with water instead of air, but he knows now is not the time for distractions. He breathes in and forces himself to relax his shoulders. Face as emotionless as ever, Giyuu asks if you have ever devoured a human.
You deny it, and he knows it is the truth. Although still hurt and furious towards whichever monster made you this way, Giyuu approaches you as a friend. Wordlessly, he embraces you like the tides embrace the moon. Hands firmly pressed against your back as you return the gesture, he swears to make this right. Even if he needs to violated the Demon Slayer Corps' code of conduct, he will keep you safe.
Selfish as it may be, Giyuu cannot afford to lose another loved one. Your absence already left an abyss in his heart, and as wrong as it is, a sense of relief washed over him even as he saw your demonic form. Though a twisted visage, a warped reflection on the surface of water, it was still you, it is still you. His hold tightens, eyes half-lidded, actions speaking the words he could never say.
Giyuu was not there to aid you when you needed him most. Guilt claws in his chest at the thought, and it likely forever will keep doing so. He has never been good enough to save those who have always had his back. However, you are still alive, in his arms, speaking as the person you always have been. Although it is a horrifying and terrible turnout of events, Giyuu holds on tighter and decides this is his second chance. He could not save you then but he will protect you now even if it puts him at risk, and even if it means protecting your humanity instead.
Mitsuri Kanjori
She has tried her best to remain positive. Each day Mitsuri waits by the porch of your mansion, a box of handmade sweets in her lap. Daydreaming of all the topics she will get to catch up with you on, the Love Hashira kicks her feet back and forth as the hours pass by. Sometimes she falls asleep leaning against a pillar, sometimes she has to leave with a wistful sigh. No matter what it is that forces Mitsuri to leave, she has been eating her meals all alone.
There is no way she could accept someone as powerful, wonderful and beautiful could be out of her life just like that. In spite of Iguro's careful attempts at reasoning with her, Mitsuri likes to think you simply found someone to love wherever you disappeared. That person must be very important and in dire need of help! Ah, how truly selfless and radiant you are! Hopefully you will be back soon to visit.
Deep down, she knows this is all only wishful thinking. Mitsuri is not childish enough to believe everything went so perfectly for you, but she is not willing to accept your departure just yet either. Many of her colleagues have passed, and their deaths have left her trembling in anger and sadness. However, as someone so many depend on, she cannot afford to be distracted. Even if this is the first time someone so close to her has met the kind of horrible end many in this line of work do, she must keep her head on straight.
Besides, your body has not even been recovered yet! You could totally be alive! Mitsuri will ignore the ghostly presence following her around, it has got to be just her mind playing tricks on her. Ghosts very likely do exist, but that is not your spirit behind her, nope! See, she will prove it right here and now!
Mitsuri spins around with her green eyes barely peeled open, only to let out a loud gasp. Before her stands the very person she has missed so much. Sure, you look like you were hiding and now are hesitating, but there is no need to be shy! Mitsuri cries out your name and rushes towards you with her arms spread out. You both fall to the ground as she giggles in delight upon seeing you alive and well, but you spare no reaction to what should have been the air getting forced out of your lungs.
The silence shocks her and she apologizes for tackling you as her giggles die down. Soon Mitsuri pulls herself up by her arms to hover above you, cheerful tone replaced by worry. You avert your gaze as she scans you over for injuries, only for her breath to catch in her throat. The cute parts of your pretty face have become tainted by demonic features! You are still rather attractive though... but that is beside the point!
Panicking, Mitsuri rubs her eyes frantically and hopes it will make those demonic bits go away. When this does not work, she pleads you to tell her what happened. This is still you, it has to be! You have not eaten or killed any humans, the you Mitsuri knows would never do that. She believes you with her whole heart when you say you have not, and embraces you the same way she always has, like all the love in the world is hers to give.
Sweet like honey and warm like spring, her heart envelops yours. It is as if everything will be alright, just because Mitsuri loves you. Slowly, your shoulders go slack as your hands settle over her back as well. Mitsuri promises she sees you the same way she always has, and will invite you out to eat even though you need no food anymore. Maybe you will finally join her in taking care of her bees now that your skin is more durable and heals easier!
That earns a short burst of laughter from you and she giggles as well. Through some sort of miracle, you retained your whole consciousness in spite of your transformation. Mitsuri refuses to let an opportunity like this slip past her. Her friend is back and the Demon Slayer Corps has a cooperative reference for demon studying. The studying part is only if you agree, of course!
Mitsuri just needs an excuse to get everyone on board with keeping you around still. They all have good reasons for hating demons and she does not want anyone to get hurt. However, she cares about you far too much to allow you to simply be executed Besides, you have not even harmed a single human! Those months apart were nothing but pangs of hurt slashing through her heartstrings. Now that she finally has you back, she is never letting you go.
Obanai Iguro
The days muddle into a blur as he wraps himself up in work. Obanai curses himself for not having taken those rumors seriously. One Hashira was not enough, that is the only reason why you could have been gone for so long. He does not allow himself to grow close to people often, not that many are worth his time to begin with. However, through your persistence in befriending him, he grew to see your strengths.
Embarrassingly soon into knowing you, Obanai had to admit it. You are an ideal demon slayer. The rules and etiquette of the organization are engraved into your very bones. Not a shred of mercy lurks in your body, no sympathy at all wasted on those undeserving of it. Even so, you remain humble and lively, so assured in your cause and comrades that you speak eagerly of what you will do when the time comes that demons are no more.
Although he regarded your optimism as foolish at first, Obanai grew to respect it over time. In fact, it is how every slayer should function. The finish line is in sight, the Demon King will fall. Therefore, all energy should be expended towards training and working for that destination, that future. These weaklings the Corps has become infested with are all stagnant and cowardly, but now he finds himself wishing you would have shown more care for your own limits.
If he could, he would find you and coil around you, keeping you beside him at all times. The number of people he cares for has been at an all time low for years now. The more Obanai thinks of it, the more grief and hatred slither within him like his veins. Even if only for a while, the way your sights were locked onto the future made him wonder if even someone as filthy as him could move forward. In spite of your own struggles, which you never attempted to mask, all you ever said was that the past is dead and gone, only today is worth considering... but today, you are gone.
The bandages over his mouth shift with his subtle grimace, eyes narrowed. There is no way he can move on from your death. Obanai has never had much to himself, has not had the chance to lose something so valuable. Now he knows how to hold on, but it is far too late. So, to turn his shortcomings into something of value, he snarls and decides to finally deal with the creature he knows has been following him since your disappearance, close enough at last to prevent it from slipping away.
He whips himself around, only to freeze. You stand before him, face devoid of life. At first Obanai cannot believe what he sees, then forcefully steadies himself. Demanding an explanation with a threat, it surprises him when you speak calmly. Your fate was even worse than he thought; you lost and became a demon.
Handing over your weapon to him, you offer a faint smile, telling him to give it to a slayer he deems worthy of it. Obanai grasps it in his hands, then stares at you with wide eyes as you ask him to end you. That is what he should do, what would be natural to do in spite of your intact consciousness and memory. The past flashes through his eyes and he falters. Sharing poems, watching shows of artistry together, sparring, and walking beneath the silence of the stars- no, how is he meant to let it all slip away from him?
His hands tremble over his sword. He should not hesitate, he should not waver. This is his duty as a demon slayer. Church bells seem to toll in the distance as you wait with half-lidded eyes, reflections of tired grief and wasted dreams. Tears prick at the corners of his own, and Obanai knows if he allows himself to dwell on this, he will never go through with it.
The cut is sharp, fast, and clean, like the bite of a gaboon viper. He stops right before you, stumbling in the position his strike landed on. A bittersweet and grateful smile grazes over your lips as you mutter a thank you. Your head falls off from your shoulders before your body collapses. Obanai stands still as the skin flakes, cracks, and disintegrates, but you are not a shedding snake. No new skin will peek out from beneath after the old one is gone.
Soon, whatever remained of your corpse is gone. Obanai's stoic expression falters, eyes squinted with unshed tears, face scrunched in despair. Everything about demonkind is utterly unforgivable, but even after becoming one you remained true to yourself, offering up your life rather than clinging to that mangled form of existence. No matter what you have told him about the act of moving on before, he will never forget you. The future you had hoped for may have been robbed from your deserving hands but he will ensure your dream will come true nonetheless- even if you will not be there to see it.
Sanemi Shinazugawa
He is not the type to sit still when something is bothering him. He is the wind that picks up and rises to a hurricane, which shows in the way he searches for you. All of his patrols are directed near the area you were meant to visit, but nothing turns up. Wrenching off the head of demon after demon, Sanemi still comes up empty handed. Frustration rages inside him, and that storm is what he tries to focus on rather than the fear floating in like dark clouds before rain.
Someone with your level of power would not have fallen to some measly demon. Sanemi refuses to accept that as even a possibility, anyone who says it is so can run off and die for all he cares. You are still alive, he just needs to find you. Only after seeing your corpse would he even consider the thought. He mulls over what you will do together once he finds you instead.
One of his beetles gave birth recently. Sanemi knows you would enjoy seeing the little ones grow and change over time. Once you recover from whatever has kept you from him for this long, he wants to spar again. Nothing thrills him more than testing which one of you will come out on top, strengths matched. Maybe he will even take some time to cook for you, depending on how bad your condition is.
All he needs to do is find you, but he keeps getting distracted by the burning feeling that someone is watching him. For the entire duration of his search operation he has been catching glimpses of a shadowy figure and hearing the creaking of branches. Each time he has tried to confront the creature, it has slipped away from him. Since the noises only follow him at nighttime, the thing is undoubtedly a demon, a particularly fast one. For whatever reason all it has done so far is following him, but tonight Sanemi would dig out the truth from the demon itself.
He set up a trap and although the demon narrowly avoids it, Sanemi finally gets a look at his stalker. His eyes fly wide as they settle among a figure that looks eerily like you. Sword raised, he scowls and strikes. The figure parries on instinct, form an exact replica of your breathing technique. Jumping back, Sanemi slices his arm and grins, deceivingly offering to give the creature some of his rare, valuable blood in exchange for answers.
The demon licks its lips on reflex, then shuts its eyes and shakes its head. When it speaks, its voice is a carbon copy of yours. Sanemi freezes as the creature, the one he has been looking for, explains what happened. An Upper Moon turned you into a demon, but you have continued your duties in spite of your ongoing metamorphosis. However, your hunger has been growing stronger with each passing day. Although you want to keep going, you are not sure how long your self-restraint can last.
This is a transformation neither one of you wants to see through. Sanemi grits his teeth, eyes squinted in pure frustration. He wants to cry and scream, he blames himself for letting you go alone. There is already so much loss he has endured. He knows he must do this, but dammit he does not want to! Steeling his resolve as he blinks the fog out from his eyes, for the first time in his career, Sanemi presses the blade gently against a demon's throat.
One swift, clean slice, and he hopes he did not cause you any pain. His hands tremble and he drops his sword, rushing to hold your crumbling body. Sanemi's breath shakes as he buries his head into your shoulder. A quiet mumble leaves your lips. You would have liked to stay with him, just a little longer.
Tears roll down his face in fat streaks as he grits his teeth. When the final remnants of your body disintegrate, Sanemi slams his fists into the ground. Uncaring of the rocks and branches that tear into his skin, he lets his red, marechi blood pour out. Even so, the pain is not enough to distract him as rage tears him to shreds from the inside out. Fist grasping at his uniform, chest burning with wrath, he swears to eradicate every single demon in this world, all in your name.
Gyomei Himejima
Each morning and every night, he prays for your safety. He fulfills his duties and sticks to his routines as devotedly as always. However, his days feel undoubtedly emptier. Without you to contrast his easily shaken soul, Gyomei has found himself weeping even more than usual. Calm and comforting, your presence was steady as the earth beneath his feet.
He longs for the soulful talks you shared, the distinct echo of your voice and every intonation of your words. Even the quiet moments, relaxing in a field of damp grass and flowers filled him with peace. His flute lays dormant within his robes, waiting for someone eager to hear it be played. Of course with Gyomei being the strongest Hashira, many would be honored to watch him do anything. However, he cares not for empty praise. What he misses are the deep, detailed insights to the melodies he would play.
Gyomei trusts you to be honest with him. That was why when you said the mission would not be a problem, he let you go alone. It was meant to be nothing but a routine check-up on rumors. Those do not often lead to battle at all, and if they do, it is nothing a Hashira could not take care of. However, your absence can only mean one thing; the situation's severity was vastly underestimated.
Only an Upper Moon could have kept you for so long, could have killed you. Still, Gyomei has committed himself to finding you. As unwavering as steel, he searches for your kind voice and familiar heartbeat. Each disaster has you have endured has only proven your true nature as determined and brave. Although being in the Demon Slayer Corps means there is no guarantee of tomorrow, he hopes to meet you once more in one of his future days.
However, one peculiar thing has been distracting Gyomei from his tasks as of late. A presence stalks him through the trees, fast enough to flee before he can face them. It owns the footsteps and aura of a demon, yet its heart beats with purity. It is a demon indeed, but one that has never taken the life of a human being. Such a strange thing warrants an explanation, which he shall finally get tonight.
As he faces the demon, however, he pauses, unconsciously lowering his weapons. There is no mistake when your voice gently breaks through the silence, you are this demon. His pale eyes are quick to start shedding tears; this is why you have been gone. Gyomei understands when you reveal why you did not come to face him immediately. Allowing oneself to die is against the very nature of any living being.
These past few months, you have been tying up loose ends and ensuring his safety. Now that you are done, there is no reason to stay in this world as such a hideous monster. Although you have held in your hunger for now, that could change at any moment. Gyomei loathes that you are right. His heart breaks as you lower yourself to the ground, to your knees, the back of your neck open to him.
If there ever was anyone you would have liked to be beheaded by, it would have been him. You know he would give you a graceful death. Salty tears slide down his face, brows furrowing in pain. Gyomei commends your resolve; you retained your humanity, even until the bitter end. Mumbling a quiet prayer, he does his best to keep his voice from wavering, blessing your soul. Although your body may have failed you and yielded to the demon blood forced upon you, he assures you will die as a human in spirit, your dignity intact.
Your heartbeat thrums in your neck, veins and nerves tensing in anticipation. Raising his axe like an executioner, Gyomei knows he cannot listen to this for much longer. Your head severs from your body in such a quick flash, you feel nothing at all. It all fades to black as he kneels before your fading corpse. He remains seated in the silence for a long while.
The blood burning away from his large hands stings as it goes. Hurting living beings is hell. Ending the life of someone so close to him... infernal flames may as well be reaching for him from below. Even so, Gyomei will not let those get to him. Your sacrifices will never be forgotten, not as long as he lives, and in your next life, you will be reunited.
Muichiro Tokito
Something is missing, he can tell. Pangs of emptiness run through him but he does not know why. At times Muichiro wonders if that something may be someone. That guy with blonde... or was it red hair, asked him about someone earlier. The name that loud stranger mentioned sounded familiar, but he can only connect a blurry face to it.
Muichiro finds items that bring up quiet whispers of the past. A painted birthday card rests on his nightstand, that smudged name written in the back with a personalized message to him. Your thoughts seem kind, and your handwriting is pleasant on the eyes. On top of his drawer are a couple of origami, but much more sloppily made than his. That makes sense, in one of your letters you thanked him for teaching you. Hm, he should find this person... maybe tomorrow.
Although each day he wakes up having forgotten, everything in his daily life to leads him back to you, whoever you may be. Muichiro should not care, emotions of this nature should not distract him from his duties. However, he finds himself more and more troubled with each passing day. Knowing of this only due to his notebook, yet another thing brought upon him through your influence, he decides to get this over with and reach out to you.
Someone scolds him again for forgetting a meeting, then sighs in exasperation. The lower ranked slayer, a kinoto, complains about a Hashira needing another by his side, how inefficient this is. Though the evident dislike towards him slides past him like fog through trees, his eyes narrow on instinct when the slayer questions your bond with him. With cold and cutting words, Muichiro harshly tears the slayer to shreds. By the end of it, the insignificant moron shakily apologizes and hurries off.
If all the other proof was not enough, this confirms it; whoever you were, you were someone important to him. He needs to find you, but as he tries to figure out where you could be, Muichiro notices a figure following him from behind the trees. Oh, he mentioned this in his notebook too... or maybe it is more of a diary now that he thinks of it. Anyway, he turns around fast and faces the one following him.
Part of his mind clears upon seeing your face. Ah, this is the one who has been haunting him, physically and mentally. Well, a demon is a demon and therefore should be slain. Muichiro takes a stance and a deep breath, mist gathering as he readies his blade. However, an intense squeeze of his heart freezes him in place.
At first Muichiro wonders if it is a Blood Demon Art at play, but that is quickly ruled out. His body forced him to stop as if hurting you was inherently wrong, against his very nature. At first it frustrates him, then he gasps, eyes soon glossed over. For a moment all of it shrouds his senses, overpowering the fog. Your fingers brushing through his hair, struggling to fold paper with an embarrassed smile, playfully competitive games of shogi- all of that and more flows back into the forefront of his mind.
No, he cannot kill you. He could never kill you, let go of someone like you. Never have you berated or looked down upon him for his forgetfulness. Your endless patience engraved you into his dazed mind. At times Muichiro even found himself laughing with you under clear skies.
A sheer layer of water shrouds his vision as he shudders. Your gentle hands brush the soft tears from his eyes as a quiet sob escapes his trembling lips. The hollow wrath plaguing all that he is takes a side role as horrible grief sets in, suppressed emotions rushing in like a tsunami from a broken floodgate. All Muichiro recalls from these upcoming moments are your familiar voice telling him it is fine and comforting hands wrapping his own around the blade. The rest is a blur that he can never remember, but Muichiro can recall a horrifying, soul-crushing pain, so maybe it would be better for him to remain ignorant.
Time seems to pass by as it always has the moment he wakes up in the morning. Not even thunderstorms have kept him up, yet something strange kept him from falling asleep last night. Muichiro cannot quite put his finger on why that is, nor why his normally good appetite is gone as well. Though most importantly of all, as he wanders through the mist with his head in the clouds, he wonders why he his heart sounds so empty again. All he knows for sure is that the persistent rage within his soul, it has grown tenfold as of yesterday.
Shinobu Kocho
She has grown used to the silence. The heaviness that settles soon after a loved one has passed, brought out by the tapping of a deathwatch beetle. Hatred boils within her, fluttering with sharp edges and bleeding cuts. The smile on her painted lips remains ever-present, but it grows tighter, even more maintained. Shinobu's words turn into jagged scalpels, though passive-aggressive derision can only alleviate pain so much.
With each passing day her frustration grows as no news reach her. Although Shinobu remains composed on the surface, those who know her better can pick up on how she clenches her jaw or taps on the paper when she writes. If only her body had grown strong like her sister's. The tip of her pencil breaks at the thought and she curses her fragile, dainty form. Alone, Shinobu drops her smile and allows her expression to warp into a grimace, deep in turmoil as she trembles in anger, tears running down her reddened face.
By the time only her lashes are damp with her grief anymore, Shinobu has successfully forced down her emotions. A practiced mask settles over her features, certainly eerie to any outsider. She must remain focused, she needs to push forward. Wisteria poison pumps through her veins, lethal to any demon yet she injects more. One way or another, she will be useful.
Even if it is against her late sister's wishes, she cannot bottle her wrath without taking action. Remembering the innocent lives lost- her parents, her only sibling, her apprentices, their families- there is no way Shinobu could ever live a normal life. Helping to defeat the demons is the least she could do, and even as she gives it her all, she wishes she could do so much more. Though even her all is never enough, Shinobu will at least make way for the true saviors that will come, all those stronger than her. Her eyes reflect only hollowness as she watches her goldfish flounder in its tank.
So unburdened by life, Shinobu wonders if she herself would have been happier taking to the oceans rather than the dark sky like her little friend. However, that is not the fate meant for her. She knows that on her patrols, she knows it when dealing with the side effects of her own poison. Perhaps she truly will fill herself up with her own venom, she hums alone, wholly uncaring of the habits that will inevitably lead to her doom. However, even in this somewhat distracted state, she notices the figure trailing her.
Shinobu appears behind the demon with the stealth of a ninja, whispering sweet vitriol into its ear as always. The monster remains strangely still as she trails a manicured hand down its cold cheek. Something about this seems eerily familiar. Her eyes widen before she freezes. You are the one who stands before her, you with sharp teeth, discolored claws, and an unnatural stare.
She knows she should embed her sword into your flesh. To follow her vows, she should sink this blade into your guts and let the poison flow through you. However, Shinobu does not. Memories flash between her violet eyes. Your carefree laughs, feeble attempts to stifle your fear when telling ghost stories together, even cooking with the Love Hashira- all of her love crashes over her.
Although her sister's wish never made sense to her before, Shinobu understands it better than ever now. Stepping back, she allows you to explain yourself. When you reveal the gory details of your battle, she recalls what she always has known. The road of happiness lies upon a thin sheet of glass. In spite of all her wishes and effort, she could not stop you from falling beneath your feet.
A frown falls to her lips, facial muscles straining not to show more emotion. Taking in a deep breath, Shinobu steadies herself as you speak of your own future, offering to have yourself be slain willingly. She is swift to reject your suggestion, tone firm and decisive. You have retained your humanity despite your transformation, and that is far more valuable than gold, rarer than the Wind Pillar's blood. This is something that must be studied.
Shinobu does not let you argue, her decision is final. As the chief executive of the Demon Slayer Corps' medical and scientific research department, she more than has the authority to do this. All of this talk of experiments is nothing but a front though. Shinobu cannot handle any more grief, even this scare was far too much for her. Even if you are a demon now, she has you back and won't be letting go; creating a cure for you is her utmost priority now.
Kyojuro Rengoku
The sun has risen and fallen far too many times in your absence. As Kyojuro pushes on forward, he does his best to ignore the dread flickering in his chest. In moments of doubt such as these, he truly is grateful for having embraced the way of the ancient swordsmen. He enjoys every meal as his last, lives each passing day like he will die tomorrow. So far he has survived, but that does not mean no endings will come to pass him by.
Nothing lasts forever, such is the fleeting beauty of all things mortal. He knows what your absence means and as he closes his eyes, he recalls your face. Like Kyojuro does with all that he loves, he has pressed its visage into his memory. Your bright eyes, tired yet hopeful smile, every pretty crease and bump and scar- any moment he gets to do so, Kyojuro makes sure he remembers each and every one of them. If he knew how to paint he could recreate yours with no reference, and perhaps he should commission an art piece just to be safe.
Though as much as he tries to remain focused on the present and what he still has, his thoughts trail to their old paths. He turns to you with a smile as he watches a dance performance to see your mesmerized eyes, only to come face to face with no one. The expression remains as a shallow reflection of its original self as Kyojuro tries to enjoy the show on its own. He finds himself always trying to seek you out, to ask you about food and flowers and anything he has not heard you express your opinion on. Everything about life is short-lived, and in spite of his best efforts he still did not get to know you as well as he would have liked to.
People continue to greet him with grins and enthusiasm to which he responds as he always has, only to wish you would be there to welcome his presence with the same delight. The apricot sky seems to be taunting him, Kyojuro thinks but shakes the idea off fast. How rude of him to insult such a beautiful sight. Wherever you are, he is sure you would have loved the visual. He hopes the sunsets are just as beautiful there, and that you have the best paintbrushes at your disposal, the smoothest of canvases.
Even if the rest of the world were to forget you, he would keep it all in mind. Your determination and hard work, persistence in spite of struggle, the meaningful passion your words always exuded, they would all remain in his burning heart. Above all, Kyojuro would keep your love the closest to his chest, your innate need to shield others. Truly, you lived and died as true warrior, fulfilling your duties with honorable grace and dedication. If he could, he would sit beside the flame of your memory for the rest of the evening but alas, life simply does not work in such a generous way.
The shadow he has been trying to face since your disappearance shows itself at last, and his suspicions are confirmed, it has been you all this time. Your explanation scorches his heart into ash, golden eyes hazed over as he listens. To think all of this could happen in his absence... no, Kyojuro must not dwell on the past. All he can do is ensure the same mistakes will not be made again. Knowing you cannot live any longer, you step closer and carefully wrap your arms around him.
Assuring him that it is alright for him to perform his duties, you press your cheek onto his own, leaning into his warmth. You wish to die as human as you possibly can, and only he can grant you that peace. His eyelids droop as he engraves this one last memory of closure into his very bones. Only then does Kyojuro press the blade through your throat. The movement is swift and painless. All he sees is your sad smile and grateful eyes, a heartbreaking and bittersweet display.
With a deep breath, Kyojuro sheathes his sword. Not even a single muscle shifts as he watches your body fade to dust. All of those moments have turned to memories now. Being prepared does not make his heart hurt any less. However, this ephemeral nature of life is something he must continue to accept over and over again as a demon slayer.
Kyojuro does not cry. Weeping after taking a life would be the most utmost selfish thing to do. Even so, his heart sinks further in his chest with the weight of another lost future. His usual smile is gone, as much as he tries to continue living day by day. Memories are not something he can shake off but he hopes to keep on living for you, dreaming for you.
Tengen Uzui
What an unsightly, dull emotion. Grief should be suffered through with elegance, devotion, and promises. He should only kneel before your grave with the humility of a warrior, dedicate himself to carrying your wishes, and vow to never let another one so close to him slip from his grasp. However, that is not all Tengen does. As much as he tries to keep his head held up and his resolve firm, the burdensome weight over his chest tries to pull him down with just as much intent.
Truly, Tengen deserves the most heartfelt of apologies from you. What, do you think you can distract him from his duties with no consequence? If you return, that is what he will demand. He knows too well you would only cackle at his request, well-maintained teeth flashing in the sunlight. This would serve as nothing more than a way to bring out more exasperated yelling from him.
That was the routine you had fallen into. After years of the same cycle, of teasing and mocking words with no bite at all, it was difficult to slip out of old habits. At a certain point it stopped being bickering caused by genuine dislike, what it had started off as. For a long time, it has been a way to call out each other's flaws. Stumbling in battle, poor manners, forgetfulness- you would tear into another for just about anything.
To an outsider your relationship could have easily been mistaken as one built on hatred, but that was far from true. On the occasion you would praise his skill in combat, and Tengen would be gracious enough to commend you for being able to stand beside him. In the end, the jabs became only a way to keep your pride intact. Your bond built itself on mutual respect and genuine enjoyment of one another's company. As infrequently as he would say it, your honesty and confidence were far more than flamboyant enough.
You were mind-blowing and outstanding, never struggling to choose in difficult situations. Hard work and dedication were all it took for you to rise to your rightful rank of Hashira. In comparison to you and many of his other peers, Tengen felt like an utter bumbling fool at times. With all the lives he has let slip through his fingers, there is nothing else he could be. Even now he cannot seem to catch that one single demon who has been trailing him.
That figure has continued to evade Tengen for months by now, almost mocking him with how it slips away. Frustrated, he finally turns to face that shadow, catching it off guard. With how surprised the figure gets, he can tell he could have easily beheaded it if he had chosen to. However, Tengen is not cowardly enough to do so, no matter what those old fools from his past tried to teach him. Now, seeing your shocked face connected to the demon who has stalked him, he is more than grateful he is not.
Despite himself he smirks, teasing you for thinking he could not have noticed you. He is the Sound Hashira, you foolish trash! Your expression of surprise, guilt, and sadness morphs into an annoyed scowl. Still, your voice rings with no bloodlust or threat as you call him a slow, frail old man for failing to catch you. Tengen shouts out a response in faux offense, berating you for being weak enough to get yourself turned into a demon.
However, that causes the both of you to pause. The gravity of the situation sets in, silence falling over the empty forest. Tengen adjusts his posture and places his weapons away. You say nothing as he approaches. There was an Upper Moon, is all that you reveal when he stops before you.
Tengen does not need to hear anything else. A rare moment of sincerity unveils beneath the quiet stars. The bells on his uniform jingle as he embraces you. His heart hurts as he holds on like you may die the moment he lets go. He swears to fix this with a low, almost desperate tone and somehow, in spite of your doubts, you cannot help but believe him.
Above all, selfish as it may be, Tengen values those he cares about. No mission is important enough for him to forsake those he loves. There is far too much he has lost already. The two of you can work this out, he is sure of it. Even if a bitter, tragic end may be all that this will lead to, he promises to see it through with you.
Kanae Kocho
The gentle smile on her lips remains as ever-present as it always has been. Her eyes, however, gloss over with a watery sheen, reflecting nothing but pain. Kanae plants white lilies in her garden and brushes a few into her stygian hair. Her grief is silent: dewdrop tears, whispered prayers, and averted gazes. There is much left to do, being left behind is far from an option.
As expertly as Kanae hides her wrath, the thorn-covered vines of rage wrap around her heart as well. She is not so different from her peers, no matter how much they marvel at her empathy. The moment you were declared Missing In Action, Kanae swore to personally slay the demon that took you from her. Once a Kocho decides to defeat a demon, she will defeat that demon. When she decides to win, she will win whatever the cost.
Perhaps one day there will be a demon she will lose to, forsaking the promise she made with her sisters. That, however, cannot hold her back. Thinking of her own fragile body would only be an excuse. Anything Kanae can do she will, with all her might. So, she pours all of her energy into finding you.
Your jokes, banter, and silly smiles bloom in the depths of her mind. Kanae asks around if anyone has seen someone of your description, and remembers all the details herself. Her smile trembles when comes across another dead-end. However, Kanae does not give up, knowing you would never have done so either if she were to disappear. The girls miss you too, and anything she can pull more determination and strength from, Kanae keeps in mind with the utmost clarity.
As she searches, she slays the demons from the surrounding area. Being active at nighttime, Kanae picks up on the branches shifting oddly every once in a while as if something abruptly fled from her gaze. Kanae's brows furrow in confusion; this is a phenomenon that has followed her for a while now on her patrols, even in her everyday life. It disappears in daytime, but if a demon were following her, why would it not have attacked by now? Perhaps it is a peculiar way for a demon slayer to approach the situation, but Kanae calls the demon forth from the shadows, saying she only wishes to talk.
The hope Kanae has had for a peaceful interaction with a demon shatters and blooms into desperation as she recognizes the figure. Although buried beneath demonic traits, this face still holds all of your pretty features. Kanae knows the answer when she asks if this truly is you. The truth wounds her heart, pruning shears cutting off her dreams of watching you flourish as a human. Even so, she can tell you are starving.
Stepping forward, Kanae approaches you with concern in her glossy eyes. Her warm, soft yet calloused fingers gingerly trace your cold features. Kanae's hands settle to cradle your face in a familiar gesture. She used to examine your body for wounds with the same gentleness. Although unnecessary, the act keeps the both of you grounded.
Kanae treats you with the same carefulness as before, like handling an orchid. Her observing touches are softer than whispers as she memorizes your new face. Hope swells in her heart once more as the minutes pass by. Time slows down as you cautiously explore your new predicament. Kanae's curious smile grows into one of relief and delight.
In spite of the changes in your body, you are fully human by mind. This is wonderful news! Her dream of peacefully coexisting with demons seems more possible than ever. Kanae wishes you would have shown yourself to her earlier, but understands why you had your reservations. Still, she assures you that she will vouch for you when you return to the Demon Slayer Corps, so will the rest of the Butterfly Mansion.
Although an unconventional situation, it is also a source of hope for change. It is far too soon to be getting too excited over it, but a sense of happiness flowers in her heart. Kanae does not have to let go and say goodbye for once. Not only do you still live, but offer answers to so many questions everyone has about demons. No matter what happens from now, Kanae has chosen to defend you- and once she decides to do something, that decision is final.
HIII so i had like a cool idea right what if we get like individual hashira reactions to an ex hashira reader than turned into a demon and feels bad for it and find that the reader has been following them around cause they miss them but has to keep their distance and will avoid interaction at all costs until they’re cornered
so how we feeling guys 👅
Note: Feeling good! :] This can be read as platonic or romantic.
Contains: Hurt/Comfort (Giyuu, Mitsuri, Shinobu, Tengen, Kanae), Hurt No Comfort (Sanemi, Obanai, Kyojuro, Muichiro, Gyomei), death
Those Unwanted Wisps
Giyuu Tomioka
Your disappearance has haunted him for months by now. The mission you parted for was not meant to be difficult; it was supposed to be just another common check in to murders potentially related to demons. However, later reports hinted towards Upper Moon activity in that area. Although your body is yet to be recovered, Giyuu has found himself preparing for the worst. Sorrow sweeps over him in calm, cold waves, and he wishes the memories would stop crashing through him.
You saw past his aloof personality, being the only Hashira to bother with actively seeking him out. Neither his equanimity nor silence deterred you. The occasional sarcastic remarks never annoyed you, if anything you were entertained by them, and thus to his delight, you grew quite close. Over time, Giyuu found himself admiring you, the way you knew your limitations and shamelessly admitted to your faults. You were bright and bold and selfless, so much so that the depths of his soul may as well have been pierced by the rays of your light.
His expression twitches in a sudden burst of pain, the casual grip on his sword tightens. It would not have been like you to carelessly throw your life away. If you were alive you would have returned by now and apologized for causing worry, only to rush straight onto the next mission. Lately, like a tidal wave, Giyuu has been tearing into his enemies with quiet, careless rage. All because he knows you are gone.
To make matters worse, a strange presence has been following him as of late. The phantom stalks him through the trees, and part of him wonders if it may be your spirit chasing after him. Those thoughts are swiftly shaken off, Giyuu cannot afford to ignore the possibility of a demon just because he got sentimental. He grasps the pendant hidden beneath his uniform, a gift for him, you said, the aquamarine reminded you of his eyes. Allowing them to flutter shut for merely a second, Giyuu hopes holding onto the present will keep him stable as he finally snaps to face his stalker.
His eyes shoot wide open anyway, mouth parted as he finally gazes upon the creature's form. Your face, your complexion, your clothes, even your sword- the figure holds all of them. However, everything that made you yourself has been warped and his stare sharpens. This is without a doubt a demons doing. Giyuu readies his sword, more than eager to tear this crude illusion apart, but the being's reaction forces him to pause.
Although accompanied by a swift movement, your blade blocks his passively. Please, you plead of him to speak with you first. Torn between rage to cut down the creature for impersonating you and rushing to hold you, Giyuu's face betrays him as it twists in a surge of grief. It reverts back to its usual stone cold form as he demands an explanation. In spite of his disbelief, Giyuu can tell the demon is genuine when claiming to be you; the rumors of an Upper Moon having been in the area were true, and you were turned against your will.
His gaze drifts downwards to the damp grass, hand flinching against the hilt of his katana. Responsibility clashes against every memory he has tried to drown. Playing tsume shogi and talking late into the night, sharing rare smiles and eating fish together- everything Giyuu has tried to stifle crashes over him once more. His chest constricts as if his lungs were filled with water instead of air, but he knows now is not the time for distractions. He breathes in and forces himself to relax his shoulders. Face as emotionless as ever, Giyuu asks if you have ever devoured a human.
You deny it, and he knows it is the truth. Although still hurt and furious towards whichever monster made you this way, Giyuu approaches you as a friend. Wordlessly, he embraces you like the tides embrace the moon. Hands firmly pressed against your back as you return the gesture, he swears to make this right. Even if he needs to violated the Demon Slayer Corps' code of conduct, he will keep you safe.
Selfish as it may be, Giyuu cannot afford to lose another loved one. Your absence already left an abyss in his heart, and as wrong as it is, a sense of relief washed over him even as he saw your demonic form. Though a twisted visage, a warped reflection on the surface of water, it was still you, it is still you. His hold tightens, eyes half-lidded, actions speaking the words he could never say.
Giyuu was not there to aid you when you needed him most. Guilt claws in his chest at the thought, and it likely forever will keep doing so. He has never been good enough to save those who have always had his back. However, you are still alive, in his arms, speaking as the person you always have been. Although it is a horrifying and terrible turnout of events, Giyuu holds on tighter and decides this is his second chance. He could not save you then but he will protect you now even if it puts him at risk, and even if it means protecting your humanity instead.
Mitsuri Kanjori
She has tried her best to remain positive. Each day Mitsuri waits by the porch of your mansion, a box of handmade sweets in her lap. Daydreaming of all the topics she will get to catch up with you on, the Love Hashira kicks her feet back and forth as the hours pass by. Sometimes she falls asleep leaning against a pillar, sometimes she has to leave with a wistful sigh. No matter what it is that forces Mitsuri to leave, she has been eating her meals all alone.
There is no way she could accept someone as powerful, wonderful and beautiful could be out of her life just like that. In spite of Iguro's careful attempts at reasoning with her, Mitsuri likes to think you simply found someone to love wherever you disappeared. That person must be very important and in dire need of help! Ah, how truly selfless and radiant you are! Hopefully you will be back soon to visit.
Deep down, she knows this is all only wishful thinking. Mitsuri is not childish enough to believe everything went so perfectly for you, but she is not willing to accept your departure just yet either. Many of her colleagues have passed, and their deaths have left her trembling in anger and sadness. However, as someone so many depend on, she cannot afford to be distracted. Even if this is the first time someone so close to her has met the kind of horrible end many in this line of work do, she must keep her head on straight.
Besides, your body has not even been recovered yet! You could totally be alive! Mitsuri will ignore the ghostly presence following her around, it has got to be just her mind playing tricks on her. Ghosts very likely do exist, but that is not your spirit behind her, nope! See, she will prove it right here and now!
Mitsuri spins around with her green eyes barely peeled open, only to let out a loud gasp. Before her stands the very person she has missed so much. Sure, you look like you were hiding and now are hesitating, but there is no need to be shy! Mitsuri cries out your name and rushes towards you with her arms spread out. You both fall to the ground as she giggles in delight upon seeing you alive and well, but you spare no reaction to what should have been the air getting forced out of your lungs.
The silence shocks her and she apologizes for tackling you as her giggles die down. Soon Mitsuri pulls herself up by her arms to hover above you, cheerful tone replaced by worry. You avert your gaze as she scans you over for injuries, only for her breath to catch in her throat. The cute parts of your pretty face have become tainted by demonic features! You are still rather attractive though... but that is beside the point!
Panicking, Mitsuri rubs her eyes frantically and hopes it will make those demonic bits go away. When this does not work, she pleads you to tell her what happened. This is still you, it has to be! You have not eaten or killed any humans, the you Mitsuri knows would never do that. She believes you with her whole heart when you say you have not, and embraces you the same way she always has, like all the love in the world is hers to give.
Sweet like honey and warm like spring, her heart envelops yours. It is as if everything will be alright, just because Mitsuri loves you. Slowly, your shoulders go slack as your hands settle over her back as well. Mitsuri promises she sees you the same way she always has, and will invite you out to eat even though you need no food anymore. Maybe you will finally join her in taking care of her bees now that your skin is more durable and heals easier!
That earns a short burst of laughter from you and she giggles as well. Through some sort of miracle, you retained your whole consciousness in spite of your transformation. Mitsuri refuses to let an opportunity like this slip past her. Her friend is back and the Demon Slayer Corps has a cooperative reference for demon studying. The studying part is only if you agree, of course!
Mitsuri just needs an excuse to get everyone on board with keeping you around still. They all have good reasons for hating demons and she does not want anyone to get hurt. However, she cares about you far too much to allow you to simply be executed Besides, you have not even harmed a single human! Those months apart were nothing but pangs of hurt slashing through her heartstrings. Now that she finally has you back, she is never letting you go.
Obanai Iguro
The days muddle into a blur as he wraps himself up in work. Obanai curses himself for not having taken those rumors seriously. One Hashira was not enough, that is the only reason why you could have been gone for so long. He does not allow himself to grow close to people often, not that many are worth his time to begin with. However, through your persistence in befriending him, he grew to see your strengths.
Embarrassingly soon into knowing you, Obanai had to admit it. You are an ideal demon slayer. The rules and etiquette of the organization are engraved into your very bones. Not a shred of mercy lurks in your body, no sympathy at all wasted on those undeserving of it. Even so, you remain humble and lively, so assured in your cause and comrades that you speak eagerly of what you will do when the time comes that demons are no more.
Although he regarded your optimism as foolish at first, Obanai grew to respect it over time. In fact, it is how every slayer should function. The finish line is in sight, the Demon King will fall. Therefore, all energy should be expended towards training and working for that destination, that future. These weaklings the Corps has become infested with are all stagnant and cowardly, but now he finds himself wishing you would have shown more care for your own limits.
If he could, he would find you and coil around you, keeping you beside him at all times. The number of people he cares for has been at an all time low for years now. The more Obanai thinks of it, the more grief and hatred slither within him like his veins. Even if only for a while, the way your sights were locked onto the future made him wonder if even someone as filthy as him could move forward. In spite of your own struggles, which you never attempted to mask, all you ever said was that the past is dead and gone, only today is worth considering... but today, you are gone.
The bandages over his mouth shift with his subtle grimace, eyes narrowed. There is no way he can move on from your death. Obanai has never had much to himself, has not had the chance to lose something so valuable. Now he knows how to hold on, but it is far too late. So, to turn his shortcomings into something of value, he snarls and decides to finally deal with the creature he knows has been following him since your disappearance, close enough at last to prevent it from slipping away.
He whips himself around, only to freeze. You stand before him, face devoid of life. At first Obanai cannot believe what he sees, then forcefully steadies himself. Demanding an explanation with a threat, it surprises him when you speak calmly. Your fate was even worse than he thought; you lost and became a demon.
Handing over your weapon to him, you offer a faint smile, telling him to give it to a slayer he deems worthy of it. Obanai grasps it in his hands, then stares at you with wide eyes as you ask him to end you. That is what he should do, what would be natural to do in spite of your intact consciousness and memory. The past flashes through his eyes and he falters. Sharing poems, watching shows of artistry together, sparring, and walking beneath the silence of the stars- no, how is he meant to let it all slip away from him?
His hands tremble over his sword. He should not hesitate, he should not waver. This is his duty as a demon slayer. Church bells seem to toll in the distance as you wait with half-lidded eyes, reflections of tired grief and wasted dreams. Tears prick at the corners of his own, and Obanai knows if he allows himself to dwell on this, he will never go through with it.
The cut is sharp, fast, and clean, like the bite of a gaboon viper. He stops right before you, stumbling in the position his strike landed on. A bittersweet and grateful smile grazes over your lips as you mutter a thank you. Your head falls off from your shoulders before your body collapses. Obanai stands still as the skin flakes, cracks, and disintegrates, but you are not a shedding snake. No new skin will peek out from beneath after the old one is gone.
Soon, whatever remained of your corpse is gone. Obanai's stoic expression falters, eyes squinted with unshed tears, face scrunched in despair. Everything about demonkind is utterly unforgivable, but even after becoming one you remained true to yourself, offering up your life rather than clinging to that mangled form of existence. No matter what you have told him about the act of moving on before, he will never forget you. The future you had hoped for may have been robbed from your deserving hands but he will ensure your dream will come true nonetheless- even if you will not be there to see it.
Sanemi Shinazugawa
He is not the type to sit still when something is bothering him. He is the wind that picks up and rises to a hurricane, which shows in the way he searches for you. All of his patrols are directed near the area you were meant to visit, but nothing turns up. Wrenching off the head of demon after demon, Sanemi still comes up empty handed. Frustration rages inside him, and that storm is what he tries to focus on rather than the fear floating in like dark clouds before rain.
Someone with your level of power would not have fallen to some measly demon. Sanemi refuses to accept that as even a possibility, anyone who says it is so can run off and die for all he cares. You are still alive, he just needs to find you. Only after seeing your corpse would he even consider the thought. He mulls over what you will do together once he finds you instead.
One of his beetles gave birth recently. Sanemi knows you would enjoy seeing the little ones grow and change over time. Once you recover from whatever has kept you from him for this long, he wants to spar again. Nothing thrills him more than testing which one of you will come out on top, strengths matched. Maybe he will even take some time to cook for you, depending on how bad your condition is.
All he needs to do is find you, but he keeps getting distracted by the burning feeling that someone is watching him. For the entire duration of his search operation he has been catching glimpses of a shadowy figure and hearing the creaking of branches. Each time he has tried to confront the creature, it has slipped away from him. Since the noises only follow him at nighttime, the thing is undoubtedly a demon, a particularly fast one. For whatever reason all it has done so far is following him, but tonight Sanemi would dig out the truth from the demon itself.
He set up a trap and although the demon narrowly avoids it, Sanemi finally gets a look at his stalker. His eyes fly wide as they settle among a figure that looks eerily like you. Sword raised, he scowls and strikes. The figure parries on instinct, form an exact replica of your breathing technique. Jumping back, Sanemi slices his arm and grins, deceivingly offering to give the creature some of his rare, valuable blood in exchange for answers.
The demon licks its lips on reflex, then shuts its eyes and shakes its head. When it speaks, its voice is a carbon copy of yours. Sanemi freezes as the creature, the one he has been looking for, explains what happened. An Upper Moon turned you into a demon, but you have continued your duties in spite of your ongoing metamorphosis. However, your hunger has been growing stronger with each passing day. Although you want to keep going, you are not sure how long your self-restraint can last.
This is a transformation neither one of you wants to see through. Sanemi grits his teeth, eyes squinted in pure frustration. He wants to cry and scream, he blames himself for letting you go alone. There is already so much loss he has endured. He knows he must do this, but dammit he does not want to! Steeling his resolve as he blinks the fog out from his eyes, for the first time in his career, Sanemi presses the blade gently against a demon's throat.
One swift, clean slice, and he hopes he did not cause you any pain. His hands tremble and he drops his sword, rushing to hold your crumbling body. Sanemi's breath shakes as he buries his head into your shoulder. A quiet mumble leaves your lips. You would have liked to stay with him, just a little longer.
Tears roll down his face in fat streaks as he grits his teeth. When the final remnants of your body disintegrate, Sanemi slams his fists into the ground. Uncaring of the rocks and branches that tear into his skin, he lets his red, marechi blood pour out. Even so, the pain is not enough to distract him as rage tears him to shreds from the inside out. Fist grasping at his uniform, chest burning with wrath, he swears to eradicate every single demon in this world, all in your name.
Gyomei Himejima
Each morning and every night, he prays for your safety. He fulfills his duties and sticks to his routines as devotedly as always. However, his days feel undoubtedly emptier. Without you to contrast his easily shaken soul, Gyomei has found himself weeping even more than usual. Calm and comforting, your presence was steady as the earth beneath his feet.
He longs for the soulful talks you shared, the distinct echo of your voice and every intonation of your words. Even the quiet moments, relaxing in a field of damp grass and flowers filled him with peace. His flute lays dormant within his robes, waiting for someone eager to hear it be played. Of course with Gyomei being the strongest Hashira, many would be honored to watch him do anything. However, he cares not for empty praise. What he misses are the deep, detailed insights to the melodies he would play.
Gyomei trusts you to be honest with him. That was why when you said the mission would not be a problem, he let you go alone. It was meant to be nothing but a routine check-up on rumors. Those do not often lead to battle at all, and if they do, it is nothing a Hashira could not take care of. However, your absence can only mean one thing; the situation's severity was vastly underestimated.
Only an Upper Moon could have kept you for so long, could have killed you. Still, Gyomei has committed himself to finding you. As unwavering as steel, he searches for your kind voice and familiar heartbeat. Each disaster has you have endured has only proven your true nature as determined and brave. Although being in the Demon Slayer Corps means there is no guarantee of tomorrow, he hopes to meet you once more in one of his future days.
However, one peculiar thing has been distracting Gyomei from his tasks as of late. A presence stalks him through the trees, fast enough to flee before he can face them. It owns the footsteps and aura of a demon, yet its heart beats with purity. It is a demon indeed, but one that has never taken the life of a human being. Such a strange thing warrants an explanation, which he shall finally get tonight.
As he faces the demon, however, he pauses, unconsciously lowering his weapons. There is no mistake when your voice gently breaks through the silence, you are this demon. His pale eyes are quick to start shedding tears; this is why you have been gone. Gyomei understands when you reveal why you did not come to face him immediately. Allowing oneself to die is against the very nature of any living being.
These past few months, you have been tying up loose ends and ensuring his safety. Now that you are done, there is no reason to stay in this world as such a hideous monster. Although you have held in your hunger for now, that could change at any moment. Gyomei loathes that you are right. His heart breaks as you lower yourself to the ground, to your knees, the back of your neck open to him.
If there ever was anyone you would have liked to be beheaded by, it would have been him. You know he would give you a graceful death. Salty tears slide down his face, brows furrowing in pain. Gyomei commends your resolve; you retained your humanity, even until the bitter end. Mumbling a quiet prayer, he does his best to keep his voice from wavering, blessing your soul. Although your body may have failed you and yielded to the demon blood forced upon you, he assures you will die as a human in spirit, your dignity intact.
Your heartbeat thrums in your neck, veins and nerves tensing in anticipation. Raising his axe like an executioner, Gyomei knows he cannot listen to this for much longer. Your head severs from your body in such a quick flash, you feel nothing at all. It all fades to black as he kneels before your fading corpse. He remains seated in the silence for a long while.
The blood burning away from his large hands stings as it goes. Hurting living beings is hell. Ending the life of someone so close to him... infernal flames may as well be reaching for him from below. Even so, Gyomei will not let those get to him. Your sacrifices will never be forgotten, not as long as he lives, and in your next life, you will be reunited.
Muichiro Tokito
Something is missing, he can tell. Pangs of emptiness run through him but he does not know why. At times Muichiro wonders if that something may be someone. That guy with blonde... or was it red hair, asked him about someone earlier. The name that loud stranger mentioned sounded familiar, but he can only connect a blurry face to it.
Muichiro finds items that bring up quiet whispers of the past. A painted birthday card rests on his nightstand, that smudged name written in the back with a personalized message to him. Your thoughts seem kind, and your handwriting is pleasant on the eyes. On top of his drawer are a couple of origami, but much more sloppily made than his. That makes sense, in one of your letters you thanked him for teaching you. Hm, he should find this person... maybe tomorrow.
Although each day he wakes up having forgotten, everything in his daily life to leads him back to you, whoever you may be. Muichiro should not care, emotions of this nature should not distract him from his duties. However, he finds himself more and more troubled with each passing day. Knowing of this only due to his notebook, yet another thing brought upon him through your influence, he decides to get this over with and reach out to you.
Someone scolds him again for forgetting a meeting, then sighs in exasperation. The lower ranked slayer, a kinoto, complains about a Hashira needing another by his side, how inefficient this is. Though the evident dislike towards him slides past him like fog through trees, his eyes narrow on instinct when the slayer questions your bond with him. With cold and cutting words, Muichiro harshly tears the slayer to shreds. By the end of it, the insignificant moron shakily apologizes and hurries off.
If all the other proof was not enough, this confirms it; whoever you were, you were someone important to him. He needs to find you, but as he tries to figure out where you could be, Muichiro notices a figure following him from behind the trees. Oh, he mentioned this in his notebook too... or maybe it is more of a diary now that he thinks of it. Anyway, he turns around fast and faces the one following him.
Part of his mind clears upon seeing your face. Ah, this is the one who has been haunting him, physically and mentally. Well, a demon is a demon and therefore should be slain. Muichiro takes a stance and a deep breath, mist gathering as he readies his blade. However, an intense squeeze of his heart freezes him in place.
At first Muichiro wonders if it is a Blood Demon Art at play, but that is quickly ruled out. His body forced him to stop as if hurting you was inherently wrong, against his very nature. At first it frustrates him, then he gasps, eyes soon glossed over. For a moment all of it shrouds his senses, overpowering the fog. Your fingers brushing through his hair, struggling to fold paper with an embarrassed smile, playfully competitive games of shogi- all of that and more flows back into the forefront of his mind.
No, he cannot kill you. He could never kill you, let go of someone like you. Never have you berated or looked down upon him for his forgetfulness. Your endless patience engraved you into his dazed mind. At times Muichiro even found himself laughing with you under clear skies.
A sheer layer of water shrouds his vision as he shudders. Your gentle hands brush the soft tears from his eyes as a quiet sob escapes his trembling lips. The hollow wrath plaguing all that he is takes a side role as horrible grief sets in, suppressed emotions rushing in like a tsunami from a broken floodgate. All Muichiro recalls from these upcoming moments are your familiar voice telling him it is fine and comforting hands wrapping his own around the blade. The rest is a blur that he can never remember, but Muichiro can recall a horrifying, soul-crushing pain, so maybe it would be better for him to remain ignorant.
Time seems to pass by as it always has the moment he wakes up in the morning. Not even thunderstorms have kept him up, yet something strange kept him from falling asleep last night. Muichiro cannot quite put his finger on why that is, nor why his normally good appetite is gone as well. Though most importantly of all, as he wanders through the mist with his head in the clouds, he wonders why he his heart sounds so empty again. All he knows for sure is that the persistent rage within his soul, it has grown tenfold as of yesterday.
Shinobu Kocho
She has grown used to the silence. The heaviness that settles soon after a loved one has passed, brought out by the tapping of a deathwatch beetle. Hatred boils within her, fluttering with sharp edges and bleeding cuts. The smile on her painted lips remains ever-present, but it grows tighter, even more maintained. Shinobu's words turn into jagged scalpels, though passive-aggressive derision can only alleviate pain so much.
With each passing day her frustration grows as no news reach her. Although Shinobu remains composed on the surface, those who know her better can pick up on how she clenches her jaw or taps on the paper when she writes. If only her body had grown strong like her sister's. The tip of her pencil breaks at the thought and she curses her fragile, dainty form. Alone, Shinobu drops her smile and allows her expression to warp into a grimace, deep in turmoil as she trembles in anger, tears running down her reddened face.
By the time only her lashes are damp with her grief anymore, Shinobu has successfully forced down her emotions. A practiced mask settles over her features, certainly eerie to any outsider. She must remain focused, she needs to push forward. Wisteria poison pumps through her veins, lethal to any demon yet she injects more. One way or another, she will be useful.
Even if it is against her late sister's wishes, she cannot bottle her wrath without taking action. Remembering the innocent lives lost- her parents, her only sibling, her apprentices, their families- there is no way Shinobu could ever live a normal life. Helping to defeat the demons is the least she could do, and even as she gives it her all, she wishes she could do so much more. Though even her all is never enough, Shinobu will at least make way for the true saviors that will come, all those stronger than her. Her eyes reflect only hollowness as she watches her goldfish flounder in its tank.
So unburdened by life, Shinobu wonders if she herself would have been happier taking to the oceans rather than the dark sky like her little friend. However, that is not the fate meant for her. She knows that on her patrols, she knows it when dealing with the side effects of her own poison. Perhaps she truly will fill herself up with her own venom, she hums alone, wholly uncaring of the habits that will inevitably lead to her doom. However, even in this somewhat distracted state, she notices the figure trailing her.
Shinobu appears behind the demon with the stealth of a ninja, whispering sweet vitriol into its ear as always. The monster remains strangely still as she trails a manicured hand down its cold cheek. Something about this seems eerily familiar. Her eyes widen before she freezes. You are the one who stands before her, you with sharp teeth, discolored claws, and an unnatural stare.
She knows she should embed her sword into your flesh. To follow her vows, she should sink this blade into your guts and let the poison flow through you. However, Shinobu does not. Memories flash between her violet eyes. Your carefree laughs, feeble attempts to stifle your fear when telling ghost stories together, even cooking with the Love Hashira- all of her love crashes over her.
Although her sister's wish never made sense to her before, Shinobu understands it better than ever now. Stepping back, she allows you to explain yourself. When you reveal the gory details of your battle, she recalls what she always has known. The road of happiness lies upon a thin sheet of glass. In spite of all her wishes and effort, she could not stop you from falling beneath your feet.
A frown falls to her lips, facial muscles straining not to show more emotion. Taking in a deep breath, Shinobu steadies herself as you speak of your own future, offering to have yourself be slain willingly. She is swift to reject your suggestion, tone firm and decisive. You have retained your humanity despite your transformation, and that is far more valuable than gold, rarer than the Wind Pillar's blood. This is something that must be studied.
Shinobu does not let you argue, her decision is final. As the chief executive of the Demon Slayer Corps' medical and scientific research department, she more than has the authority to do this. All of this talk of experiments is nothing but a front though. Shinobu cannot handle any more grief, even this scare was far too much for her. Even if you are a demon now, she has you back and won't be letting go; creating a cure for you is her utmost priority now.
Kyojuro Rengoku
The sun has risen and fallen far too many times in your absence. As Kyojuro pushes on forward, he does his best to ignore the dread flickering in his chest. In moments of doubt such as these, he truly is grateful for having embraced the way of the ancient swordsmen. He enjoys every meal as his last, lives each passing day like he will die tomorrow. So far he has survived, but that does not mean no endings will come to pass him by.
Nothing lasts forever, such is the fleeting beauty of all things mortal. He knows what your absence means and as he closes his eyes, he recalls your face. Like Kyojuro does with all that he loves, he has pressed its visage into his memory. Your bright eyes, tired yet hopeful smile, every pretty crease and bump and scar- any moment he gets to do so, Kyojuro makes sure he remembers each and every one of them. If he knew how to paint he could recreate yours with no reference, and perhaps he should commission an art piece just to be safe.
Though as much as he tries to remain focused on the present and what he still has, his thoughts trail to their old paths. He turns to you with a smile as he watches a dance performance to see your mesmerized eyes, only to come face to face with no one. The expression remains as a shallow reflection of its original self as Kyojuro tries to enjoy the show on its own. He finds himself always trying to seek you out, to ask you about food and flowers and anything he has not heard you express your opinion on. Everything about life is short-lived, and in spite of his best efforts he still did not get to know you as well as he would have liked to.
People continue to greet him with grins and enthusiasm to which he responds as he always has, only to wish you would be there to welcome his presence with the same delight. The apricot sky seems to be taunting him, Kyojuro thinks but shakes the idea off fast. How rude of him to insult such a beautiful sight. Wherever you are, he is sure you would have loved the visual. He hopes the sunsets are just as beautiful there, and that you have the best paintbrushes at your disposal, the smoothest of canvases.
Even if the rest of the world were to forget you, he would keep it all in mind. Your determination and hard work, persistence in spite of struggle, the meaningful passion your words always exuded, they would all remain in his burning heart. Above all, Kyojuro would keep your love the closest to his chest, your innate need to shield others. Truly, you lived and died as true warrior, fulfilling your duties with honorable grace and dedication. If he could, he would sit beside the flame of your memory for the rest of the evening but alas, life simply does not work in such a generous way.
The shadow he has been trying to face since your disappearance shows itself at last, and his suspicions are confirmed, it has been you all this time. Your explanation scorches his heart into ash, golden eyes hazed over as he listens. To think all of this could happen in his absence... no, Kyojuro must not dwell on the past. All he can do is ensure the same mistakes will not be made again. Knowing you cannot live any longer, you step closer and carefully wrap your arms around him.
Assuring him that it is alright for him to perform his duties, you press your cheek onto his own, leaning into his warmth. You wish to die as human as you possibly can, and only he can grant you that peace. His eyelids droop as he engraves this one last memory of closure into his very bones. Only then does Kyojuro press the blade through your throat. The movement is swift and painless. All he sees is your sad smile and grateful eyes, a heartbreaking and bittersweet display.
With a deep breath, Kyojuro sheathes his sword. Not even a single muscle shifts as he watches your body fade to dust. All of those moments have turned to memories now. Being prepared does not make his heart hurt any less. However, this ephemeral nature of life is something he must continue to accept over and over again as a demon slayer.
Kyojuro does not cry. Weeping after taking a life would be the most utmost selfish thing to do. Even so, his heart sinks further in his chest with the weight of another lost future. His usual smile is gone, as much as he tries to continue living day by day. Memories are not something he can shake off but he hopes to keep on living for you, dreaming for you.
Tengen Uzui
What an unsightly, dull emotion. Grief should be suffered through with elegance, devotion, and promises. He should only kneel before your grave with the humility of a warrior, dedicate himself to carrying your wishes, and vow to never let another one so close to him slip from his grasp. However, that is not all Tengen does. As much as he tries to keep his head held up and his resolve firm, the burdensome weight over his chest tries to pull him down with just as much intent.
Truly, Tengen deserves the most heartfelt of apologies from you. What, do you think you can distract him from his duties with no consequence? If you return, that is what he will demand. He knows too well you would only cackle at his request, well-maintained teeth flashing in the sunlight. This would serve as nothing more than a way to bring out more exasperated yelling from him.
That was the routine you had fallen into. After years of the same cycle, of teasing and mocking words with no bite at all, it was difficult to slip out of old habits. At a certain point it stopped being bickering caused by genuine dislike, what it had started off as. For a long time, it has been a way to call out each other's flaws. Stumbling in battle, poor manners, forgetfulness- you would tear into another for just about anything.
To an outsider your relationship could have easily been mistaken as one built on hatred, but that was far from true. On the occasion you would praise his skill in combat, and Tengen would be gracious enough to commend you for being able to stand beside him. In the end, the jabs became only a way to keep your pride intact. Your bond built itself on mutual respect and genuine enjoyment of one another's company. As infrequently as he would say it, your honesty and confidence were far more than flamboyant enough.
You were mind-blowing and outstanding, never struggling to choose in difficult situations. Hard work and dedication were all it took for you to rise to your rightful rank of Hashira. In comparison to you and many of his other peers, Tengen felt like an utter bumbling fool at times. With all the lives he has let slip through his fingers, there is nothing else he could be. Even now he cannot seem to catch that one single demon who has been trailing him.
That figure has continued to evade Tengen for months by now, almost mocking him with how it slips away. Frustrated, he finally turns to face that shadow, catching it off guard. With how surprised the figure gets, he can tell he could have easily beheaded it if he had chosen to. However, Tengen is not cowardly enough to do so, no matter what those old fools from his past tried to teach him. Now, seeing your shocked face connected to the demon who has stalked him, he is more than grateful he is not.
Despite himself he smirks, teasing you for thinking he could not have noticed you. He is the Sound Hashira, you foolish trash! Your expression of surprise, guilt, and sadness morphs into an annoyed scowl. Still, your voice rings with no bloodlust or threat as you call him a slow, frail old man for failing to catch you. Tengen shouts out a response in faux offense, berating you for being weak enough to get yourself turned into a demon.
However, that causes the both of you to pause. The gravity of the situation sets in, silence falling over the empty forest. Tengen adjusts his posture and places his weapons away. You say nothing as he approaches. There was an Upper Moon, is all that you reveal when he stops before you.
Tengen does not need to hear anything else. A rare moment of sincerity unveils beneath the quiet stars. The bells on his uniform jingle as he embraces you. His heart hurts as he holds on like you may die the moment he lets go. He swears to fix this with a low, almost desperate tone and somehow, in spite of your doubts, you cannot help but believe him.
Above all, selfish as it may be, Tengen values those he cares about. No mission is important enough for him to forsake those he loves. There is far too much he has lost already. The two of you can work this out, he is sure of it. Even if a bitter, tragic end may be all that this will lead to, he promises to see it through with you.
Kanae Kocho
The gentle smile on her lips remains as ever-present as it always has been. Her eyes, however, gloss over with a watery sheen, reflecting nothing but pain. Kanae plants white lilies in her garden and brushes a few into her stygian hair. Her grief is silent: dewdrop tears, whispered prayers, and averted gazes. There is much left to do, being left behind is far from an option.
As expertly as Kanae hides her wrath, the thorn-covered vines of rage wrap around her heart as well. She is not so different from her peers, no matter how much they marvel at her empathy. The moment you were declared Missing In Action, Kanae swore to personally slay the demon that took you from her. Once a Kocho decides to defeat a demon, she will defeat that demon. When she decides to win, she will win whatever the cost.
Perhaps one day there will be a demon she will lose to, forsaking the promise she made with her sisters. That, however, cannot hold her back. Thinking of her own fragile body would only be an excuse. Anything Kanae can do she will, with all her might. So, she pours all of her energy into finding you.
Your jokes, banter, and silly smiles bloom in the depths of her mind. Kanae asks around if anyone has seen someone of your description, and remembers all the details herself. Her smile trembles when comes across another dead-end. However, Kanae does not give up, knowing you would never have done so either if she were to disappear. The girls miss you too, and anything she can pull more determination and strength from, Kanae keeps in mind with the utmost clarity.
As she searches, she slays the demons from the surrounding area. Being active at nighttime, Kanae picks up on the branches shifting oddly every once in a while as if something abruptly fled from her gaze. Kanae's brows furrow in confusion; this is a phenomenon that has followed her for a while now on her patrols, even in her everyday life. It disappears in daytime, but if a demon were following her, why would it not have attacked by now? Perhaps it is a peculiar way for a demon slayer to approach the situation, but Kanae calls the demon forth from the shadows, saying she only wishes to talk.
The hope Kanae has had for a peaceful interaction with a demon shatters and blooms into desperation as she recognizes the figure. Although buried beneath demonic traits, this face still holds all of your pretty features. Kanae knows the answer when she asks if this truly is you. The truth wounds her heart, pruning shears cutting off her dreams of watching you flourish as a human. Even so, she can tell you are starving.
Stepping forward, Kanae approaches you with concern in her glossy eyes. Her warm, soft yet calloused fingers gingerly trace your cold features. Kanae's hands settle to cradle your face in a familiar gesture. She used to examine your body for wounds with the same gentleness. Although unnecessary, the act keeps the both of you grounded.
Kanae treats you with the same carefulness as before, like handling an orchid. Her observing touches are softer than whispers as she memorizes your new face. Hope swells in her heart once more as the minutes pass by. Time slows down as you cautiously explore your new predicament. Kanae's curious smile grows into one of relief and delight.
In spite of the changes in your body, you are fully human by mind. This is wonderful news! Her dream of peacefully coexisting with demons seems more possible than ever. Kanae wishes you would have shown yourself to her earlier, but understands why you had your reservations. Still, she assures you that she will vouch for you when you return to the Demon Slayer Corps, so will the rest of the Butterfly Mansion.
Although an unconventional situation, it is also a source of hope for change. It is far too soon to be getting too excited over it, but a sense of happiness flowers in her heart. Kanae does not have to let go and say goodbye for once. Not only do you still live, but offer answers to so many questions everyone has about demons. No matter what happens from now, Kanae has chosen to defend you- and once she decides to do something, that decision is final.
You’re a demon, but they couldn’t help but fall in love with you.
Pairing: Sanemi, Kyojuro, Gyomei x gn!demon!reader
Genre: Angst, slight fluff
Note: I wrote this while on a flight while my drafts were inaccessible </3 I had this idea months back and finally decided to write it forgive this depravedness lmao
He has never considered ending his life by his own blade, no matter how hard life had become or how he occasionally yearned for the eternal sleep just to feel some rest and peace, but alas, Sanemi has duties.
Those duties include protecting and saving the ones that cannot do it themselves against the most evil of this world: demons. Hellspawn, tainted and fed by their demon king, those who snatch innocents off the streets to shred them to pieces and devour them, one like his mother was.
Sanemi only felt hatred for these creatures. The same hatred he felt towards you the first time he encountered you.
Your first meeting consisted of Sanemi slicing his arms up, throwing his blood around like it was of no worth, trying to lure and confuse your senses. It did work of course, but you weren’t exactly hostile towards him.
He hasn’t met many demons like you, especially the way you were trying to make yourself look harmless and smaller while taking small steps closer to the bleeding hashira as if you were approaching a feral animal. Or a scared stray kitten.
Sanemi wasn’t exactly sure when he started tolerating your presence near his estate at night. You were supposedly harmless and managed to convince him to let you live another day, and for whatever heaven given reason, he did. He forced himself to lie to his master and promise that the demon was dealt with, while said demon, was purring outside his window and cooing at him to let you inside.
Hatred and shame clawed his guts into shreds the first night he held you in his arms. How could he have let this happen? He *has* to use this rare opportunity to kill you, but Sanemi’s hand was trembling when he reached for the blade beneath his pillow. He just couldn’t do it.
You were truly a weird demon. You insist on not needing to eat humans to survive, yet drool drips out the corners of your mouth whenever he comes home with a new wound that needed tending, which you so graciously offered to take of every time.
Sanemi hates it. He hates it so much how he has caught himself wasting thoughts on worrying about you, if you are safe from the sun or starving. He hates himself for itching to touch you again, pull you into a stiff hug until he melts like putty in your hands. He hates it that he feels like this for a demon.
Surely you are using him to gather some kind of intel for your master or something. Perhaps you are waiting on him coming home one day and collapsing on the floor, a meal laid out for you to eat, but at the same time he wants to believe that you don’t want these things.
Sanemi swore on his dead mother’s grave that he *will* behead you one day. But for now, he’ll be selfish and savour this as long as he can, even if it does makes him want to kill himself in shame.
~~~
“Don’t fucking touch me like that.” Sanemi mumbled lowly, his arm flinching away violently at your brief touch. Your fingers grazed up his forearm, teasing his skin. “Don’t be silly, I can take care of this.”
A hiss escaped his lips as you traced the bleeding gash on his bicep. “Hold still, darling.” You cooed softly, earning a grunt from him in response. Moving away, you took a medical sewing kit into your hand and began to work on closing his wound cleanly. “Such a good boy you are for me.” You praised after finishing the last stich.
Sanemi growled and ripped his arm away from your hold, briefly inspecting your work. He doesn’t want to admit it, but it wasn’t half bad. “It’ll do.”
“Would you like me to kiss it better? I heard that helps.”
“… Eugh, fine. Whatever. Here.”
(….)
(….)
“Did you just fucking lick me.”
Kyojuro Rengoku // Flame Hashira — Diehard.
His familiy has been protecting humans and serving the Demon Slayer Corps for generations, almost dating all the way back to the Sengoku Era, and never once in all those centuries has a Rengoku bring shame upon their family and family name.
But the day will soon come where Kyojuro will have to tell his father about his soulmate, inform Kagaya of his fundamental betrayal of the corps and the people, and the day Kyojuro’s honour will be stripper and torn into shreds.
He knows what a true fighter will do then to regain some of that honour, but he is not sure if he should be thinking about Seppuku right now.
Currently he has the reason of his future disgrace in the room with him, smiling all too warmly at him as if nothing ever was wrong. You so easily manipulated Kyojuro in your hands, letting him melt before moulding him into the person you want him to be; a perfect, caring human partner.
He could never bring himself to end your life. How could he? You never attacked him or any other human (as far as he knows), you willingly remained cooper up in his mansion given by the demon slayer corps and always tended to him when needed to. You are being so caring and soft, holding him in your arms until he falls asleep, hoping to never wake up from this dream. The thought of another slayer finding you and lifting their sword for the final cut makes his gut wrench, mind reel and hands act on their own.
That thought became something much more horrid.
~~~
“Kyo… you did so well.” Your cold hand brushing over his neck made him flinch violently, almost slipping on the pool of blood beneath him. His eyes were fixated on the body lying below his feet. A young man, promising slayer, his head further away from the rest of him. Kyojuro’s blade was still trembling in his hands.
“I-I didn’t mean to!” “Lower your voice.” You shushed him, hands now on his shoulders to try and calm him. “He attacked you! Wh-What should I-I’ve…?”
Panic rose inside his body and you could tell your hashira was close to his breaking point, if not tipped over it already. Gently, you took his katana out of his hands.
“Go take a warm bath. I’ll bring you dinner over soon. I’ll take good care of this.” Your breath caressed his ear as you whispered, making him shudder. Kyojuro’s chest weaved, his hands still trembling but slowly falling to his sides. His eyes watched how bloody footsteps trailed behind him as he stumbled into the bathhouse.
His mind was empty. His eyes were glossed over and staring at nothing in particular. His heart was on its best way to beat out of his chest, a death he would happily embrace right now.
But this was okay. You’ll get rid of the body and it’ll be like nothing ever happened, you always take care of him like that.
It was worth protecting you and the slayer’s fault for wanting to lay a hand on you. This was the right thing to do.
Yes. Yes it was.
Gyomei Himejima // Stone Hashira — Caring.
You are something to be protected. A demon like you who is so similar in behaviour to Nezuko, meaning you swore to him that you don’t eat human flesh, must be kept safe. Even if you are of foul blood, you can be redeemed, and Gyomei is incredibly eager to try to help you out.
He barely feels any guilt for going against the corps principles since he still is following his moral compass. As long as you behave, everything is perfectly fine.
Gyomei never believed that he fell in love with you. The bond you two share was much different. Deeper, more, closer.
He is very loving with you though, soothing you with his voice and his hands brushing over your back while you were hunched over, cramping up and writhing in agony of not having anything nourishing to eat in you. He mumbles soft mantras for strength while his warm palms brush back and forth over your cool thighs, making you shudder slightly. The sensation of warm against cool helped getting you distracted.
Gyomei knows your true nature and that he has to kill you at one point, but for now, he’ll savour the time he has with you.
Trying to avoid the unavoidable, he attempts to teach you to get your energy for living through other ways like sleeping and resting, but much to his disappointment, it never worked.
~~~
Gyomei smelled you before you could make your presence known. It was a scent he knew too well— metallic, sharp and overwhelmingly horrid. Blood. And not little.
“My pearl, are you hurt? What happened?”His palms brushed over your shoulders and down to your arms, searching for any injury. He felt no open wound, his hand yet covered in the hot blood. Tears began flowing down his face.
Your shaky hands gripped his forearm. “I-I’m sorry, I-I just was so hungry, and she was right there—“
You felt his whole body tense, but he did no effort to move away. Gyomei didn’t even look disgusted. “I understand. You followed your instincts, I cannot… blame you.”
His finger brushed through your hair briefly, feeling the matted strands being stuck together by crusted blood. “And the body? Where..”
“It’s gone. Only bones.” You mumbled. Both of you stood there silently for a moment until the man holding your face took a deep breath.
“Very well. You did good. I’ll prepare a warm bath for you to get you clean. Go choose some oils you’d like.” He gently nudged you to the bathroom.
Your head hung low as you did your walk of shame while Gyomei stood in place. He took his red-beaded necklace from his neck and gripped it tightly in his hand, closing his eyes for a brief prayer.
Whatever god there may be out there, may they grant him forgiveness because he has never felt more aroused than right now in his entire life.
💠
Author’s note. Thank you for reading!!
I really, really really hate flying and airplanes in general so I had go distract myself somehow 😭 I oun’t even know what came over me idk I hope this isn’t too weird for you guys 😭😭 Uhhh yea… anyways let me know what you think? :,)
Anyways, make sure to EAT, SLEEP and DRINK enough!!
Hi! I really love your work. Is there any way I could request something with Gyomei? Maybe the reader almost dies and how he'd react to that? Also maybe a bit of Shinobu being kinda their daughter? Thank you so much!
A/N: ask and you shall receive! I hope you are prepared for the deviation :)
Keeping a Promise
(Gyomei Himejima x GN! Reader & Shinobu Kocho)
Summary: An intel gathering mission goes sideways and you disappear in the wreckage. The corps --- Gyomei and Shinobu above all --- are left to mourn your absence, assuming that you must have died.
But you had a promise to keep, and you were nothing if not true to your word.
{~Masterlist~}
Tags/TW: Hurt/Comfort, established relationship, Gender-Neutral Reader, Happy ending (kind of)
Word Count: 7.8k
You take one step, only one, but it feels as if you drag mountains with you. You move your feet slow, tired, uneven when you lean on the left one. Limping, stumbling forward, hardly making it anywhere. The crushing weight soon becomes too heavy to bear, your legs buckling underneath it all. In an instant your sword digs into the ground, your white-knuckled grip keeps you from falling any further. You wince, cough, wheeze. Something warm drips from your lip but you don't have the energy left to wipe it away, though the falling rain does at least offer that kindness for you; the downpour dragging the thick liquid until it seems almost as light as the water that captures it. You stay there, stiff, tired. Your vision is blurry, your mind can hardly make out up from down.
There is the briefest second where you can't bring yourself to continue. Where each of your muscles starts to give way and you are content letting the mud below you be your final resting ground. Your eyes shut, threatening to finally give in. Images pass, fleeting ones. Your life, your purpose, the fight you lost. Entire days pass in the stage of your mind. Quicker and quicker and quicker until you settle on a final memory.
Your husband, all broad shoulders and bulk, hunched over with a bag that seemed so very small in his hands. ‘In case the road is long,’ he'd told you, like he ever needed the excuse. You remember how his eyes welled with unwilling but common tears, how you smiled before holding his face. You remember the briefest sensation as you laid a kiss on his lips, warm and comforting, the feeling of home. How you soothed him with a mutter of words when you pulled away. ‘I will be alright. I always am. ’
But your assurances never did very much to ward away his concern. Even now you can see the look on his face so vividly, so fully. The trust he held for you mixed with the fear he tried to hide. ‘I know,’ he had answered, the quiet sound of his voice calming you, melting you. Your grip on the sword slips further, like you are falling towards the sound. ‘But I fear the day that you are wrong.’ he'd said.
You remember how you scoffed at that, the idea so absurd at the time. You? Wrong? As if.
The memory makes you laugh, though the sound chokes out of you, strained and gargled. The world around you is fading fast, your hands are falling too far.
But for a moment it is peaceful. For a moment you are so engulfed in the warmth of home that you forget you are so far from it. You forget the pain, the searing holes left bleeding across your skin. You forget the strange sensation of your arm not being entirely in its place, the pieces of you that are beyond shattered. You forget it all in the memory of him, in the very idea of his warmth against the bitter cold that currently held you.
And then you remember what you said to him. The words you chose to soothe him in that moment before you left.
‘I promise that I'll always make it back to you.’
Your eyes open suddenly, a sharp breath fighting back the slow drawls that were trying to take you to the ground. You heave shaky sounds, throat sore and dry, lungs on the verge of no longer expanding. But you force them just as your hands find the strength to hold on again, refusal in the sheer rage that pulls a snarl on your lips. That's right you– you'd promised him. You told him you'd come back, you assured him that you wouldn't die out here. You couldn't die out here.
Your eyes glance at the path behind you, a bloodied trail showing just how far you've come, how long you have fought your own body to get here. You can see the rain already washing away the crimson you left in your wake, but you still notice its stark color shine where the trees drip instead of cascade.
You can't stop now, not yet. Not until you see him again, not until your promise is fulfilled.
And so you force yourself back on your feet, slowly, like it was your first time ever trying. You grunt when you manage a hobbled stance, one hand coming to rest on the bloodied ache of your shoulder, your arm barely holding on. You push on because you need to see him again, because you have to. Even just once. Even for a moment.
You stumble your way down the path again, leaving unsteady footprints that are sure to wash away under the raging storm. A drag, a drop, a couple too fast and a few that take full minutes. It's only then that you see something from your place on the hill. Through the trees and down the steep drop a dim light shines, almost too dark to notice in the downpour. You set your sights on it, moving closer and closer. You would get there; you had to, you…
You had to.
-
The night is quiet, humming a soft breeze and carrying an unease that is hard to ignore. Especially now, his eyes closed as he prayed, a stride away from the nearby river. It felt almost as if the air was stilted, strange, lacking the normal song that usually calmed him. As if the world was holding its breath, anticipating something. He couldn’t ignore this worry; this bone-deep, heavy, sinking feeling that something wasn't quite right. That the night was holding back, waiting for its time to strike.
But he would receive word on you soon, he was sure. It had been long enough. He waited here for the simple fact that his crow hadn't returned with said news yet. But he was a patient man; he had no problem waiting. All in due time. Even if the seconds felt like they stretched longer than normal and his hands began to restlessly fiddle with his beads.
The call of a crow overhead is almost a relief, up until he realizes it caws something urgent. The bird swoops down quickly. Too quickly. Its trajectory is off, though he only realizes when it narrowly misses his head. He snatches the crow before it can hit the ground, confusion burning into his brow at the warm wet feeling of its wings that are far too small to be Zekka’s. His grip turns suddenly gentle at the strange sensation, knowing now that it must be hurt. He tries to fret over it but can't get a word past its flapping. Its quick breaths sound almost like it had flown from a battlefield and hadn't stopped since. A strange sight, a most worrying sight.
And then the news came.
“They are missing! They are missing!” It squawks and rattles. He recognizes the sound quickly.
This is your bird.
His hands shake before he can steady them, a sudden caught breath in his throat. He doesn't move for a long moment, frozen there, like he hardly believes it, as if only half his mind can bear it. But slowly, agonizingly, the shock wears away, understanding meeting him in the cruelest way possible.
You were gone.
“What happened?” he's quick to ask, a thousand thoughts running through his mind at once.
Are you hurt? Of course you are; you're missing. How could this have happened? It was just supposed to be an information-gathering mission; it wasn't supposed to be so dangerous. How could your crow have lost you? Was it attacked? Where could you have gone? Are you still alive?
He’s still reeling, but he knows now is no time for hesitation. He has to act.
“A surprise attack! An unexpected upper rank! When I returned they were gone!” The bird explains, quick and to the point as always. A trait he is most thankful for in this moment. He nods as he stands, quickly making his way.
“There were other slayers with them. Did they see where they might have gone?”
“Killed! The building collapsed!”
“Have you told anyone else?”
“Some of the others! Not enough! Not everyone!”
“Are you well enough to fly?”
“Yes!”
“Then find Zekka. Have him inform the others and then return to me. I will need your help once we get there. We will see to your injuries on the way,” his voice is stern, heavy with duty as his estate comes into view. The bird takes flight not a moment later, off to fulfill its charge.
He stiffens in the sudden silence, the seriousness of the situation pressing firmly down on him. He feels inevitable tears streak down his face, impossible to hide as sheer dread twists his stomach. His feet don't let up even when the tinges of panic begin to shake his very being, muttering prayers under his breath next to pleas for your safety. He can't lose you, not yet, not yet.
He knows he shouldn't hope. He knows the chances are slim even now. He knows he should prepare to hear the worst. But he can't help that part of him that clings on anyway. The one that reassures him with weak certainties that you're alright, that you have to be.
You always are.
The search stretches, hours passing into two full days before he even arrives. By then he's already a mess, trying to calm the worried parts of himself. But he is determined in his march to find you; he will stop at nothing. Not until some sign of you is found, not until he knows. He remains hopeful; he has to. It's what keeps everyone looking. It's what keeps him from breaking.
But days stretch to a week, each second more desperate than the last, more hands and eyes and feet scouring the battlefield you had left behind until it goes well beyond its borders. But there is no sign, no trace, nothing. It's as if you disappeared into thin air.
The only thing worse than the search is the uncertainty; the questions, the worry, the tumbling thoughts of the only logical solutions left. Were you eaten? Taken? Burned to ash? Pulverized from existence entirely? Every conclusion is more gruesome than the last. There is no telling the fate you might have suffered at the hands of any demon, let alone an upper rank. But he doesn't stop; he refuses. He has to find something.
The others take their turns trying to talk him down, to speak sense to the man in denial of the building grief. At first his will is strong enough to deny them, to speak with such conviction that even they believe for a moment it might still be worth looking. But with each attempt, with each day that passes where there is still no sign of you, his resolve begins to whittle down. Until slowly, finally–
“Himejima,” Shinobu speaks carefully, his thoughts pulled away to the present, snapping his focus as he turns to the noise. All the others had turned in, sure that you were nowhere to be found. She was the only one that remained. And he knew then, just by the sound of her voice, that she, too, was faltering.
There is silence between them, an infinite one. Like the world stopped and time stood still. Like all of existence knew what was coming next and was allowing him the time to finally embrace it.
He feels her hand on his own. He almost flinches at the touch before she speaks.
“I don't want to say it,” she begins, hesitant, almost afraid. “But I think we both know we can't keep doing this,” she finally falls.
Something snaps in him when she does, like the foundation of him finally crumbles and reality comes crashing down. He stands taller, pulling in a deep breath as he tries to find a rebuttal. She simply didn't understand; they all didn't. You would come back; you had to, you always did. You promised.
A jumble of unclear words and sounds pass her lips, noises that fade into the distance, entirely missed by him. He means to steady himself, to focus, to pull the crumbling pieces together. But when he finally accepts your fate his held breath comes out broken. And that small shake is enough to send him over the edge and to his knees, sobbing into his own hands, finally losing the last of his restraint, the last of his hope as the week of exhaustion and worry hit him all at once.
He has never been a man ashamed of his own emotions. He felt freely and fully; he wept when he felt he needed to. But never before had anyone but the master seen him in such a state. Inconsolable, nearly hysterical. She does what she can to comfort him, but this hurt isn't something that heals so easily; it isn't something her words can mend. She had stolen his last hope.
He calls off the search quickly after, announcing your likely death before returning to his estate alone. Upon hearing the news many come to comfort him, some even marked by their own grief at your loss. He appreciates their efforts, but they do nothing to calm the unsettled part of him that's left in the coming days. He chooses solitude.
His grief is a quiet thing, fading into the background and becoming something so entwined with him that it goes without speaking. Yet he remains who everyone needs him to be, standing tall and pushing on. He buries himself in duty, responsibility, whatever comes next. He tells himself it's part of moving on, but in reality it's to avoid it entirely. To pretend like there wasn't an irreparable hole torn through him. Because he should have known better. Because he, of all people, should have anticipated a day like this. But as wise as he is even he is no match for what loss can do to a person. No amount of logic made the pain any easier to deal with.
This avoidance does nothing to quell the feeling. Inside he's breaking, fighting a war within each day just to get up. He had never meant to need someone so deeply; he hadn't even truly known the full extent of the emotion until he'd lost you. He assures himself near constantly with words that seem pointless. Ones that give him no comfort at all as they race through his mind, spiraling quickly into something harsh.
There is nothing he could have done, no one could have known, he knew this was a risk, he knew this might happen, he should have been prepared for this, he should have held tighter, he shouldn't have let you go, he shouldn't have- he couldn't have- he needed to- he didn't.
In some way it feels as if he had failed you. The blame rests in his chest, the guilt sitting in the grave your absence left. He prays that he might somehow find peace from it, that he might be shown how he is supposed to live fully without the other half of him. He asks why these unfortunate events persist, plaguing his life no matter how tightly he holds on and regardless of his efforts. Is there any reason at all? Anything? Any sense in the misery beyond this hollow feeling? He is trying to find it, believing there has to be a meaning for it all. A reason you couldn't stay. He searches for the beauty left in a world without you and nearly scares himself when even the idea is difficult to swallow.
Each day the silence grows deeper, louder, more encompassing. His home loses your touch, his routines lack your presence. Sometimes it felt like some horrible nightmare he'd wake from. That the walls of the home you once shared couldn't have stood without you. But each day he wakes and somehow the world continues.
He finds himself waiting beside the river when his mind becomes too much of a storm to settle. Like his body hasn't yet registered your absence, like it somehow expects you'll return if he just sits there long enough. How long would he wait for you, he wondered. How long would his absent mind return to this place, listening for your footsteps? How long before his soul would mend enough to consider letting it go? Letting you go?
Deep down he didn't feel he ever would. He could see himself, decades from now, sitting along this same stream. He'd hear the words of you echo in place of the forest; he would smell the essence of you bleed into the trees and grass and dirt. On kinder nights it was a happy thought, knowing that a part of you still stayed with him. That he could always be sure he would remember the entirety of you as long as he sat there.
On bitter nights it was a tragedy. This thing he could not rid himself of, this ache that would never fade. He would be haunted, your voice an echo in his mind too distant for it to bring any comfort. Like the whisper of a word in the air, a sound he could never fully grasp. Out of reach, just beyond his fingertips. Gone.
For right now the pain was still fresh. Each memory of you played through his mind as if he were reliving them, still too soon for the fuzziness to morph your voice, for the smell to fade. Bittersweet. A medium between misery and solace.
Three months pass far too quickly. The seasons change, lingering hope having long faded down to ash. There is no reasonable way he could hold onto it any longer, no reason to. He knew you were gone after the first week. Yet knowing and feeling have always been very different things for him. Knowing you were gone was accepting a nightmare as reality. Feeling you were gone was when he learned not to set aside food anymore. It's when your cup sat untouched as he made tea. It's when he stopped reaching for the empty spot beside him at night.
It's when he said your name, and somehow it sounded foreign in his tongue.
-
It's foggy at first, a bit like drowning really. Your lungs are heavy, each breath an effort. You can open your eyes though you almost feel like you shouldn't. Your body moves on its own anyway, opening to the world as darkness fades, soft beams of light drawing your attention, the subtle change all that you can bring yourself to focus on. But it's strange. Half the world is lost to you, fuzzy, unclear. You can't understand it; you don't understand.
“Oh! They're awake!” a voice, soothing and somehow distant. You notice how you only really catch the sound with your right ear, the other entirely muffled. Either way you turn to the noise, regret flooding you when even the slight movement of your head sends shockwaves of pain. You wince, eyes closing again as you take a second to assess the situation. Your mind is nearly on autopilot as you begin to feel every twitching nerve and aching joint, trying to understand just how bad it was. You notice that the muffled sound of your right ear doesn't fade, the subtle noise of the room gone on that side. Deaf.
The next thing you notice is the ache in your ankle, twisted and wrong in enough places for you to know it was likely beyond useless at the moment. Though you don't quite feel like testing that theory just yet.
The next realization is your arm. The subtlest shift reveals the disturbing lack of weight on your right side. It takes two breaths for it to register, then it sinks in.
Your arm. Where is your arm?
Your eyes open in a panic, still tight jaw clenching harder. You finally go to speak when you pause, horror sinking deeper when you notice the fuzziness of the world hasn't even begun to fade. All you can see are shadows casting on darker shadows, streams of light that outline shapes.
“Hey hey, easy now–” you reach over, grabbing the stranger by the arm, their sleeve bunching in your fist as you pull them suddenly closer. You feel them; you know they're inches from you.
But all you see is an outline.
“I– I can't–” a wheezed cough stops your words before they can hope to be anything else, your grip loosening immediately. Your body feels weaker than it ever has.
“Get the doctor!” The voice yells, a harsh sound that makes you snarl at the sharpness of it. Your head is killing you.
There's a flurry of movement after, a mess of voices and names you don't quite catch. You try to find anything familiar, anything at all that will help you understand where you are right now. But nothing made sense. You couldn't see, could hardly hear, you couldn't move. The last thing you remember was walking, falling, dying.
Your body's instinct has always been to fight, and when these hands grab at you some part of it makes some pathetic attempt to try, more out of confused desperation than anything. But they hold you down easier than anyone has in years, like your body didn't know a day of training as they do whatever they wish with you. It's sickening, terrifying. It's a blurred mess and all you can think about is getting the hell out of there — of going home.
It takes hours before you settle, the pain dulled by whatever bitter liquid they'd forced down your throat. You're too tired to move anymore, even as every part of you tries. But eventually it all fades again, drifting back into that dark, endless void you were so sure must be death.
The next time you wake up goes much better. You have enough of a mind not to move anymore, instinct cooling as you finally realize the situation you're in. Where before these strangers saw a hurt animal thrashing out they instead found something much more tamed. You are quiet, solemn as you accept the entirety of your situation. Injured, nearly dead, and in the hands of people who were no Kakushi. You still don't entirely understand how you got here, but you are finally well enough to ask.
You learn that you had been found along a path, saved by the near divine luck of a rare traveler caught in the downpour. But how exactly did you get there?
You remember running, somehow getting away– running from what? A demon most likely. That's the only thing that makes sense. You must have been on a mission. How did you get so hurt? You had been with others, about a dozen or more demon slayers. What–
The fire. You were all in a building when it collapsed. No one survived, no one but you. Then that demon showed up. An upper rank. Too far outside of your league, especially injured and alone. It took nearly all you had just to escape the thing, saved only by the few minutes of rising sun before the storm hit. And now you’re injured, tired, and in the middle of nowhere. Your crow isn't nearby and from the doctor's explanation this mountain village isn't known for its visitors. You are helplessly and hopelessly stuck. You have no choice but to wait and heal.
It's another week before you gain enough strength to have a conversation again. You learn of this village, small in number and hidden between mountains, so obscured and insignificant that it hardly ever appeared on maps. Likely why no one ever traveled in or out of the place.
Next you learn that it’s already been a month since you'd first arrived. Your reaction to the news is to immediately try to stand, to make any effort to get out of bed. You knew what that time meant. With the destruction left in your wake and no crow at your side you might as well have died there. At least that's how it must have looked.
They manage to bring you to enough of your senses to settle down again, but only after you collapse to the ground. Never before had you felt so weak, so powerless. You wanted nothing more than to return home, and yet you could do nothing about it.
You had thought to write a letter and send it away, but these people had very few means of contacting the outside world. They would normally send someone as a messenger to the nearest town two days away, but such a thing was useless to you. Even if you sent a letter, the likelihood that they would find anyone who knew you was incredibly low. You'd have better luck shouting your name from the mountaintop and hoping they heard you.
So you stay, receiving treatment that even you know is inadequate for your condition. It's keeping you alive, but that's about all it's doing.
The days pass slower, one after another as you gain only slivers of the strength you once had. You learn to stand, walking with a crudely carved cane. It splinters in your hand at times before you use the bandages to cover where your hand holds. But it is a crucial tool, as it not only keeps you on your feet, but helps you see. Eventually you get good enough with it to move on your own.
You try to make the best out of your circumstances, talking with the people who treat you and taking the time to understand your new condition. You adapt well, more quickly than any of them would have guessed. This is partially due to your training, of course. The strength of your spirit couldn't have been snuffed out so easily. But also because of your familiarity with life altering injuries. You did often spend time with the Kochos, after all.
You learn that these people are quite the curious bunch. Being so long separated from the outside world will do that, you supposed. You find a certain joy in telling them your stories, if only so you can taste a piece of home in them. Though it is your caretaker, someone you have grown to enjoy the company of, that you find yourself talking to the most.
“Is your vision returning?” She had asked one day. You turned up from your meal, meeting where you believed her eyes were.
“No,” you answered simply, already knowing where this was going.
“Are you sure? You haven't been struggling with moving as much as I originally thought you would. Many of the others don't believe you've lost your sight at all,” she explains and you can't help but snicker at the words. Fate sure did have a funny way of repeating itself.
“I have more experience with it than most people,” your tone is amused, though there is a strain to how your smile pulls.
“How so?” You feel her lean closer. You wonder if this is what he meant when he said he could feel the warmth of you near him.
“My husband is blind,” you hear her breath catch at the words, though it is strange to you when you can't make out her expression. Something you're still getting used to.
“I'm…very sorry to hear that.” Her voice is all remorse and sympathy, but you bark a laugh at her words. You hear the jolt of her chair when you do.
“Don't be. You would hardly notice it in him either. The only reason I've adapted so well to it myself is because of how he's told me he’s learned to deal with it. My senses aren't nearly as keen as his, but what I have learned from him is certainly helping,” your words are all mirth and joy, your smile wide as you speak. You can't help it when it comes to him; you've always found joy in even just the thought of him.
There is a pause, the air almost fragile before she speaks again.
“You miss him,” she states, more fact than question. At that your smile falters, hands twitching around your chopsticks, food hardly halfway off the plate before it falls back onto it. You look away from her, knowing your expression is anything but joyful anymore.
“More than anything,” you sigh the answer, eyes shutting through the breath. You know you can't do anything about it. You know that. Yet still you felt that guilty pit in your chest, knowing he must be worried sick about you.
With the rate of your recovery it would be so much longer before you could travel on your own, if you could even do such a thing anymore. That thought terrified you, the potential of being truly stuck here looming over you. How much longer would it take, you wondered. Two months had already passed, perhaps a month more? Though that seemed like a childishly hopeful thought. In your condition it would be a year in recovery under even the best circumstances. And as dedicated as these people were to saving you, the best wasn't a title they could ever hope to achieve in this isolated place.
So you waited, and waited, and waited. And on days when you felt just a bit more hopeful than the last you would have someone write for you. The letters might be useless, but it seemed better to try. You hoped that perhaps the messenger might get lucky enough to happen upon someone in the corps, and that they would believe them enough to send the letter higher in the chain. Impossibly atop of greater impossibility, but you had to hope.
And then one day you heard an all too familiar sound.
“Enjoying your vacation, I hope,” a voice chirped, your groggy eyes snapping in the direction of the noise. Your eyebrows knit, entirely sure you must have heard the sound wrong.
“Shinobu? Is…Is that you?” Her steps pause, silence held in the air. Eventually she moves to sit beside you.
“Do you not recognize your favorite–?” you cut her off when your arm flung around her shoulders, pulling her in close. She hesitates for a moment, her body stiff in your grip.
But eventually she softens, her hands clinging tight enough to bunch clothing as she rests her head against your chest.
“I can't believe you're alive,” she mutters there, something more vulnerable in her tone than you'd heard in some time. She was, after all, like a daughter to you. You can't imagine the turmoil your absence had brought her.
“I can't believe you found me!” you almost laugh the words, the sound of joy and relief so profound it nearly consumed you. Then the thought of just how unlikely this was truly hit you, the inevitable question following soon after, “How did you find me?”
“I was making a visit up here when one of the messengers stopped me,” she admits, a slight shake in her tone. “They recognized my butterfly clip from your descriptions. A miracle, really. I only went up that path because the other was so muddied,” she continues just as you pull away. You may have lost most of your sight, but even now you were sure her smile wavered, tears perhaps threatening her eyes. “You’re alive.”
“Just barely, yes,” you agree, the sigh in your voice and the wince on your face revealing the amount of pain you were still in. “I've lost most of my sight, and I'm deaf in one ear. I'm not sure about the state of my legs, but I'm not very hopeful–”
“I know,” she cuts you off, her voice suddenly serious. She takes a deep breath before speaking again. “I can't move you yet, not safely anyway. But I have some Kakushi bringing more supplies. And I'll be personally looking after you, of course,” her tone is final, no room left for argument. Not that you were going to try. Instead your hand finds hers. She fits in your palm, always so much smaller than you remembered. You smiled, a hundred different memories following the gesture.
“I'm so happy you're here,” you speak softly. You feel her grip tighten.
“You should focus on resting. I'll be around–”
“Wait,” you stop her, the silence encouraging you to continue. Something not so kind rests in the air, some form of dread that's followed you since you'd first awoken here. You almost didn't want to speak it into existence, like it would somehow make it real.
But in the end you had to. You had to.
“Gyomei, is he…is he okay?” The question comes softly, drowned in your care for the man. She sighs heavily, like weight leaves with the breath. Her head tilts away, unable to look you in the eye.
“I have hardly seen him since we called off the search. He's been keeping himself…busy,” you can hear how lightly she's trying to let you down. But you know, of course you know. Asking her was only a formality. You'd known since you'd first woken up that he was grieving you.
“Could you do me a favor?” you ask, voice growing weaker by the second. Whatever your request you know you don't have much time left to make it before you would need to rest.
How you loathed how weak you've become.
“When you call him here, don't tell him it's about me. The house is so far; I don't want him to be worried the entire way. He'll be doing enough of that when he gets here.” you manage the words, though not easily, and she hums an acknowledgement. You imagine her nodding in agreement as she flashes that common smile of hers. One that you’d never see again.
“Of course.”
-
It’s back along the river's edge that some sickly repetition finds him; a crow once more cawing obsessively above him. He knew by the strength of its wings that it’s his, which does at least help calm that nauseating feeling in his throat. But the bird is no less urgent.
“North Northeast! A village between mountains requires you. On orders of the master,” his crow, proud and strong, relays the message to him. He lets out a heavy breath, allowing Zekka to flutter to his shoulder as he stands. His nose crinkles, discomfort forming in the twitch.
“Very well,” he answers, though it takes immense restraint to not fall back into the grass and ignore the order entirely. He always found this place hard to leave. Like it beckoned him in and hoped to keep him here, like it couldn't bear the thought of his absence. Sometimes it felt as if you'd walk just over that hill as long as he was there to greet you. Or maybe he just hoped to calm the restlessness of his body that would pace, the lingering feeling of forgetting something haunting him.
But he knows he can't stay. He still has a job to do, a role to play. Even grief-stricken he cannot allow himself the luxury. Demons waited for no one.
He makes haste, knowing better than ever that he can't afford to waste time. A second too late and another life might slip through his fingers, another burden laid heavy on his back that he would have to carry for a lifetime.
It takes an entire three days to get there and he receives no further information in the meantime. It is odd, disquieting even. Something about it didn't feel right in a way he couldn't prepare himself for.
His hands twitch, fiddling with his prayer beads on his travels in hopes the feeling would fade. He convinces himself that he’s just overwhelmed. That it is all in his head. It was terribly close to a place he never wished to see again, after all. The same direction you'd disappeared in and nearly the same distance away. It was just a case of bitter memories that put him so on edge.
He arrives at that small village and finds Shinobu waiting for him, the sound of her voice calling far too unique to be anyone else. His pace slows as he approaches, hesitant and careful. He bows once he's close enough, a pit settling low in his stomach.
“Lady Shinobu. I take it we are sharing this mission," he returns to standing as he hears her hum an acknowledgment.
“Something like that.” Her words reveal nothing as she gives a careful tug of his sleeve, beckoning him to follow her down the path. By the smell of the dew-dropped air he guesses it must be morning by now. The silence of the streets solidifies the idea, the only sounds being the stirring of houses and the patter of his footsteps along the worn dirt path. His already unsettled feelings grow, now knowing for a fact this was no simple demon-killing mission.
“Do you have any more details on the mission? I fear I wasn’t properly informed on what we’re doing here,” He questions, his weariness slipping into his tone. Though she doesn't seem too surprised, given that her pace doesn't stutter.
“I have special orders to wait until we get there to tell you anything,” her hand once more gently tugs the sleeve of his shirt when she turns. Just the one, so he knows exactly where she's going. Usually he wouldn't need the help, having long honed his other senses well enough to picture the environment around him. But it always took more effort to do so, and he had found himself too tired as of late; something he was reminded of with each new bruise and scratch he'd gotten from running into some corner or another. A fact she'd clearly noticed if she felt such a need to direct him. A small guilt blooms at that but he knows it better than to say anything, lest she begin to fret over him even more.
“And where are we going, exactly?” He pushes, trying to busy his mind with the task at hand. He needed her to give him something to focus on, something that he could accomplish.
With his mind so focused on finding something to occupy it, he doesn't even think to question why she knew more than he did about whatever this mission might be.
She stops, her hand placed flatly against him. He turns to her, noticing then that her head is turned to the building beside them. He follows where he believes her gaze points, trying to gain any knowledge he could about where she’s brought him.
He hears the clang of something, distant and muffled behind a door, far too busy to be anyone's early morning home. There is a warmth that radiates, like the building hadn't slept, the wood left burning and maintained through the night. Most strikingly of all is the smell, sharp and medicinal, coated in herbs.
“A medical building?” he murmurs, almost unheard. His thoughts spin at the possible meaning. The answers are logical at first. Why are they here? What purpose was he meant to find? A wounded slayer with information, perhaps? Or maybe a doctor had seen a demon nearby? But in the back of his mind an echo forms. Slow, hesitant, like warm ash swept by the wind and sparking against a dry leaf. A hope he denies wholeheartedly, like he can't afford the softness of an easy letdown.
But then she speaks again.
“They shouldn't have survived, given the state they were found in. The fact they did is a miracle. Even more so with the limited medical capabilities of this village,” her voice is soft but clinical. Like she was relaying a purely medical assessment to him in that sing-songy voice of hers.
He tries to listen, to absorb her full meaning. But the more she speaks the brighter that flare burns. Denial bleeds through him, like a final attempt at trying to protect against the flicker. He silently prays that she will stop speaking entirely, in spite of how cruel the thought is.
“They survived Gyomei,” she says suddenly just before turning to him. He can sense her smile in the slightest huff, but he knows it is more for his comfort than hers. “We found them.”
His next breath is sharp, sudden, held back as if it refused to leave. Tears form in his eyes, his entire body tense as stone.
“You mean…” He hesitates to ask, more out of shock than disbelief. He knows she would not have lied about such a thing. Such false hope would have destroyed him. Yet he can't help the lingering thought that he had heard her wrong.
“Yes,” she confirms, leaving no room for denial. “They're sleeping inside.”
At those words his resolve collapses all over again, tears streaking endlessly down his face, steady breath a hopeless thing to wish for. He turns towards the doors again, hardly concealing his want.
“Take me to them,” his voice crackles, but holds strong nonetheless. He has to be sure. He wouldn't believe it until he'd seen it for himself.
“Of course.” She moves ahead, opening the door. There is a warning in her voice he doesn't catch, something that lingers just below it that he is too distraught to pick up on.
At first he hears voices, her hand guiding him forward once more. Those voices stop when he steps in, like his arrival had been anticipated for quite some time. He can feel stares even as the strangers continue with their work.
The two move down the hall and it feels like the world is collapsing around him again. Like that day just before he snuffed out the last of his hope; the embers ignited again, yet too afraid to blaze. It all seemed so unlikely, so far from reality. Like his mind was playing its cruelest trick yet and he'd soon wake from this dream and feel emptier for it.
It isn't until he's standing right outside another set of doors that he stops hard in his tracks. It's the smell first, something distinct in his memory. It's been so long since it was so strong in his nose, being that it was the first of you to begin fading from his life. Something he could not have held on to if he tried. But it is clouded in something else. So many months away had changed it, a fact he should have expected. Though the hint of something stinging under the scent is what worries him the most. Like alcohol and medical wrappings.
His hand reaches for the door, sliding it open slowly, like he was afraid any sudden movement would make this too real.
His next steps are slow, hesitant, like he doesn't mean to move at all as he passes through the barrier of the doorway. It is quiet, as so much of his life has been these days. But there is the sound of someone; a ragged, wrong, pained breath in the second bed to the left.
“They are changed from the last you've seen them,” Shinobu speaks more carefully than she ever has, a continued soft warning in the whisper of her words. But he hardly hears her, the buzz of the world fading away again. He didn't need any explanation to know the state you were in. He could sense it in the air; he could feel it in his skin.
He walks closer, as carefully as he can as he makes it to your side. Some part of him still wants to believe it's a lie, that all this time and all his grieving wasn't for nothing. That you didn't suffer, that you had been at peace all of this time. To know you were alive was to know he could have found you. That you had gone through hell and he hadn't been there with you. That he truly had failed you.
But another part of him, some selfish part, wanted it to be true more than anything else. He wanted to believe it. No matter the cost, no matter the guilt, no matter what else might be taken in the process. He wanted you back.
He reaches towards the bed, trying to find your hand to hold in his own. When he is met with bedsheet where it should be he nearly winces, the absence stinging, deeper and deeper. Yet he still searches, his hands trailing with the most gentle touch, tracing, trying to find familiarity. But your arm is nothing more than a pinned shirt sleeve, removed all the way up to your shoulder. He feels the pain of it as if it is his own. It should have been his own.
When he makes it to your face he isn't surprised to find bandages there, though it only digs that searing ache in him deeper. Nothing is how it was; he can't recognize you.
It's only when his hand falls to the other side of your face that unusually cold skin finally meets his own. He is able to hold there, still searching, looking, trying to find you. He finally does when his thumb traces over an older scar, one he'd memorized, something finally familiar in his palm. He knows then, beyond any doubt, that it is you.
The rest of his composure shatters at the confirmation, hot tears streaming freely down his face as a heartbreaking sob chokes out of him. He lays his head against yours, his shallow, shaky breath almost matching your own. He holds you there like he'd given everything just to have you again, like he'd stolen you from death itself and had no plans of ever letting you go again. He wouldn't; he swears he wouldn't.
He would not survive losing you again.
And then he heard your breath catch, the light stroke of your hand carding into his hair, stunning him still.
“Hey…” you whisper the word, your voice more frail than he'd ever heard you. He pulls you closer then, tighter, like every inch of space is too much.
“You're alive,” he chokes on the words, like he truly can't believe them. Your hand trails down to his face, a thumb wiping away tears just as he hears you choke up with your own.
“Of course I am,” he hears your smile even as your voice shakes. You place a chaste kiss on his lips, the salty taste of mixed tears hardly a complaint either of you dared make. You hold him tighter, your only wish left being to see his face again.
“I promised I’d always make it back to you, didn't I?”
Okay, so, late night post that I'm not sure will be coherent of not, I'm just word-vomiting some thoughts down and seeing if anything coherent manifests lol.
So, Rentarou is Chadtarou for a reason. He's literally the perfect boyfriend. We love him. His harem loves him. We all understand why they love him.
One thing however is that, over the course of the story, for how much Rentarou does get (deserved) praise for being an active protagonist and loving partner in a subgenre that shockingly lacks those, in comparison to a lot of his girlfriends, he's arguably a much weaker character. The majority of his growth happens in earlier chapters where he settles into his role of "I will date all of these girls and fight tooth and nail for them because I love them." These isn't necessarily a disparaging, just that a lot of his recent characterization has been reaffirmation of his emotional and moral character. An entertaining and endearing character, mind you, but a static one. That being said, this isn't an inherent bad thing, this manga is pretty good about letting the girlfriends solve their own problems amongst themselves with one of the ending gags being Rentarou looking on at them lovingly with a mental note of "I'm so proud of them~ I didn't even have to enact MY plan that I had to resolve this situation" which often leads to a comedic non-sequiturs.
Hyakkano is a comedy, but that doesn't mean that it lacks emotional depths and stakes. This manga is very good about treating its characters and their emotional problems with respect, recently showing an added "step" in its story routine of circling back to an older girlfriend and reexamining her character and exploring her emotional state. The point is, that, for as central a character he literally is to the story, there hasn't been much "change" in him as a character from the beginning of the story to now. That's not to say there he's lacking any depth that the story acknowledges. During Karane's "Anti-Tsundere" Arc, her anxiety dreams about Rentarou don't involve him breaking up with her because he's sick of her, he breaks up with her because he blames himself for not being able to keep her happy.
Examining Rentarou as a character under even just a smidgen of a critical lens, shows a teenage boy who seems to base his entire personality and self-worth around being in a relationship. He graduated middle school (ninth grade in Japan) with 100 rejections by girls, a streak he began when he was eight months old. He seems to literally have no male friends when entering high school. His current "offtime" activities almost always still involve his girlfriends in some way, like practicing giving them all headpats in such a way that no one feels left out or walking Japan to scout date locations. His only (arguably) "personal hobbies" are reading romance novels and playing video games sometimes.
There's obviously a meta-joke going on just like everything else in this story. "OBVIOUSLY the main character with a harem this big would need to be superhumanly dedicated to it to keep it going." Yes, but Rentarou, the meta joke about harem protags, and Rentarou, the character in his own story can and do coexist. There's potential here for an examination of his own self-worth and the fact he seems to only find value in himself when being of use and helpful to other people.
As of this posting, we are 36 girlfriends into a project where pretty much everyone involved in its production has stated and reiterated that "100 means 100," and, narratively, I don't necessarily think what I'm talking about needs to happen right now. It just doesn't make sense to put an exploration of Rentarou's character here, before we even hit the 2/5 mark. That's not the "point" of this post. I guess the "point" is... I trust the 100 Girlfriends Who Really, Really, Really, Really, REALLY Love You to eventually deal with these narrative points. Probably towards the end of the series. Almost definitely towards the end of the series lol.
I was genuinely not prepared for the radical empathy and genuine appreciation for differences like mental illness, learning disabilities, addiction, and neurodivergence in 100 Girlfriends.
Therians, object sexuality, nonverbal autism, age regression, and more are taken seriously and treated as just another way to be. One girl is chubby and nearly seven feet tall, and she's considered just as desirable as the model. The girl who's always grinning vacantly because her brain doesn't get enough blood? Rentarou understands and learns how to read her emotions in other ways. Everything about these girls, even the "bad" things, gets celebrated.
I feel like people are sleeping on this one because of the ecchi content, but this series seems to genuinely, truly LOVE women.
What is wrong with being obsessed with an ass, right?
Bakugo physically cannot sleep unless he is completely glued to your backside. Even when he’s dead tired, he’ll violently yank you back-first against his bare chest, his large hands clamping onto your waist to pull your ass flush against his lap. His thick, heavy length is always semi-hard and nestled perfectly between your cheeks, throbbing lazily against you all night.
ugh!!! if you try to shift away because his body heat is boiling you, he completely loses it. Even half-asleep, his grip will tighten like an iron vise, and he'll let out a low, warning growl as he shoves his face directly into the valley of your ass. He literally buries his nose and mouth right against your bare skin, inhaling your scent from right there just to quiet his brain down enough to sleep.
Waking up is the most feral part because his morning wood is absolutely brutal. You’ll wake up to him already rock-hard and slick, deliberately grinding his heavy weight right against your dripping heat from behind. Before you can even open your eyes, his hand will shove your face into the pillow, his voice a ruined, sleepy rasp against your neck: "Don't fucking move—you're taking it right now," before he drives himself completely home.
names to give your japanese female/girl-shaped/girl-adjacent characters that DON'T END IN '-ko'
this actual suffix for girls' names (子, which can mean child, teenager or young woman, among other possible definitions) is kinda dated in japan and has been for decades now? you have so many options other than just tacking -ko onto a boy's name after dropping its last syllable and calling it a day. here are some other name endings you can try:
-ki. depending on the character used, meanings include tree (木); mood/feelings, air, atmosphere (気); season (季), instrument, vessel (器); odd/strange (奇)...
-na. 'vegetable' (菜) and 'name' (名) are two common meanings for this ending, but some kanji used in names have multisyllable readings that end in -na.
-mi. almost as old as -ko, but still somewhat popular. most common meaning is 'beauty' or 'beautiful', with the character 美.
-ri. jasmine (莉), logic or principle (理)...
seasons. these also work as names in their own right! -natsu (夏, summer), -haru (春, spring), -aki (秋, autumn), -fuyu (冬, winter). 秋 and 冬 might be more common as standalone names or name beginnings than endings, at least for girls. the on'yomi (chinese-derived kanji readings) give you even more possibilities.
while names that correspond to actions or states of being, like satoru, hiromu, shigeru, minoru, ayumu, hikaru, ka(w)oru, etc. can sometimes be used as is for girl's names, it's more common to use the noun-equivalent forms of these words instead. names like inori and konomi—if written with single characters—are of this type. some verby names, like michiru (満, to be full, to grow larger), are slightly likelier to be bestowed upon girls, though.
you can just give them new names entirely, too!
naming girls after flowers or flower anatomy, fruits, birds, trees, and even weather patterns is and likely always will be fashionable. examples include:
蕾 tsubomi, flower bud.
雪 yuki, snow. unisex.
菊 kiku, chrysanthemum. standalone or with -ko.
杠 yuzuriha, false daphne (flower).
若葉 wakaba, young leaf.
楓 kaede, maple tree.
茜 akane, madder (plant source of a crimson dye or the color itself).
桃 momo, peach or peach tree.
千鳥 chidori, plover. or a thousand birds.
東風 ayu, south-by-southeast (along the sea of japan) spring and summer wind.
even colors can work as girl's names. aoi (青, blue or green) and midori (緑, green) are a bit old-fashioned too now, but they're still options that wouldn't raise eyebrows.
and some girls have names that are just kana and don't correspond to any particular kanji reading! parents often do this with the intent of freeing their newborn babe from any specific destiny attached to the reading of their name.
please try these instead for your original characters or genderbends. you're welcome.
tags: spoilers for season 7, angst with an open ending, aoyama's secret gets revealed, aoyama feeling incredibly guilty
during his time at UA, aoyama had always tried to keep his distance from everyone
he couldn't get attached to anyone, knowing he would eventually have to betray them
but you had still made friends with the boy. no matter how annoying he was, no matter how little effort he had put into the relationship, you still stayed his friend
you were too kind and despite his original plans to keep his distance, he fell in love with you
yet time and time again, he had to betray you. put you in danger. sell you out to all for one
you got badly hurt during the USJ incident, because he told the league of villains that his class was going to be there
during the summer camp, the same thing happened again. he cowered behind a bush, as he watched you desperately fight the villains
all those times you got hurt, it was his fault. and you didn't even know!
you fell in love with a guy who did all those horrible things to you. you fell in love with a filthy villain like him
things seemed to be looking good between the two of you, when aoyama broke up with you out of the blue
you didn't understand why. had you done something wrong?
aoyama never gave you a clear answer. he told you it just wasn't meant to be
it isn't until much later when he's revealed as the traitor, that you slowly start to understand what had happened
despite that, you were still in love with him. you had been even after he broke up with you. you always would be in love with him
the boy you fell in love with, that was the real aoyama! you knew he was a kind person, who never wanted to hurt anyone…
got inspired by those fawk ass pajamas (?) kato drew rin in recently. whatever. throws this at u and leaves. i listened to "opalite" by taylor swift while writing it <3
Warnings: established relationship, rin x reader. reader is mentioned to have hair, and mother, this is very self indulgent but i hope u like it anyway, im trying to fight the writers block sob emoji
Word count: ~900.
A sight of two sapphire eyes met yours as soon as you opened your very own.
“Good morning!” Rin exclaims, smiling at you from ear to ear. The half-demon presses a gentle kiss on your forehead, still hovering over you, while you groggily rub the sleep from your eyes, “How did you sleep?” You whine in response, but Rin's expression only grows softer, tucking your hair away from your face.
Rin hops on the bed and straddles you, nearly kicking the soul out of your body.
“Wakey wakey! We're gonna eat soon!” Rin grins, intertwining your fingers together with both hands, swishing them in the air left and right. Now that you're awake, you notice his tail swishing behind him in a similar motion; yet, something else catches your attention entirely, and it's—
“What are you wearing?”
Rin glances down at his matching pajamas, “Oh, this? Your mom put me in that! There's one for you too, so we can match!” Even though you love Rin more than anything in the world, you can never match his energy while barely awake. You examine your boyfriend's outfit closer, dragging one of your hands from his chest all the way down, pinching the fabric on his thighs; he yelps a little at the contact, but does nothing beyond it.
“Cute," you massage Rin's thigh for a second, moving your hand onto his tummy and rubbing it - it earns you a laugh, but dies in his mouth just as quickly, as soon as he feels you playing with the band of his pants, "you look so cute, Rin."
“No, babe,” he stops you, rather unwillingly, but with the remnants of his sanity, "I mean- we're not doing that. It's the middle of the day! Besides, I've been helping your mom cook since the morning, I can't wait until Christmas dinner! I'm so hungry! But you know, maybe later, I wouldn't mind, um—”
“You've been— what? Why didn't you wake me up?” Guilt washes over you, feeling your cheeks heat up from embarrassment, "now I feel stupid, I could've helped too." You avert your gaze on the desk nearby, but Rin's quick to reassure you.
“Nooo, don't! I knew you were tired, so I told your parents in advance, besides, you know I don't mind, right? I even got a few recipes from your mom, so when we're back in True Cross, I'll make you some good stuff myself!” His eyes almost glow with sincerity, low-key making your guilt even worse, just a little.
“I know, but—”
“No buts!" He leans down and wraps his arms around you, nuzzling into your neck and placing a quick kiss below your ear, before slowly sitting both of you up on your bed, "besides, it's too late, everything's almost done. C'mon, I really wanna see you in those cute pajamas too!"
Instead, you stay in place, making yourself comfortable on his lap, and hug him closer. Rin lets out a sigh, but as always, when it comes to you, his body betrays him - and so, his arms tighten around you as well; his hand moves into your hair, undoing your ponytail and letting it fall free, before carding through your messy locks. Despite your relationship being far from something new, Rin still gets butterflies in his stomach; he kisses your naked shoulder, but puts the strap of your tank top back in its place afterwards.
“Rin?” You ask quietly, the words getting just a little muffled by his neck. Rin hums in response, his chin finding its place on top of your shoulder, his other arm beginning to rub your lower back comfortably, enjoying the quiet moment.
“I love you.”
You feel something fuzzy wrap around your waist, likely Rin’s tail, further trapping you in his embrace; both of you pull back to let your gaze meet, until Rin’s hand cups your cheek and flicks his gaze back and forth between your eyes and lips, eventually giving in and locking your lips together in a delicate kiss.
The world outside is slowly getting engulfed by white, velvety fuzz, creating a scenery almost out of a painting; the harsh, gloomy sidewalks disappear amidst the snow, the street lamps illuminate the falling snowflakes gently until they fall and meet their fate against the cold ground. Yet, their sacrifice is far from vain, as all of them conceive something completely new - something so stunning, that despite its cold nature, often warms the hearts instead.
Meanwhile, you let out a disappointed whine yet again, as Rin’s lips leave their designated place. He leans his forehead against yours and smiles - more to himself, actually.
“I love you too.”
And honestly, that’s enough for you.
“Happy early birthday too, Rin.”
Except, well, your boyfriend is smiling a bit more than he should at the moment, even if it’s something about his birthday.
“What’s with the banana on your face?”
Rin chuckles and looks into your eyes again, biting his lip and trying not to laugh.
“You should’ve seen Yukio’s face when your mom pulled out a matching set of pajamas for him too, hahaha!”
BEFORE READING: this one shot contains NSFW writing, please read it under your own responsibility. all characters are aged up here.
AUTHOR’S NOTES: i dramatised it a little to match the tension, but this was what i dreamed. someone please medicate me or sum, im not okay.
=====✨=====
BAYVERSE TMNT x FEM!Reader
you are trying to get something from the shelf behind the couch where leo’s sitting, not realising that as you reach for the stuff, your breasts practically spill onto his face. he freezes, his eyes widening at the view of your tits and before you could even react, his snout is nuzzling into your cleavage like a wild animal.
—leo..?
—shhh…—he hushes you, not moving away.
instead, his hands come up to hold your hips as he just breathes you in, having his face buried between your breasts. you bite your lip and look down at him; he looks up at you with hungry eyes. he doesn’t even pretend to be innocent or sum, he just smirks and leans forward, his tongue flicking out to lick a stripe up your left nipple.
—you’re just putting these right in my face, what am i supposed to do? —he sucks your nipple into his mouth while his hands squeeze your ass.
your soft moans only encourage leo, as he keeps sucking harder, while his cheeks hollow out. his hands slide up to squeeze your breasts as he devours your nipple like a starving baby. the sound of wet sucking fills the room, along with your soft whimpers.
leo continues to suck your breasts while having his eyes locked onto yours. he’s so focused on titty-feeding that he doesn’t even notice donnie and raph entering the room until donnie clears his throat loudly.
—hey guys —leo pulls back as your nipple pops out of his mouth with a wet sound.
donnie’s jaw drops as his eyes immediately lock onto your exposed breasts and your nipple glistening with leo’s saliva. raph growls, clenching his hands into fists at his sides.
—you just gonna stand there and let him eat your tits like that? —raph demands with a rough voice. leo just smirks, holding your hips possessively. then raph pushes leo aside roughly and sits down on the couch, tugging you onto his lap so your tits are now in his face instead. He doesn't even wait; he just takes your right nipple into his mouth and starts sucking hard—. it’s not fair that Leo gets first dibs just cause she dropped 'em on him.
your cute moans go straight to raph’s dick, making it twitch in his shell. he bites down gently on your nipple as a punishment for being so damn adorable. meanwhile, donnie looks torn between joining in or scolding them, but then, mikey chooses that moment to run into the room.
—guys, I'm hungry-…
mikey stops in his tracks, his eyes widening as he takes in the scene: you sitting on raph’s lap while your tits are bouncing with every suck and leo and raph both marking up your pale skin with hickies and bites.
—holy fuck, are you guys eating her tits?
—she’s just standing here with these perfect tits, what did you expect us to do? —leo smirks unapologetically.
—she moans so fucking sweetly when we suck 'em —raph growls around your nipple.
then mikey abandons any thought of food and shoves his way onto the couch next to raph.
—can I have one? -he whines, reaching for your left breast. raph growls but doesn't stop sucking, just moves his head so mikey can latch onto your other nipple.
donnie finally gives in and climbs onto the couch behind you, pulling you back against his plastron. his arms wrap around your waist, holding you in place as the other three turtles continue to feast on your tits like they're starving. donnie leans down to press soft kisses against your shoulder and neck. he hums happily against your neck at how naturally you fit against him like this. his hands slide up your sides carefully, avoiding the other turtles' heads but still managing to stroke your sensitive skin.
—she’a not complaining because she likes it —raph says confidently, pulling back with a wet pop before diving back in. mikey and leo both nod in agreement around mouthfuls of tit flesh while donnie kisses your cheek gently— see?
the room fills with the wet sounds of sucking and slurping as the four turtles take turns feasting on your breasts. donnies hands slowly inch up to cup your tits, helping them bounce and jiggle for his brothers' enjoyment.
Donnie's warm breath against your ear sends shivers down your spine as he whispers,
—wanna see something cool? —donnie’s warm breath against your ear sends shivers down your spine as he whispers. without waiting for your response, he gently pushes your tits together, creating a deep cleavage valley. the other turtles pause—. open wide, boys.
the other three open their mouths wide obediently and Donnie carefully guides your pushed-together tits into their open mouths. they all start sucking immediately, while their lips seal around your cleavage. you gasp at the strange but pleasurable feeling, throwing your head back against donnie’s shoulder.
—fuck yeah, look at that —donnie groans softly, watching his brothers suckle your cleavage like a nursing baby.
your moans turn them on even more and they start fighting gently for position, trying to get more of your boobs in their mouths. leo pulls back first, but he immediately dives back in, although this time he pushes his face between your breasts, burying his snout in your cleavage and inhaling deeply. donnie feels you trembling against him and chuckles softly. he squeezes your breasts gently, making them squish and jiggle for the others.
—she’s shaking —he hums approvingly. raph notices first, letting go of your nipple and looking up with dark eyes.
—she’s close —he growls—. keep her like that.
donnie follows raphs order, holding your tits together and keeping leo’s face buried in your cleavage. mikey starts sucking harder on your right nipple, trying to match the intensity of the others. raph starts licking a stripe up your left breast, ending with a rough bite on your collarbone.
the whole overwhelming stimulation makes your legs shake. donnie’s eyes light up as he sees your legs squeezing together, since he knows exactly what that means.
—guys, she's about to cum —he whispers excitedly. leo’s face vibrates with happiness between your breasts as he sniffles and sucks on your deep cleavage while raph growls.
the moment you cum, your breasts bounce and shake violently in their mouths. leo makes a surprised but happy noise, burying his face deeper in your cleavage to ride out your orgasm while raph and mikey keep sucking hard on your nipples, extending your pleasure. donnie catches you easily, wrapping his arms around your waist to support you as you fall back against his chest. he presses soft kisses to your forehead and cheeks, smiling down at you gently.
—good girl —he coos softly as the other turtles continue to play with your breasts.
Rosemarie (人✿•͈ᴗ•͈) @sunwhorshiper - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
turnnoffyourmind
snowghoul
annaxmalina
izzy806
stormborns
