#tashikiller

[madokasoratsugu]

[madokasoratsugu]

If you're still doing the three-sentence fic meme, can I request tashikiller in your serial murderer au on how they came to be?

still yours even in death (just not the way you wanted)

summary: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

A/N: im….sorry….this isnt exactly what you asked for but i haven’t got the exact details on how they got together ironed out so please accept this for now  _(;< 」∠)_

Porcelain; the first word that popped into his mind the first he laid eyes on her, looking as fragile as the precious material, skin smooth and washed out, contrasting nicely with her hair as dark as the night sky, the healthy glean something no doll, however many, that lined the chilly rooms and filled the morgue of Law’s hospital, could ever replicate, and this line would repeat itself for every time he caressed her skin, the loving touch mirroring how he used to run his hands down the rough, scarred skin of his ex-lover with fiery hair and a temper to match.

Ivory; the manner in which she held herself, elegant and careful, consciously aware of her value as a person and woman, friend and colleague, policewoman and lover, yet still unconsciously aware of her worth to him in truth(at least that was what he believed, but how could he be blamed for being in the dark of the true nature of those thick manila files that dominated her workspace when every time he went near, her partner who wore a look of challenge and stance screamed respect sent those cutting glares his way, warning him not to get too close(to the files or to her, till now he isn’t so sure), threatening vibes radiating off as easily as the thick smoke streaming from the cigars between grinding teeth); in the manner she kissed him even knowing Death was his best friend, accepted the silver band he gently slipped on her left ring finger so many nights ago in a heartbeat despite the conflict reflecting in her eyes for many more nights after every time she twisted and fingered the ring, held his tainted heart like it were the most precious item ever gifted to her, cradled and cared for it, filling it with the love he did not deserve, did not expect to be so unconditionally given ever again.

But not yet steel, in the way she hesitated in pulling the trigger aimed at his heart, dolls with mocking smiles on their faces surrounding them with her in a dress suited for one, in the way she let him dig his blade into her abdomen still, staining his memory of her in scarlet and pained love; but perhaps, steel in the way her lips curled victoriously as police sirens were heard in the distance, eyes pained but hard with determination till the moment he slid them shut himself.

[byakurangesso]

Of course they are two different things. And do you know the harems that kings used to have? It's something like that, though this time with a queen. And I like where the rebel au is going, esp the supervised Tash part. (To be continue)

Imagine her attempts to bribe the servants or doing whatever she can to meet Killer (she can't cut her hair anymore bc her parents will know and replace her supervisors with stricter ones) and one time she snuck up to Killer's right when his parents are forcing to cut off his hair and forgetting everything else, she jumped right in the scene to stop them and earned a scar on her face by the scissors on his mother's hand. Both of them are disowned afterwards.

Ahahah, I'm a bit tired/irritated today, so I got a bit confused, sorry.

Ahhh, like concubines and stuff? Yeah, I know that pharaos used to have harems and stuff back in the Ancienct Egypt, but otherwise I'm not too familiar with the system, other than it could be very shitty for the concubines, perhaps excepting the favourite one.

Interesting, though. (I guess it'd be called reverse harem, if I have understood correctly?)

As for the scissors incident, I like it -- Tashigi's recklessness is somewhat frustrating for everyone around her, and while Killer's with her on the whole 'let's ignore society's expectations of our gender', he's a tad bit angry at her for doing something like that just for his sake, because of whatever pride he has.

Disowned, though -- I wonder if in their society, it means to cut off all ties with their families, or simply that they won't inherit the same privileges once turning eighteen or whatever the coming-of-age is there.

[byakurangesso]

Aija, Demo and I had a conversation the other day and we thought: "what about a literal harem au for Tashigi and her boys". Demo said consider this: "A TashiKiller au where they, as kids, grow up together in a village where there is a massive belief in specific gender roles and Tash keeps her hair short and Killer keeps his hair long bc screw gender stereotypes. The two misfits then bond over that."

And continuation of the AU by Demo: "Oh and then Tash's swordswomanship and Killer's cookery just set things on fire. You can take that literally if you want And then considering how much both their fighting styles are speed-based I think they can be good sparring partners (in canon as well) bc no dojos take female students and Tash has to learn on her own"

 Normally I would probably write an excerpt for this, but not this time. Hmmmmmm;;;;;;

I really like this idea, though it gives off a certain historical feeling that I wouldn't be able to get into the AU seeing how my descriptive skills are a bit of a rotten apple.

What do you mean by harem au though, is this related to this TashiKiller AU or is it just a separate thing??????

Kiler and Tashigi fighting the decades-old system that's in the village is amazing, though, and the little things they do to shock their families are just like a rebellion, but at the same time I feel really worried because that leads to Tashigi being disowned by her family and/or being banned from ever meeting Killer again, despite Killer being from a family of the same hierarchy status. Tashigi's not allowed near sharp objects, because she keeps cutting her hair, and she's always accompanied by a servant or two.

And idk where I'm going with this.

[byakurangesso]

Can you write something fluffy for tashikiller? There's too much angst flowing around for them and I seriously need some air ;A;

'coz you're the air, and I'm the flame.

Her mouth fits against his not like a puzzle piece, but like something less unforgiving, something that endures and adjusts — very much like the woman herself, her flower-light smiles tentative when his are rough, wild like forest fires. 

She breathes life and love, even when she thinks the opposite.

She’s a flower bud blooming under the warmth of a sun, and he’s the kid that is taken aback when the petals start to unfold.

When the flower’s in full bloom, there’s nothing more beautiful — nothing more fragile.

And so he cherishes her.

Because he knows life’s short and full of regrets, but this one will not be a regret he mourns on his dying breath.

So he takes, but only what she’s willing to give — it exhilarates him when it turns out she has a lot to give, more than enough room in her heart for him.

Her love is not fragile; it’s a fierce wind that blows and breathes life into the slowly burning flames.

What will happen when the flames die out?

He knows not — doesn’t really think about it — but that is a worry for another day, another time period; he has Tashigi tucked against him, and her lips against his in a caress as her words echo in his ears.

Welcome home.

[uglydemo]

The magic wears off once he has kissed her, once he has told the doll about what he only keeps in his heart, and realization strikes like a blot of lightning.

This is still not Tashigi — the doll does not respond.

Inspired by Aija's drabbles on the toymaker au

(the insert link button doesn't work, I'm so sorry)

((right-click for full size))

[byakurangesso]

Still regarding that toymaker au, what do you think about a Pygmalion-like situation? Like one of the dolls, still with gnawing faults like all others, has the life radiating off of her tender eyes, has the blood warm beneath rosy sweet lips and pulse running under delicate skin and sometimes Killer talks to her, kiss her and traces her outlines, only to get sullen later upon realizing all the perfection he sees are just his delusion.

Her eyes are soft and loving, and Killer could easily spend days in the delusion of it actually being her in the doll's stead.

The world disappears, and his world-weary heart quivers like he's the teenager from decades ago that has caught the shy girl's eye. (Her eyes wide, the sunlight reflects off of them, and he is a goner.)

He touches her cheek gently, and his heart beats like it's summer from threee decades ago all over again. The warmth is real -- the softness is real -- and he can almost feel the blush that had crept upon the shy, not-yet woman's face.

The magic wears off once he has kissed her, once he has told the doll about what he only keeps in his heart, and realization strikes like a blot of lightning.

This is still not Tashigi -- the doll does not respond.

It only smiles pitifully up at him. It smiles a mockery of Tashigi's upcurved grins, and Killer's temper, usually mild and never in the way of his sense, gets the better of him.

Splinters scatter all over the floor.

He tells himself the red liquid is not blood -- not Tashigi's, at least, for her blood has been drained from this world long, long ago.

The bitterness within him grows.

(Kids never come by for his dolls anymore.)

[byakurangesso]

"He sculpted the curves he once memorized with every touch, carved the eyes he once locked his gaze within, and painted the chaste red he once kissed off of her lips."

Despite how he looked, Killer had always been a somewhat of a perfectionist -- though certainly not with his life choices, his late mother would point out if she were alive enough to nag at him.

Now, having reached his middle-age, he could not deny that she had been right. His lungs burned from too much tobacco, his fingers were hard and callused from the intricate sculpting he had put much time and effort in, and his heart beating only superficially when it had no one to love from all of its capability.

But he remained perfectionist in one part of his life: his dolls -- the dolls the children from all over the town loved and played, even the boys, though they tended to be more quiet about it. Society's definition of masculinity had bound them already.

There was one doll he had been trying to make for years now -- the one he knew would be his masterpiece if he ever finished it. He had visions of the results -- of perfection, of smooth cheeks and dazzling smiles and indigo hair.

He sculpted the curves he once memorized with every touch, carved the eyes he once locked his gaze within, and painted the chaste red he once kissed off of her lips.

He threw the finished dolls away. Eyes were too dull -- the hair too coarse -- the red of her lips wrong.

Never did the product match the original beauty, and his heart bled a little more with each failed attempt.

He had lost too much too early, and while he had an enduring heart, the loss of his late wife had dealt it damage that was unrepairable.

In his darkest moods, he threw all of his Tashigis away -- there was no replacing the original, after all -- and went out with Kid for old time's sake.

In the corners of his workshop, the sad button-like eyes of his dolls stared at the empty, forlorn space. Silence reigned over the house of heartbreak.