#mondesstille

[whirling-fangs]

"Maybe I should tell him that he's about to get blown to bits by the strongest demon that's ever lived...?"

Oh well. Plenty more swordsmith out there, right?

[fallesto]

The summer sun pressed upon his lungs heavily. The humid air far too constricting. For an individual originating from the more mountainous and cooler regions of the lands, the hot climate of central Japan remained the recipient of much skepticism. Though it was not his first time spending the warmest season at the demon slayer headquarters, today proved exceptionally warm.

He had spent seventeen entire years of his life amidst the often freezing backdrop of hida, body acclimatised to the cold in a way that it simply was not to extreme heat.

The former samurai could feel the beginnings of a headache nestling itself within his mind, forehead pulsating at the blazing sight of the celestial object in the sky. The moon pillars eyes drew together in a natural aversion to such extreme rays of light as he continued his silent trek.

Although his steps remained as efficient and dignified as ever, his internal workings were filled with the oddest sensation of feeling the urge to vomit whilst lacking any type of convoluted sensations within his stomach or other organs. The feeling was strangely muted, dulling his capability to truly care to register the environment around him much. The world appearing strangely more subdued in colours within his perception.

His usually sharp awareness of the world around him proved awfully clipped as came up ahead when the moon pillars frame proceeded to softly bump into Yoriichi's. It was not that Michikatsu had not seen the other...it was simply that the usually steady impulse to avoid objects that manifested in his way had temporarily decided to abscond altogether. Even now, there was no trace of embarrassment written within his face as it likely usually would have been at such improper behaviour on his part, no. The moon pillar merely blinked, not even registering how his own hands had found a resting place upon the other's arms.

He gazed at his brother and smiled. It was a subtle gesture, barely a ripple in the sea of his usual stoicism, yet it was present. He didn't need words to convey the warmth he felt; his eyes, typically as calm as a mountain lake, sparkled with a sincere, quiet affection that connected them.

He reached out, his fingers lightly brushing against the fabric of Michikatsu's sleeve, as if he were handling something delicate and valuable. This grounding gesture seemed to draw the bewildered samurai back from the brink of his wandering thoughts.

"You are moving like a man who has forgotten how to walk." 

He said softly, his voice a deep, resonant hum that seemed to resonate in the thick air.

It was uncommon for Yoriichi to make a joke, but witnessing his brother, normally a model of rigid posture and calculated elegance, stumbling like a newborn fawn was an image he found deeply endearing. He did not withdraw from the awkward contact; rather, he leaned into it slightly, providing Michikatsu with support against the oppressive humidity.

To an outsider, his expression remained a mask of calm neutrality, but to Michikatsu, the slight tilt of his brother's head and the gentleness in his gaze were an open book.

Yoriichi wasn't just accepting this breach of decorum; he was reveling in it. He was pleased to see this side of his brother, the one unburdened by the relentless pressure to be the strongest, the one who could simply be clumsy.

“Do you need some water?”

[amaiai]

@mondesstille s.c

"O-Oh!"   Mitsuri   stammered,   taking   a   step   back.   "S-Sorry.   were   you   in   the   middle   of   something?   I   didn't   mean   to   intrude!" 

 Ah,   she   really   needed   to   stop   being   so   absentminded!

[micsmasmuses]

@mondesstille liked for a starter. Ft. Doll Yoriichi.

The dolls mechanics heat up as it comes to life. No one turned him on but that familiar presence wakes something up deep inside the doll as it raises its head to look the other in the eyes.

Staring his older sibling in the eyes a steam pours from between his lips as his fingers stretch and move. Testing itself before it finally speaks to the demon before him.

“Michikatsu…”

[starshinc--a]

@mondesstille - continued from this!

His breath continued to shudder horribly as he tried desperately to get the onslaught of emotions under control. He hated being like this; so quick to be consumed by them sometimes. His old mentor had always called him a crybaby, needing to dry his tears. He's evidently still working on that. He just can't help it sometimes - the glitter of grief still lingered, despite throwing himself into a new role. Little things set him off on occasion; today he'd just not managed to get back to the privacy of his workshop before the tears consumed him.

The reassuring squeeze and the touch under his eye were both a comfort but also caused another wave to slam into him; almost as strong as the blowback from his own breathing style. At least, Izuku felt it was a good comparison due to the way his chest tightened as if he'd collapsed a lung. His breath choked for a moment, forcing it under control as much as he could before he could cause more of a scene. He didn't want his forging colleagues to see him like this.

"I-I just." he got out, hating how pathetic and vulnerable he felt in the moment. "I really miss her - um, Mom, I mean." A watery laugh as he scrubbed his eyes, careful not to dislodge the pillar's hand. "It happens sometimes. I just, um..." A cough, desperately trying to prevent more tears replacing the first set, breath still shuddering and voice cracking in places. "I...I don't want my swords to be the reason this happens to anyone else. I can't...breathing styles don't work with me. So it's my way to...help." And perhaps a bit of revenge, in his own way. They'd never confirmed if they'd destroyed the demon that devoured his mother, after all.

[choyume]

ʚïɞ      . . .      @mondesstille  tapped  the  heart  for  a  starter  !

𝐀  𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐋𝐄  𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐏  𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃  𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐘  𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐋  𝐀  𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐑𝐒’  𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐄     —     a  demon’s  Blood  Demon  Art  proved  as  unforgiving  as  its  claws,  its  thirst  for  blood  unquenched  beneath  the  moon’s  ever-watchful  gaze.  The  human  mind,  flawed  as  it  was,  at  times  succumbed  to  exhaustion  or  the  weight  of  its  own  emotions     —     a  constant  risk,  their  own  humanity  that  no  amount  of  training  or  skill  could  smother. 

Each  mission  signified  a  risk  they  were  willing  to  face,  all  for  the  chance  to  save  the  souls  of  those  innocent  and  unable  to  protect  themselves...  yet,  when  faced  by  their  inevitable  end,  even  the  bravest  faltered.  The  gift  of  seeing  another  dawn  was  never  freely  granted,  hence  she  relished  in  it  still,  long  after  the  demon  had  met  its  demise.  A  welcomed  comfort  lay  in  the  routine  of  the  mission  wrap-up,  the  quiet  aftermath  of  battle  reassuring  in  all  its  familiarity...  though  it  was  not  without  occasional  glances  of  curiosity  shot  her  assigned  partner’s  way.  

Grateful  as  she  was  for  his  timely  intervention,  Shinobu  could  not  shake  the  memory  of  his  movements     —     effective  and  precise,  marked  by  a  swiftness  she  had  seldom  seen  before.  It  took  not  long  until  curiosity  got  the  better  of  the  Insect  Hashira,  her  voice  tentative  in  all  its  softness     —     as  though  she  dared  not  shatter  the  fragile  serenity  of  the  now-peaceful  night.  ❝   You  seemed  to  strike  down  that  demon  with  such  ease,  Tsugikuni-san.  If  I  didn’t  know  any  better,  I’d  think  you’d  been  holding  back  until  now     —     or  perhaps  it  was  merely  the  rush  of  adrenaline?   ❞  

[absurditea]

With the final swipe of her sword, the nearby town's people will sleep easier. After receiving reports of a demon mimicking the damage of nocturnal pest animals to draw the farmers from their steads, Shinobu was called to take care of things. Finding the demon turned out to be more troubling than slaying it, Shinobu had spent the last few hours flitting through the trees in search of the ambush hunter. But in the end, all it took were a few swipes of her stinger to subdue the creature. She watched it dissolve to ashes, her sword reset to it's hilt.

The fight it put up had been a struggle, it's claws swiping across Shinobu's small frame, drawing blood down her leg. She sat now on a fallen tree trunk, winding cloth around the injury. She always traveled with her medical bag, be it for her own sake or others.

Rustling from the nearby bushes draws her attention upward. The movement lacks the subtly of a frightened animal and her instincts predict that something larger is moving nearby. While demons don't typically hunt in packs, that doesn't mean a single death guarantees her safety. It could be a deer, or a villager foolish enough to follow after her — the village men expressed concern over sending such a petite young lady on her own. Shinobu stills her movements, her expression shifting to something dangerously sweet.

"Hello~ If there's someone there, you can come out," she coos, the light tone of her voice ringing in opposition to the hand resting on her sword's hilt.

( @mondesstille )

[chiratsuku]

six yellow irises quietly stare at the demon slayer... categorising the way the man's body is structured... the most obvious characteristic being...

The height difference.

Kokushibo had always been a rather tall individual... and as such... it was rare to encounter those... whom towered over him - whether by a landslide... or a few centimetres at most.

Those intense six eyes blink slowly, as if processing the situation at hand - completely neglecting and detached from the actual seriousness of the moment - for a being of his age the breathing users eventually all blend together... connected in their foolhardy attempt to slay him. The first upper rank's attention instead much easier grabbed by aspects that awakened his curiousity... even in the smallest of ways: "Huh. I see..."

Resonant baritone revealing nothing more apart from his tendencies to analyse his surroundings.

@mondesstille

Detached contemplation eclipsed the inherent urgency of gravely encounter. Air currents screamed for volatile dynamics amid chilling counterpoint. Muscles tensed, not out of fear, but in a heightened alert, for keen senses knew when to recognize no ordinary foe. Nichirin twin blades, often brandished with a flourish forced to rely only on half of power. Well, he could positively say that he would need every ounce of his flashiness. And from what the Sound pillar experienced with the Upper Six and other demons accustomed to react with primal aggression, this guy seemed all but analogous to the previous. Unsettling curiosity snaked beneath exterior of his audacious signature, as he stood firmly against the weight of Kokushibo's gaze, ready to dive into whatever dark water lay ahead.

Eyes; so many of them, they hypnotize and befog. His own reflection sank spirlderly deeper within frames of lid, and each seemed like an invisible confinement of arcane study; threatening to capture and never let go. What had fallen from the demon's lips left a disconcerting sensation.

The Shinobi suspected the reason behind opponent's quiet stillness had to be attempt to analyze his movements, rather than his imposing physique. Despite that, his next words, though still low and even, couldn't resist the urge to respond to the demon's scrutiny with a cocky remark, '' What's with that look, like what you see or what? ~ '' It was not merely a taunt but a flamboyant assertion of his indomitable spirit, a deliberate counterpoint to the demon's cold, analytical gaze of ancient entity, dispassionately dissecting the vibrance of humanity, even when that very named humanity noticeably exceeded his own stature, which for someone like Kokushibo seemed like an unnerving novelty. A flimsy shield, if one may, oh so very daringly humored by the impudence of other caliber and mayhaps a defiance dancing on the edge of recklessness.

Then he vanished in an instant, a blur of motion left behind only the faintest trace of his presence. The only one capable to match his motion was Gyutaro, which only heightened the stakes of the encounter by number he could read, either way he was steely resolute to distract him long enough so the locals inhabiting the place had enough time to relocate and flee. Defying ordinary laws of speed, his ghostly figure reappeared in a different location, " Sorry to disappoint; I'm a big pain to catch if that's what you're into. "