the dni rules seem standard: if you're racist, sexist, transphobic, homophobic, or a supporter of incest or pedophilia (or any of the other kinds of ignorant that I missed)? I'll hit you with a train :)
my content likely will be very inconsistent - my motivation is... interesting and I do have responsibilities other than this blog
I don't intend to make a lot of anything nsfw, but the option is always out there for me! minors, please be aware of the content you're consuming and make sure to keep interactions suitable for your age! in the instance which I do make 18+ content, the proper content warnings will be issued! otherwise, don't expect it
please don't ever copy or plagiarize my writing! (yes, copying it and using AI to tamper with it counts! don't do it!)
other blogs I follow or support may contain nsfw content! I will reiterate my words - if you're under the age of 18, know what content you're looking at and make sure it's appropriate!!!
*:ｼďžI will likely write for books that not everyone knows - things like the Shadow of the Fox trilogy by Julie Kagawa - to get some more recognition for them!! The other thing I'll probably write for is Demon Slayer! (this content list will change as my hyperfixations change too y'all)*:ｼďž
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current hyperfixations include:
Shadow of the Fox (Julie Kagawa)
A Court of Thorns and Roses (Sarah J. Maas)
Demon Slayer: Kimetsu no Yaiba
Jujutsu Kaisen
Babel, or the Necessity of Violence (R. F. Kuang)
Project Hail Mary (Andy Reid)
Iron Lung
Epic: The Musical
Hades - Supergiant Games
The Song of Achilles (Madeline Miller)
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â I solemnly swear, by oath, on all of the books I have, that I'll never use any kind of generative AI in my writing works!! â
Synopsis: How was it that a leader - someone as strong and as powerful as you, could have fallen in love with someone who you didnât even know the face of? The mysterious masked flute player that graced the courtyards with music never left your mind - but maybe he isnât who you thought heâd be.
Warnings: not much (starts off pretty slow), written for a female!reader, mentions of parental death, grief/mourning
The soft click of porcelain split the stillness of the tea room.
Your silken sleeves brushed the tabletop as you took the cup into your hands, bringing it to your lips and letting the tea fill your senses with its floral taste. It was delicate, as soft as the spring breeze that stirred your kimono.
âI'm glad to hear that your palace renovations have gone wellâŚâ you said, gentle voice bringing a smile to the face of Emperor Uzui, who set his cup down with a heavy tap on the wood of the table.
âYou must come over and visit! Hinatsuru has been dying to see you again, y'knowâŚâ His rose-pink eyes glittered with his usual brash happiness, his yukata sleeves dancing in the zephyr. âYou'd love the new courtyards!âÂ
The idea danced in your mind, his invitation welcoming. And he was right⌠you and Hinatsuru hadn't spoken in so longâŚ
âThat'd be lovelyâŚâ you said, voice breathy and soft as you brought your cup to your lips once more. His smile brightened, if that was even possible, and the energy was infectious - not that you weren't used to your friend's exuberance. To Uzui, everything was a competition to be the flashiest. And that meant the new gardens that would come as a result of those renovations would be impressive, and that was putting it lightly.
He was a bold man, not exactly known for his subtlety, but that made him endearing in his own⌠special little way. Not to be condescending.
âI'll see about a date, hm?â When you nodded, Tengen clapped his hands with delight. âAmazing~! Well, I must be off - can't leave the wives alone for long, âm I right?â
The two of you shared a laugh, rising to your feet to step out of the tea room with nothing but the soft noise of attendants behind you that were to organize the room. The sun grazed your skin, warmth seeping through your silken sleeves and wrapping your soul in its ethereal glow. That light caught on all the jewels studding the man beside you, bright glares twinkling in your vision like stars on earth.
Flashy indeed.
The feel of wind on your face was nice, cool and calm as it ruffled the silk and gossamer that draped over your body.
âSafe travels, Uzui-san!â you called after him, ears picking up on the sound of his various golden bangles clicking against each other as he waved. You watched him go for a moment, before turning on your heel with a wistful sigh.
Your palace was stunning, pagoda roofs reaching for the sky as if to tear the sun from its lofty perch in the clouds and keep it within the palaceâs walls. Murals danced over the towers, paintings of swirling dragons and angels, even a snapshot of the Kirin surrounded by kodama, misty blue clouds swirling around those godly hooves.
The whole complex was a work of art - and yet the gardens were the part you liked the best.
Your footsteps were light on the flagstone path, trailing your way through the courtyards to the sprawling flower fields that were your gardens. Sakura trees sent blush-pink petals dancing over the ground, flowers of every shape and color visible in their beds. A thick perfume hung over the place, like a veil that shrouded it in whimsy. It was a magnificent garden, the place where you spent the majority of your free time.
Color and light warred in your eyes, fighting to make everything brighter. That was the other part of the gardens that you loved so much - sure, everything had some semblance of order, and yet chaos flooded through the plants. Some were overgrown, some trellised up trees, some had begun to reach out over the pathsâŚ
Overgrown but composed.
Beautiful.
It was like a group of sunflowers and lotuses had thrown a gala and a bunch of marauding butterflies had crashed it, a blur of red-blue-purple-gold that would appear an eyesore to the unconditioned person, and yet to your gaze, all that existed was a soft, petal-laden hamlet of viridian leaves and sun kissed blossoms.
The paths were graced with moss, enough to make your footfalls padded and quiet so as to not disturb the perfect stillness. The flowerâs perfume filled the air, about as intoxicating as those ancient varieties of daiginjo sake that you and your ladies-in-waiting loved to drink during your little parties. The air even smelled akin to the taste of that alcohol, smooth and floral, but warm and sweet all the same. It clung to your skin, a mist of honey-sweetness that held tight to you in a foolâs mimicry of an embrace.
Your hands traced lightly over the petals of a low-hanging branch's flower, the pale pink magnolia flowing under your touch as if you wielded the very life of the bloom within your veins. Life was a fickle thing, and yet your gardens were a place where it could thrive. Where it could grow into the fullness that it deserved - as full as the warm globe that was the moon tonight, swollen with light and choking out the stars, a lazy halo over the horizon that was the marker of the dayâs end. The moon that hung eternal over the kingdoms, gazing upon the world from its comfortable throne in the cloudy heavens, turning quiet judgement to all its mortal subjects.
Their lives - your life - would forever be one year, one week, one day short, and yet you live. You laugh. You love.
You wondered for an ephemeral moment that maybe something as immortal and sempiternal as the moon would crave such a human feeling for itself. That maybe, those knowing eyes looked down on those like you with longing, a love for all things honeyed and short. Something like the memory of strawberries staining a child's hands and lips, something like the rosy war of love, something fleeting. Something human.Â
The gardens always brought the contemplative side to your mind. The silence was one of wondering.
You'd come here the day your mother had slipped away from the earth and left the kingdom to you. The garden had been your respite from the endless tax that was ruling a kingdom and running this beautiful nation that was like a world of its own. A respite from the grief and the guilt, a place that was untouchable from the sadness that came as the price of being human. The guilt you still hadn't fully overcome.
Once upon a time, you'd been a girl. The commander of a whimsical childhood, one of wooden swords and scraped knees and flower crowns and climbing trees without a care. But as you'd aged, slowly but surely fitting into the mold of an empress, your mother had begun to look at you with hollow, empty eyes. A gaze filled with grief, as if mourning something already lost.
You'd grown away from wishing on dandelions and tracing constellations with sugar-sticky fingers and learned how to rule. How to forge alliances and organize war. The same magnolia tree you stood before now was the one you used to climb back in that euphoric life.
In becoming a ruler, you'd forgotten how to be a daughter. How to live. You'd had so much left to bring to everyone - music⌠cheer⌠laughter⌠but it'd have to wait.
You were determined not to make the same mistake again.
âY/N!â Your name resounded through the silence in a voice as saccharine as the very sugar that bakers coveted so preciously. âFancy seeing you here, my lady!â You whirled on your heel, silken robes fluttering in the cool nighttime breeze, to face the voice's owner. The familiar pink-green hair of your lady-in-waiting greeted your eyes, a star of your very own. Why look up to the sky to see brightness when you had someone like Mitsuri instead?
âA good evening to you too, Mitsuri!â you greeted warmly, watching the girl's smile unfurl like a passerineâs wings, an everblazing fire that glowed more than the sun itself.
She patted one hand against the spot at her side, a wordless yet cheerful invitation. You'd never pass up on the opportunity to soak in some sort of effortless happiness in your seemingly shadowed life. Any attempt to outrun the darkness was one that would work splendidly, and so beside the pink-haired girl you reclined. The familiar scent of sugar and mochi that seemed to cling to the girl unendingly filled your senses with familiar warmth, knowing that her presence was one of warmth and light. Somewhere safe. A small haven where the shadows couldn't drag you back to helplessness.
âHow're you doing tonight?â she chirped, one to follow social proprietaries regardless of her innocent demeanor. That was an odd concept, the idea that one had to think of a certain way to talk, or act, knowing how to be in a certain situation to avoid⌠you didn't even know what. Social rules had always been and would always be confusing, and, as far as you were concerned, a waste of time. You didn't care for formalities.
âQuite well,â you said, however, eternally polite despite all odds.
That was how you'd been trained to be. Conditioned from a child to a woman in mere hours. Even so, the few strands of hair that slipped from your sleek updo gave you a little rush of childlike freedom - as if to say that maybe there was still a little bit of that unruly kid in your soul, buried deep beneath calm, polite façades and sonatas dedicated to charming others into alliance. You were like a siren, a silver-tongued ghost of something that once was, a child confined to the hollow shell that was an adult. A leveret hidden in the body of a hare.
âThatâs so lovelyâŚâ Mitsuri cooed, delight written in those meadow-green irises. She looked⌠wistful, the kind of dazed that came with one feeling and one feeling only.
Love.
Now, you weren't exactly known for subtlety, nor your ability to cloak questions in the purple prose that was used by so many other nobles, so you asked in the one way you knew how - blunt and straightforward.
âMitsuri, dear, are you in love?â
She looked bewildered, a sort of taken aback that could be read as defensive if one had never spoken to the pink-haired girl before. And yet, to your trained eyes, all you saw was an attempt to hide what was so clearly true. âW-What? No! No, of- of course not!â she stammered, voice a high-pitch trill that sounded awfully akin to the screech of a jay's midsummer song.
You flashed a knowing smile, a look that was so out of place compared to your usual serene face that it nearly sent Mitsuri jumping out of her skin.
She yelped, trying to catch her balance, sending the child in you surging to the surface in a feeling that could be described as the brush of doveâs feathers on skin⌠or perhaps a flurry of bubbles in your chest. However it may have felt, you laughed. A true, pure sound that was as musical as the dip and sway of a song. You watched the delight return to Mitsuriâs eyes within moments, entranced by the sweet sound of your joy, and she began laughing too.
The chorus of bubbly innocence was one as bright and pure as carillon bells, as the sun shining through frosted glass, as the scent of magnoliasâŚ
You didn't even know how long the two of you spent there until you were stumbling back to the mural-graced palace in fits of giggles, petals clinging to your robes and scattering to the ground with every step, jostled from the silk.
Mitsuri was leaning on your shoulder as you two rested against a wall in the palace, alabaster paint cool and smooth under your backs as you caught your breath. You realized too late the mischievous grin plastered on the face that belonged to your pink-green blur of chaos until your lady-in-waiting plunged her hands into the sash of her robes and pulled out a fistful of petals that collided with you in a firework of morpho blue and blush pink.
You gasped with disbelief as the petals clung to gossamer and caught in your hair, a childlike smirk appearing on your face as you watched Mitsuri dart away through the halls. You followed, determined to bring retribution against your flowery assailant.
As the two of you ran, footfalls clicking on the floor, everyone you passed smiled softly at the two carefree ladies running through palace halls like two little girls running around a garden.
âŚ
You shook off the remnants of your laughter that clung to you like cobwebs, sinking into the warm water of your bath with a sigh of content. Ripples shied away from your body, the scent of roses holding tight to the ebony hair that now fell down your back in a midnight cascade. You watched with a smile as candlelight swam in golden undulations against the surface, pushed and pulled by the dip and sway of the waterâs silver-gold veneer. The only noise was the thin sigh of your every breath and the water lapping at your skin and the edges of the bath, quiet enough so that you could hear your thoughts. Sometimes, that was good.Â
Sometimes it wasnât.
It hadnât been long ago - a few weeks? A month? Two? when your mother had succumbed to the illness that had plagued her life so incessantly for these past years. Youâd only been a little girl when sheâd first fallen ill, watching her slowly start to take more meals in bed and struggle to walk, aiding her in political matters as youâd grown up. Youâd watched the spirit in her eyes slowly get strangled out like vines choking a tree, or perhaps a candle flame that had been snuffed out too soon⌠perhaps an early blooming and early dying flower⌠there were hundreds of different metaphors you could use.Â
You didn't want to try and think of them all.
Your mother had been the gentlest woman you'd ever met - even more so than the ladies who'd watched over you as you'd ascended the throne that had never supposed to have belonged to someone so young. You'd taken control of a mourning kingdom and brought them back to prosperity.
The years had passed so, so quickly, almost as if the time was one of the dandelions that bloomed goldenrod-yellow and just as quickly turned into the snowy puffs you used to love to wish on.
You'd seen the grief that had cleaved through your home with brutal, unforgiving claws and you'd seen the hope in your people's eyes. The hope that you'd be there to guide them through a loss that had devastated you and them both. The care you felt for those people bordered on maternal, and you took great pride in the revitalization of the kingdom after your mother's death.
You could walk along those paths in the countryside and see the trees that could have gone bare should your nation have fallen into despair. You could see the city's people - not just people, friends - talking and laughing with each other. You could see the art and music and life that colored your home and you could see the smiles painting everyone's faces as they went about their busy lives. You could see the little kids with their flower crowns and the inquisitive sparkle in their eyes, and it made you think of what you'd lost.
You wouldnât let them experience the same guilt and grief you had. They would lead happy, peaceful lives in a safe nation, all thanks to you.
That was something to take pride in.
As the heat of the water made your muscles relax, you sighed with what could only be described as pure, heavenly bliss. The windows were thrown open, a breeze brushing through your hair, the night-kissed air swooping in on silent wings to fill in the empty spaces in your heart with gentle peace and feathery silence. It was calm, gentle, everything you needed to recultivate the sense of joy you used to have. You could do it. Music drifted in through those shutters, the lilting notes of a flute that graced your ears and made your heart feel suspiciously light. It was odd this time around, as if the music was unnaturally angelic - something sent by the gods themselves to lift you from the grief. A feeling like no other.
You reveled in it for a moment.
All too soon, the waterâs embrace went cold and left you shivering in your own skin. Slipping out of that air-chilled shield, you shook a little in the process of towelling yourself off. The downy silk was comforting, something soft that cradled you like you were fragile, and the feel of your sleep clothes on clean skin was a simple sort of joy that you couldnât resist taking delight in. That soft, swooping flute music kept dancing in your ears as you went through the motions of redressing.Â
Exhaustion settled heavy and deep in your bones, the very fabric of your being craving rest like youâd been deprived of it for years instead of a mere day. A soft yawn escaped your lips, the primal instinct that called for rest threatening to have you asleep standing up if you didnât go to bed right now. Who were you to not listen?
As you slipped under those supple sheets, the crisp feeling was pleasant to the touch, windows casting the soft silver of moonlight over your skin, you let yourself slip into dreamless sleep with a contented sigh. After all, you could say you deserved this rest. Rebuilding a kingdom was tiring.
Sleep enveloped you, your thoughts drowned out peacefully in darkness as you sank into the familiar embrace of the night.
(I'd like to dedicate this fic to @sixxels, a lovely writer that has unfortunately deactivated their account after receiving death threats by a bunch of ignorant people who find happiness in bringing others misery. I am one of the many, many people who loved their writing and are devastated to see them go, and I hope they're doing alright stepping away from Tumblr.)
Synopsis: There was so much blood everywhere. It stained everything - Azriel's hands, his wings, the floor, the people surrounding him, spattered across the Cauldron's unbreakable exterior... the same Cauldron that had torn Cassian's wings apart without mercy. No one knew what it was like to know you'd failed the one you'd loved before you could even say a word, but here he was. And he'd never been so scared in his long, long life.
Warnings: angst, violence, just overall very melancholy and malevolent vibes
A scream tore through the air and split every molecule in two.
Looking back on it, the shrill cry of sheer agony was likely the first time Azriel had felt true fear. Heâd faced down endless threats and killed until his hands were irreversibly covered in scarlet stains. He controlled the very essence of darkness - saw through the shadows and let his power reach its zenith in the recesses of midnight - and he was the spymaster of the Night Court. He was not scared.
Until Cassianâs scream filled the air around him.
He forgot all about the blade that had pierced his chest, forgot the blood dripping over his hands, forgot the Cauldron, forgot the King of Hybern, all that mattered being the piercing cries as the general heâd fallen in love with got his wings shredded by the fierce blast of power that rocked the world.
Cassian collapsed against him, blood spraying in sickening crimson ripples that dripped over the scarred palms that Azriel had accepted so early into his life. It was those same hands, the ones that had wielded endless blades and killed off interminable amounts of people, that came up to aid him in the agony that was movement.
He struggled under Cassianâs weight and the wound piercing his chest, pulled himself upwards, gritting his teeth hard enough to fear they might crack, until he supported the generalâs weight wholly against his side. His own wings flared instinctively, tenting around the two of them despite how hard they pulled on his wounded body. Shadows twined over Cassianâs hands, weak but there, persisting at his command. The sight was enough to make him want to die on the spot, the blood that dripped from wrecked wings and lacerations all across the generalâs body, the scarlet lifeâs essence that pooled under them and mingled with his own, the sheer terror and pain in those usually-warm irises.
The familiar smile was gone from his friendâs face and it wasn't until he registered this fact that he realized he was crying. Just seeing Cassian like this - curled into himself against his side, shaking with terrified, anguished sobs, the usually brash and exuberant general looking once again like a petrified childâŚ
It scared the hell out of him.
Azriel watched as the King of Hybern brought Feyreâs sisters to the edge of the Cauldron, one by one - first Elain, then Nesta, the two of them Made without a say in their own fate. He watched, unable to help, as Feyre herself tried to reach her sisters, face contorted in rage and desperation. His heart sank as each one of those wretched queens was granted power, Cassian still shaking with terror against his side.
His vision turned into a blurry swirl of color, the world bleeding into itself until he could no longer make out his High Lordâs face. The baleful light and shadow mingled, taunting, and he realized he was crying. Him, the Night Courtâs spymaster, revered killer, crying like a child as the world bled around him. Grief ripped open his chest, sliced through his flesh and bone in cold, baleful blades. He was delirious, everything so cold and so hot at the same moment, the pain dulling a little with the blood rushing through his ears. His hands grew heavy, even as he tried to grip Truth-Tellerâs obsidian hilt with numb fingers - to protect what he didnât know. Cassianâs agony-crazed eyes found his with a sort of deadness in their depths.
He loved him.
He really did.
In the swirl of dizzy color, he could make out every particular of Cassianâs face with such distinct detail it made his heart ache. That break hurt worse than any of the wounds littering his skin, any of the blood dripping off his hands and from his lips and- Mother above, there was so much bloodâŚ
Heâd never been deterred by the scarlet liquid before, seeing how much time he spent with blades in his hands and shadows in his heart, breaking people slowly. And yet⌠his stained palms only served to remind him of the brutalization of his skin that his atrocious excuses for brothers had decided to inflict on him. The burns. They came to the front of his mind, fear mixing in the agony and grief to make some heady drug that he could do nothing but drown in, watching Feyre and Tamlin and Elain and Nesta and Rhys with nothing- nothing he could do to make it stop-
A warm touch broke that spell of despair that had claimed his mind. He snapped to attention once more, wincing at the strain on his wounded body. Cassian clutched his bloodied hands in his own, that hysteria-tinged gaze fixed on his with a determination so strong it rivalled steel, blocking his view of his hands and stopping that desperate survival instinct at its source. Heâd seen that petrified gleam in his eyes, despite the ruins of his wings and the chaos swirling around them - heâd seen and reached out despite the blood, despite the pain, looking to him first.
It hurt.
Inexplicably.
It shouldnât have hurt that bad, but he felt guilty nonetheless. Cassian shouldâve been worried about himself instead, worried about his wings, or about Rhys, anything other than him. Heâd be fine on his own. It was okay. The world could collapse onto his shoulders and it would be okay, so long as Cassian wouldnât have to worry about it. Heâd be fine.
And he gazed into those beautiful eyes, feeling like he was floating out of his body, blood loss making him dizzy, and he sort of just⌠broke. How odd for someone like him. Cassianâs wrecked, whisper-soft voice peeked through the chaos, a soothing sound that Azriel had to strain to hear. The words were almost ripped away by the fierce upheaval around them, like trying to whisper into hurricane-force winds and have someone hear, but they were there all the same.
âIâm sorryâŚâ
Those two simple words could mean so, so much, and it wasn't right hearing them from Cassianâs lips. He hadnât done anything wrong - maybe if Azriel hadn't been so weak or inattentive this time, he could have avoided this, could have saved Cassian and his wings, could have saved his High Lord and his mate, could have saved everyone if maybe he had been better⌠but it didnât matter now. Now, entropy ruled their torn up surroundings and killed them slowly.
âI wish I couldâve been better,..â
Cassianâs eyes were glassy with tears and grief so thick it looked suffocating. Azriel remembered the times when in that gaze shone such wonder and happiness it had pulled him out of the numbness. The times back when they were young and delusional, when they used to fly through snow-capped mountains after training in the war-camps, back when their winters were marked with snowball fights and childish revelry and their lives were so simple. Back when those warm eyes had looked at him without tears and agony shimmering in their depths.
He summoned all the fickle strength in his voice that he could muster.
âItâs not your faultâŚâ
Azriel felt weak for the first time in his immortal life. He was lost, the world spinning as he listened to Rhys and Feyreâs cries and remembered how he couldnât save anyone. Not with this heavens-damned bolt through his chest. He loved him uncontrollably, and it hurt so bad knowing he couldnât help him. They were dying slowly, pressed into each other like children once more. They were drowning, everyone here, but none quite like Azriel was.
âI wish I could have had more time to love you.â
He said, so soft and so intent that it ached even more. This man was more than just a dream - he was everything - and he couldnât have had a second longer to maybe tell him properly how much his heart screamed with adoration for him. Heâd run out of that time so long ago, only serving to make the regret eat at him further. Cassian deserved better than someone who couldnât even say âI love youâ until it was too late. The heartbreaking hope written all over his friendâs face was enough to make him cry again, tears slipping down his cheeks and mingling with the blood, running in rosy rivulets down his face. He closed his eyes, willing to let the dark sink in until it choked him-
-and a warm embrace filled that hollowed-out space.
Cassian flung his bloodied arms around his neck, holding him close this one final time. Mother only knew if theyâd make it or not, but this might have made it worth it.Â
âI love you tooâŚâ
The generalâs voice was weaker now, and if he wasnât speaking practically into his ear, he wouldn't have heard him. So faint⌠so weak⌠so unlike Cassian, the brash male he wasâŚ
And so they felt the darknessâs cold embrace sneak up around them, wings askew, haphazardly clinging to each other in the face of what could be life or death. This darkness was not the familiar type of mock-warmth that was Azrielâs shadows. This was cold and baleful, like the bone-deep winter chill that flooded through the Steppes in the snowy seasons. Something memorable turned into a cruel mockery of what once was. And yet⌠They faced it without fear. Willing to brave it together. Azriel brought his arms up one last time, weak as they may be, and held him close in a crushing embrace before slipping into unconsciousness.
(I've been gone so long omg!!! my sincerest apologies for abandoning you all, but I had to take a quick break for my mental health. more projects coming soon, so have this small little one to start :3 so excited to be back!!)
^ segment of my new work-in-progress, Kingdom Come!!
(its gonna take a second, but I can't wait to get this new fic out to you guys!! apologies for disappearing! I'm hoping I can mimic the last long form work I made enough to appease the people, but I make no promises)
Synopsis: Nothing could have prepared the two Illyrians for the bliss that came from a mating bond. Nothing could have compared to the familiar bliss that has always been there and yet had only existed now. Theyâd always longed for that love - and yet⌠theyâd never expected the bond to form between the one whoâd always been right there. Never. Until now.
Warnings: brief descriptions of blood/violence, literally just fluff otherwise
I can't imagine how it is to be forbidden from loving
Cassianâs wings fluttered in the breeze, the blood-scented wind stinging in his lungs and mingling with the taste of victory in his throat.
His blade was held steady in one calloused hand, crimson-splashed steel dripping onto the stones underfoot in a maddeningly slow rhythm. The battle was over, the world slashed and bleeding into a crimson river that flowed through his veins like he held the very universe in his palms. It was a gratifying high, something that heâd always learned to crave in fights - the feel of power flooding him, real power, like what Rhys had. True strength that transcended the physical faculty he possessed. Something fickle and yet so overpowering, filling his mind with the sweet feel of control.
That quiet second was when he felt something so strong snap into his consciousness that he could have died on the spot. A tether gripped him, pulling him closer to something, an unconscious voice that led him across the vast expanse of blood-soaked flagstone to find the subject of such aggressive attention. It was bright, something that felt like the daylight that fell over Velaris and coated it in a sun-cloaked haze of color. Bright and yet burning, a flame in his chest that grew more vicious with every step clicking on the stone.
Seven sparkles of azure appearing in his vision made a searing light blind him.
'Cause when you walked into my life
Azriel stood before him, shadows rippling over his shoulders and wings like protective soldiers of their very own. Those steel-cold eyes had always been familiar to Cassian, the Shadowsingerâs calculating warmth like a compass. His presence was where home is. And the warmth that presence was pouring into him was like nothing heâd ever felt before, like swirling clouds of light fogging up his mind.
I could feel my life begin
The silence between them was deafening, but laced with the bright heat of⌠whatever was binding them together. It was exhilarating, a great cascade of bliss replacing the blood in Cassianâs veins. Azrielâs proximity had always been amicable, but now it felt like he was carrying a part of the Shadowsinger with him, somewhere deep in his heart. Somewhere, kept in a place where no one could reach it, no one could sever it, growing stronger the more he looked at the warrior across from him.
Memories began to flood him, of the happy and the sad, the days where theyâd spar together with Rhys, of when theyâd lay in the sun together, wings splayed out over soft grass as they talked about nothing and everything all at once, the days theyâd stay up âtill midnight just looking at the stars⌠Everything that felt⌠right.
And he realized then that maybe this sun-bright tether binding him to Azriel had always been there, he just hadnât noticed it. Maybe theyâd always been meant for each other, but the bond was forged in silence and familiarity instead of the fire that was right now. The blood-thick breeze caught in his wings, and he knew that this wasnât just some kind of sick dream. This was real, he was here, caught up in the Shadowsingerâs gaze and feeling the love that was pouring through him with incessant repetition.
âYou feel it too?â
Azrielâs voice was soft, hesitant, heartachingly tentative as if he were worried that he could shatter the moment by simply talking. It made Cassianâs heart go soft, the way his eyes shone so prettily with love and softness and an almost innocent hope. He didnât bother with words then.
His blade dropped from his hands, falling to the ground with a feather-soft clink against the stones. Stepping forward and closing the distance between them with three purposeful strides, he pulled Azriel close to his chest in a crushing embrace, wings flaring out and wrapping around him. He felt tears prick his eyes, sapphire-dark Siphons cold on his skin for a moment before the warmth of the bond began to soften the chill.
His mate.
Like I was torn apart the minute I was only born
The Shadowsingerâs breath hitched softly before he melted into Cassianâs arms, and the bond flared up silver-bright like all the stars in the sky condensed into one, everglowing sun. The world tunneled, as if the only things that were true now were the two of them, once apart but forever together. Theyâd always been together since that first, fateful meeting, but never like this - never so close that they could feel each otherâs heartbeat and the brush of their wings.
Theyâd never been strangers.
And you're the other half
The only thing that makes me whole
When they pulled back to meet each otherâs gaze, the chorus of the bond heightened into a mind-splitting crescendo at just the look in Azrielâs eyes. Something like a feather brushed his wrist, soft and warm, a whisper of heaven that graced his skin. When he reluctantly pulled his gaze away from his mateâs to look, he found those shadows trellising up his arm, brushing his skin like little lovers of their very own.
The small, fond smile on Azrielâs face was enough to make his heart stop.
âThey know your nameâŚâ he whispered, scarred hands coming up to gently cup his face. Cassian felt the shadows curl into a heart shape in the curve of his neck and shoulder, his breath catching in his throat at the feel of something so purely affectionate. Azrielâs scars felt so right against his skin, a feeling that had existed for a few seconds but for forever all the same.
âThey only know the names of the people who matterâŚâ
I know it sounds like a lot
But you really need to know
They were sun and stars, day and night, flame and shadow, opposites but the same all at once. The two who belonged together, the ones who would forever match with all their differences. They were beginning, middle, and end, the wide open sky and the heartbeat of the earth, their love transcending the confines of the universe. The feeling of his mateâs heartbeat syncing to his own made Cassianâs mind go blank, as if they were to share a lifeforce.
One symbiotic pulse to hold them both alive.
It was all too much, a simple stream of bliss that became a flood, drowning him in the feelings that had sparked so quickly in his chest. The bond grew brighter and brighter, a supernova binding them to each other with merciless intensity. The crimson-soaked world around them began to fade away, bleeding into a rose-red blur around the two mates that had finally found each other, together in the face of the world - of the Mother, of all that was right and wrong.
Together.
The abyssal swirls of sapphire that punctuated Azrielâs body shone bright - almost blinding - against the thick red backdrop, a cascade of deep azure that took up his focus. Shadows preened under his gaze, rippling darkness that curled over any skin they could reach and felt so right, like they were a true piece of Azriel brushing against his skin.
We are leaning out for love
And we will lean for love forever, I know
He remembered one night back when they were younger, back when they were still a little more naive and a little less worried. Back when they were more⌠free. The wind had swirled softly, brushing winter-scented breeze on their wings and sending shivers all through them. Cascades of starlight had mingled with those pure, crisp zephyrs, making the world shimmer in undulations of baleful light on frost-kissed grass. Their breath fogged in the biting air, soft snowflakes gracing their skin and catching in eyelashes and melting against warm hands. Wings had stirred restlessly and stirred the snowy gales.
Azriel and him had practically collapsed in the center of the clearing, a mess of breathless laughter and rosy cheeks, all smiles as they settled. Theyâd been close enough to feel their bodies barely touch, enough to feel the warmth radiating from each otherâs skin, far enough away to drive out any semblance of intimacy. Wings splayed out over their little snowfield, they looked up with eyes still graced with youth and innocence - or, as much as the two had ever been able to create - and traced out the vast expanse of the night sky.
Stars spilled over the onyx canvas in diamond-soft sparkles, glittering off the snow and making the frost glow like little stars of its own. He remembered the way shivers had rippled through his body in exhilarating waves, his breath sharp and burning as the biting-cold air hit his lungs - remembered the way Azrielâs eyes had picked up on those little tremors, the way heâd extended one shadow-draped wing to tent around his body as a shield against the windâŚ
It hadnât meant anything then⌠But now?
I love you so
The soft brush of scarred hands on his face stirred Cassian from his reminiscence, and he let himself melt into the affectionate touch without resistance. Heâd never resist, as long as it was Azrielâs touch on himâŚ
The way the shadows curled over his skin felt like darkness seeping into his heart, but not the cold abyss of night - no, this darkness was homely, like the night sky over two hearts, beating as one⌠him and Azriel, fated mates, sun and stars and the soft caress of moonlight over ebony wings. He could feel the rush of sunlight in his blood, the stir of summer-bright warmth dragging him far away from the blood covering his hands, the blade laying discarded on the stones at his side, the violence that surrounded them⌠There was nothing left but him and his mate.
And then Azriel kissed him.
And then I learned the truth
How everything good in life seems to lead back to you
Cassianâs heart skipped a beat before he melted into the kiss, the world beginning to fade away. The only true sensation was the feeling of Azrielâs lips on his, the feel of those shadows draped over his shoulder, the rain that brushed his skin as the sky cracked openâŚ
The blood around them began to mix with the water, running over the stones in rivers of death, reminders of all the violence surrounding them. And yet, none of it mattered - all of it washed away in the arms of his mate. The Mother had made so many jokes out of his life, and yet the blessing sheâd given him when he first felt the bond snap into place cancelled all of those cruelties. Azriel made all of it bearable. Ever since the first time theyâd met.
Frosted windows and spring flowers had forged their love in caring hands.
Memories still filled him, as gentle as the kiss of his mate, the remembrance of times before that marked his steps, bittersweet and beautiful. Days of chaos and shadow-flecked flame, of flight and fighting and freedom, of wind as cold as the blood-touched rain and of ocean cliffs. Through it all⌠it was them. Destined for forever, now.
When Azriel pulled back, the look in those eyes was kinder than ever before, one of true devotion that spanned over bloodlines and generations, of a love so pure it surmounted that of everyone else. A swell of pride filled his chest, knowing that the man who stood before him was his mate. His forever.
He doubted Rhys and Feyreâs bond could ever compare.
And every single time I run into your arms
I feel like I exist for love
Only for love
He tipped his head slightly, pressing a soft kiss to the scars that dappled Azrielâs palm. The lovesick smile that graced the Shadowsingerâs lips was enough to send another flood of memories through him, a sweep of affection and love so great it was hard to believe. The swirl of wind caressed their skin in the gentlest of touches, rain beginning to dampen their skin with diluted blood and water. The warmth inside Cassian threatened to undo him - to revert him to stars or whatever primordial blossom his life has been created from. And god, he could tell Azriel felt the same.
The Shadowsinger's face had never betrayed so much emotion, usually a composed mask, and yet his eyes sparkled now. He'd always longed to find his one and only lover⌠butâŚHe'd never expected to find him right before his eyes.
And when you say my name
Like white horses on the waves
The one whoâd fought through hell and survived, who'd been locked in darkness his whole life with only the night to keep him company.
The one who'd stood for himself when his prayers were answered with ignorance and indifference. When his own brothers had permanently disfigured him. When the only light he could find was the baleful moon that spotlighted the cold, cruel world.
The soldier who'd turned his own life around the way the moon turned to the sun.
I think it feels the same
As an ocean in my veins
The one who'd fought beside him all this time.
Who'd excelled in every training exercise, who wielded a blade like an extension of his body, who'd stood at his side against impossible odds to turn out one of the strongest Illyrians the world had ever known.
Who'd crawled from blood and shadow into the light and learned how to be happy through swords and drinks and wide-open sky.
The one who became his accomplice in snowball fights, cold mountain wind making their fingertips numb as they lost their breath in hysterics. The one who'd laid in the sun with him, wings outstretched, drowning in a half-lucid daze and talked with him more freely than ever.
The one who'd grown to live, even after being born in a world of hatred.
And you'll be diving in
Like nothing is out of place
The one who stood before him now, a soft smile on that pretty face, cobalt Siphons glittering in rain-kissed light. Who had turned out his mate, after 500 years.
The one he'd spent his whole life with, teaching themselves how to be free. To fly. To breathe.
His Azriel.
His mate.
Forever.
And we exist for love
He felt the Shadowsinger's lips brush his again, and the whole world fell away. If this was who he would spend the rest of his eternity withâŚ
He vowed silently to himself then that he would always keep Azriel happy. He wouldn't let anyone hurt him the way his brothers had done all those years ago. He'd stay the way no one else had.
They were a love forged not in happiness, but in defiance. Two souls that had beat the impossible and now stood on the horizon of forever.
Together.
And by the Cauldron, the word âforeverâ sounded nicer than usual, with Azriel here.
(hello again everyone! I'm so glad you guys liked my latest Sanemi x Reader fanfiction, I appreciate the interaction more than you'll ever know :) this fic was specifically made for my good friend @whisperitsquiet who asked me to write for these two, so I hope all of you enjoy this shorter little one)
(p.s. go check out their blog if you like Six of Crows - I personally never read the books but if you have, I'd suggest heading to October's page!!)
(p.p.s. there may or may not be another Sanemi x Reader in the works y'all)
so happy that I'm finally done with that monster of a 15k word fic! that took forever but its done and I hope you love because I know I do!!!!!!
I have officially become a member of the ACOTAR (A Court of Thorns and Roses) fandom so I will be writing for those characters alongside our KNY beauties :3
WIPs:
1 Sanemi x Reader
1 Cazriel fanfic (ACOTAR)
so excited to write more and infinitely more excited to be back!!
Sunlight & Scripture - a Sanemi x Reader fanfiction
Anime: Demon Slayer (Kimetsu no Yaiba)
Pairing: Sanemi Shinazugawa x Light Hashira!Reader
Synopsis: Sanemi had always viewed writing as pointless. An unnecessary skill. But when he needed to learn how to for the sake of mission reports, he began to spend afternoons with you to try and figure out how this whole thing worked. And maybe, those afternoons would lead to something far more than just writing lessons - but really, who knew?
Sanemi Shinazugawa had never learned how to write.
It was purposeless to him. Since growing up in his home had only been a mess of caring for his siblings and trying to protect his mom, what was the point of learning something heâd never have the time to do? Why should he learn to write, if it wouldnât bring food to his brothers and sisters or save his mother from their dad? Plus, he could speak just fine. Wasnât that enough?
Nothing had ever required him to write. Thereâd been no instance where heâd ever had to pick up a pen, and there never would be. Good.
His thoughts followed that path for a slight moment more before slipping back down the line of memories from the fight heâd just had. He walked down a path in the forest, hard-packed dirt under his feet and trees surrounding him. Sunlight dappled the ground, green-gold as it danced through leaves and branches to shine noonday brightness all through the cool dark of the world below the canopy. The song of some bird trilled high and bright from somewhere overhead, a loud call to the world as if to sing worship to the light. It was perfectly still, save for the brush of wind through ferns and the occasional patter of deer hooves from somewhere far away. The best scenery for replaying fights in his mind.
Heâd found the demon quickly, as always, and heâd been pleased to feel the actual fight the thing put up against him. It hadnât just given up, like that spider one the Kamado kid had killed. He couldnât stand that type of pathetic weakness. If you were going to be a demon, at least hold your ground. For godâs sake. He remembered the way the wind swirled around his blade, as if trying to speak to him, whispering commands and openings to him like it were an ally. Like it were a fighter of its own, aiding in the demonâs demise. The familiar brush of the breezeâs âvoiceâ on his mind was always mildly familiar. Comforting, almost.
The sunlight had danced off his sword in the satisfying way it always did, the menacing sotto voce hiss of the metal grazing its sheath pleasing to his ears. That flicker of fear in the demonâs eyes made his confidence swell even more - it was scared. At least it still tried to fight.
He remembered leaping at that creature and feeling the gratifying sensation of his blade slicing through its claws effortlessly, like they were mere air. It couldnât parry - easy win for him. The wind carried him throughout each motion like a dance, footsteps light on the ground as the demon screamed. The memory of it trying to back away, trying to escape to the edge of the trees, brought a smirk to his face. It couldnât hide - it couldnât even leave the forest, knowing that if the sunlight touched it, its life was over in an instant⌠it was checkmate, and heâd won. Heâd lifted his green-black blade over his head and brought it down hard on the demonâs neck, winning without truly needing to try. Perfect.
He walked calmly despite the metallic scent of blood on his uniform. The crimson liquid was warm on his skin, dripping slowly to the ground as he padded along the trail. A pleasant surge of pride in his chest made him stand straighter. He didn't love much, but replaying his fights in his mind had always been one of his favorite things. It fed his ego in a way that never failed to make him feel better about himself.
It was a good mission. He couldnât deny it. Now, all that was on his mind was being able to just tell the master what had happened, go back to the Wind Estate, put his feet up, clean his sword blade, and let that fight replay in his head until he got sick of it.
âŚ
âWelcome backâŚâ Sanemi looked up and found the familiar face of the master, rose-purple scars and a kind smile. He bowed low, respectful, the way he rarely did for anyone else. âI trust your mission went well?â
He smiled softly at Ubuyashikiâs words, knowing heâd executed everything flawlessly. Not like heâd do anything other than perfect⌠âYes, Oyakata-sama. Everything went perfect.â The masterâs smile rivaled the sun itself, and it made him stand straighter with pride once more. Heâd made Ubuyashiki happy - undeniably his greatest ego boost.
âI expected nothing less from you, Sanemi.â Thatâs right⌠heâd do it all perfect, every time-
âHowever.â He perked up a little, wondering if heâd get something else to kill or some other mission to succeed on. Something else he could win at. âThereâs another important task I need you to fulfill.â He was listening intently, already coming up with possibilities in his mind. Maybe theyâd found one of the Upper Ranks - maybe heâd get to face off and kill one of them⌠that would be the greatest moment everâŚ
âI need you to write down what you saw on your mission.â What was he talking about?
âThis is one of a few sightings that have been reported of demons appearing during the day, concealed in shadow to hide from the sun. This could pose a bigger threat to the Corps and to the world should we not figure out a solution now. And I feel it would do you good to learn how to write. I know you, Sanemi. You donât back down from challenges. I have no doubt in my mind that you could learn how in a few days - a few weeks, maximum. What do you say?â
He mulled over the prospect for a moment. Why not just have him tell someone what heâd seen, and⌠no, he was bad with describing these things - that wouldnât workâŚ
Maybe it would be alright to learn something like that. And if the master wanted him to⌠he couldnât say no. He never did. âFine.â He said firmly, lifting his chin. His hand rested on his sword hilt, fingers tapping on the handle in a repetitive, oddly soothing motion. âIâll do it.â
âSplendid. Perhaps you could have one of your fellow Hashira teach you. I believe in you, Sanemi. You are excused.â The Wind Hashira bowed again, padding away as he began to overthink the whole situation. The master wouldnât want him to write if it wasnât important - and if this whole âdemons using shadows to not burnâ thing was as big of a deal as it sounded, then surely it was important⌠It was fine. He could do it. It would be no different than any other mission - just something he needed to complete, something he could master and then move on. Maybe heâd only ever have to write once or twice. Maybe he wouldnât have to learn too much. Itâd be fine. Fine.
He repeated that in his mind like a mantra as he walked past the training grounds of the estate, fingertips still unconsciously drumming against his sword hilt. He looked up at the wide, blue, noonday sky, watching two birds loop and dive after each other.
Itâd be fine.
âŚ
He was leaning back in a chair on the engawa of the Wind Estate when you first arrived.
His feet were propped up on the table, sword laying across his lap. A white cloth was in his hand, brushing against the scars on his fingers with a tickling sensation as he carefully rubbed away the lingering blood coating the metal of his sword. The sun was slowly dipping below the horizon, a golden halo of light over the faraway mountains that cast the land in a warm fiery glow. The flickers of light danced off the metal of the blade he was focused on, still lost in thought about the masterâs request. Why did he have to learn to write? Was it that important?Â
He slipped his sword back into the sheath, the click of the metal giving way into soft footsteps that made him look up. He tipped his head when he saw you, the Light Hashira, standing on the steps, and he shot you an unamused look. âThe hell do you want?â He hissed, crossing his arms over his chest.
âThe master sent me.â
âFor what?â
âHe said you needed to learn to write.â
Sanemi had to admit - the fact that you werenât deterred by his aggression was impressive. But honestly, why did Ubuyashiki have to tell everyone about this new arrangement? âHe asked me to teach you.â That made him freeze. You? Teach him? What the hell? He held your gaze for a moment, lilac-purple eyes so intense it felt like he was flaying you alive with just a glance. He didnât like this new idea.
But honestly, itâd probably work. âI supposeâŚâ
âDo you have a mission tomorrow?â
âNo- why?â
âYou can come over tomorrow afternoon and weâll start. That work?â He froze again at how quickly you managed to pull a time together. He really needed to stab something nowâŚ
âFine. Sure.â
âGreat.â With your blunt reply, he watched you jog away, leaving him alone with his thoughts once more. Rising to his feet with a weary sigh, he slipped into his estate and slid the door shut. The fading sunlight slid through the shoji screens in a feverish glow, the dancing light of a few lanterns casting long shadows across the floor. He would not be sleeping for a while tonight, so he might as well do something with his restless mind.
His scarred fingers closed around the handle of a training sword leaning against the wall, his actual katana laying neatly on the floor next to his futon. He tossed the wooden blade between hands for a moment, adjusting to the feel of it, before stepping out into the cool air of the dusk again. The sky was a deep purple-black now, the remaining sunlight a mere outline over the mountains in the distance. He drew a deep breath, walking off the engawa with footsteps that felt just a fraction too labored to be normal. He really, really hated this. This whole arrangement. The fact that he had to write in the first place, the fact that you had to teach him, just-
âShinazugawa.â A voice split the air, stopping him in his tracks. The cool, emotionless, slightly muffled sound was familiar, and punctuated with the subtle hiss of a snake? He was able to instantaneously pick out the voice of maybe his one true âfriendâ in the whole of the Demon Slayer Corps.
Obanai.
He turned on his heel, eyes catching immediately on the other man. His white-black striped haori was stark against the baleful glow of the moonlight on the ground, Kaburamaruâs red eyes glowering at the Wind Hashira with a cutting look. The stars cast a glow on the Serpent Hashiraâs ghostly pale skin, making him look like a malevolent spirit in the brisk night air. âCouldnât sleep either?â The heterochromatic man asked, tilting his head slightly as he gazed up at Sanemi.
âHowâd you guess?â The white-haired man responded, voice dripping with sarcasm. He earned an eye roll and a punch to the shoulder as Obanai walked past him, pacing a few feet away with a muttered âshut up.â He lowered into a fighting stance, drawing attention to the training sword clutched in his fingers. Kaburamaru hissed slightly, as if entertained by this whole encounter, red eyes glittering in the moonlight.
The Wind Hashira dropped into stance a moment later, and the two sprang at each other without another word. The crack of their swords resounded throughout the front courtyard of his estate, and they spun quickly to throw another hit.
Sanemi was grateful sometimes for his odd sort of brotherly camaraderie with the Serpent Hashira - in particular his ability to not ask questions and just exist with him. Usually on a training ground of some kind. Each vicious blow had fireworks of noise exploding in the stillness of the night, and the fight gave him time to just forget everything. Put all of his focus into parrying and dodging and throwing hits back and forth. The other Hashira was light on his feet and proved a formidable opponent, which Sanemi greatly appreciated. Heâd much rather fight Obanai than, say, Uzui.
He brought an aggressive hit down on the shorter manâs blade, the responding sound like a proper explosion as he sent Obanai staggering slightly to the side. He barely had time to lift his blade before he was being followed by a multitude of flowing strikes, his sword dancing to parry each one. He could forget about the masterâs arrangement, could forget about your brief conversation, and finally have someone who wouldnât ask questions. Thank god.
Moonlight glittered across the two of them as they threw hit after hit at each other, the swirl of wind on Sanemiâs back a welcome sensation. When he brought his sword down on Obanaiâs, he sent the otherâs blade tumbling across the courtyard. The clatter of it hitting the hard-packed ground made a ripple of satisfaction course through the Wind Hashiraâs spine, and he brought the point of his blade up to hover over the place where Obanaiâs heart was hidden under his skin. The Serpent Hashira let out a low sigh of finality and stepped back, walking over to retrieve his discarded sword.Â
They dropped back into stance once more, and Sanemi began to put everything aside with that first blow. It didn't matter now. He would survive, and itâd be perfectly okay. Writing wouldnât be that hard. He could do it.
âŚ
He woke up the next morning to pale sunlight filtering in through the shoji screens, dancing over the room in ivory-gold swirls. Sitting up, he stretched with a drowsy sigh and rose to his feet. He found a clean uniform, the monochrome fabric sliding near effortlessly over his skin with only the faint rough drags over his scars to mark the silence. The morning was still and quiet, almost peaceful in its own right. He tugged his haori on and lifted his sword into his hands, the familiar weight making him smile with a twisted sort of love, his affection for the weapon coming before his affection for any person. Slipping out of the house, he took a breath of warm spring air.
Birdsong drifted on the air from somewhere far off, the wistful notes dipping and swaying in the sunlit sky like little sparrows of their own. It was so peacefulâŚ
Well, until he remembered why he was leaving.
He was to go to your estate so you could teach him how to write. A scowl crossed his lips as he thought about it, shifting his weight from foot to foot as the breeze danced across his skin and framed his scars in flower-scented warmth. He didn't want to go, but he also didn't want to disobey a direct command from UbuyashikiâŚ
He sighed heavily, starting along the path.
Every footstep felt leaden, anger and dread building on him and pressing into his soul with unforgiving talons. His fingers drifted into their usual rhythmic tap against his sword hilt. He let himself get lost in thought, speculating exactly how this whole encounter would go. He floated on light footsteps past trees and expanses of flat ground, aimlessly letting the dirt path guide his lazy, careless stride. Up ahead, the soft rush of water filled his ears and the click of his shoes changed pitch as he crossed a wooden bridge, a stream drifting over smooth stones beneath the viaduct. As he made it to the other side, the whisper of the current behind him, neat stone paths branched out like spiderwebs in every direction, a wisteria tree growing lazily over the small cobbled patio. The heady perfume of the blossoms drifted over everything, lilac petals drifting into the water with baby ripples that got lost in the flow.
It was peaceful here, the chiseled stone lanterns standing along the edges of the area covered in the same moss that padded the ground he stood on. Neatly trimmed bushes lined everything, a soft, ancient atmosphere drifting over the place like a veil. He looked between the many pathways, taking in the leaves and petals that shrouded everything with a thoughtful gaze. Small blue stones lined one of the paths, inlaid in the ground in brilliant sapphire flecks against the grey. Deciding that it must be a path, he drew a deep breath and continued on.
Sakura trees lined the edges of this path, studded every now and then with lanterns that emit a warm, golden glow. A flower drifted from a branch, dancing in the breeze and landing squarely on his nose, making him flinch back. The blossom fell into his palm, its quincunx of rosy petals shining against the scars on his hand. He let it drift to the ground, the small flower becoming a bright, blush-pink jewel on the monotone path.
The walkway came to an end at a large wall of alabaster stone, murals painted on it in brilliant colors that shone resplendently in the noonday sun. A massive carmine gate sat before him, one of the doors cracked open enough for people to come through. He slipped in, footfalls landing on a neatly paved staircase. Your estate was beautiful⌠a sprawling complex of pagoda roofs tiled with beautiful viridian stone, wide open porches and huge gardensâŚ
Where was he to begin?
His lavender eyes drifted over the ancient-looking home, taking it in in all its majesty, and stepped forward, his gaze falling on you. You were seated peacefully on the edge of a koi pond, an easel sat in front of you with a painting sitting on the wooden frame. Paint covered the stones beside you, containers of every color imaginable - as if youâd collected the rainbow to put on your own paper. That must have been where the murals outside came fromâŚ
A cherry blossom tree on the other side of the pond was letting go of baby pink petals, the water rippling under their descent. One landed in your hair, but it did nothing to disturb your attentiveness to your painting. Lotus blossoms shone crystal-bright on lily pads in the water, orange-white glimmers of koi shimmering under the surface with their scales shining like marigold jewels. He started forward, shoes clicking on the stairs, your warm eyes looking up to find him.
A smile pulled at the corners of your lips when you saw him, rising to your feet with a cheery enthusiasm. âHello, SanemiâŚâ you said gently, haori fluttering behind you as you walked over to him.
âHello againâŚâ he deadpanned, cold voice and stern.
âReady to learn to write?â
âI⌠think soâŚ?â
âAmazing⌠Please, follow me!â
The two of you walked across the courtyard, footsteps in time with each other. You walked slightly ahead of him, and he watched you veer towards a set of steps, leading up to a low-built, rectangular building. Peacock-green pagoda roofs soared up a story or two, the room open and lit by noonday sun. Paper lanterns hung from strings in the branches of a sakura tree not far from the front of the building, pinpricks of gold-blue-green against the rosy petals. The shoji screens were wide open, revealing a room lit by sun and lanterns, golden light spraying over everything. A low table sat in the center of the room, paintings pinned up on any space the wall had left. You mustâve made them, little snapshots of dawn rising over the mountains or the sun glittering off the surface of a koi pond, every image peaceful and perfect.
The two of you settled on scarlet cushions, papers spread out on the table before you. An inkwell held down one edge of the alabaster sheets, a few characters written out on the top of the page. You pressed a porcelain cup into his hands, the ceramic warm against his scarred palms. The scent of white tea flooded his senses as he looked over the few things youâd written. Sharp, clean lines pierced his gaze as you picked up a brush, the bamboo handle resting in your palm in a way that almost seemed familiar - as if youâd done this a million times before. Maybe you had.Â
âWeâll start with something simple, hm?â Your voice was soft, and he watched you dip the brush in ink. The ebony liquid soaked into the fine bristles, a smear of midnight in a colorful world. Lifting the cup to his lips, he watched you bring the brush to the page. Precise, controlled movements of your wrist made characters flow over the page in soft swoops of onyx. When you dropped the brush on the table with a gentle clatter, you looked expectantly over at him.
âThese are the characters for a basic greeting. Just something like âhello, how are you?â Nothing too complex, to begin with.â You pointed at the scattering of inscriptions on the page.
âThink you can copy it?â He thought about it, taking another sip of tea before setting the cup down.Â
âI guessâŚâ
You took his hand, soft skin brushing against his scars, and pressed the brush into his palm. The handle was warm from where youâd been writing with it, and you guided him in holding it the right way. Bringing his hand to the paper, your palm stayed resting against the back of his hand the way a mother would guide their child. It was⌠considerate of you, helping him like thisâŚÂ
You helped him maneuver the brush along the page, repeating the characters youâd made. When his hand strayed from the page, the two of you gazed over the script heâd mimicked - sure, the writing was a little wobbly, compared to your neat brushstrokes, but he wasnât surprised by that in the slightest. Heâd actually done it. A little flicker of pride swelled in his chest - the same kind that he always felt after missions when he remembered his fights. Heâd written something, having never done so before⌠It was oddly exhilarating, for something so simple. You looked over at him, noting the proud little smile on his lips. Comfortable silence stretched between you two as you took his hand in yours once more, guiding him in a second repetition of the characters. Heâd never felt so calm, the most relaxed heâd been in years sitting here and letting you help him write.
After the third or fourth time going over the inscription, you let your hands fall away from his. âTry it on your own,â you told him, picking up a ceramic glass of your own. He hesitated for a moment, the brush all of a sudden feeling way too awkward for his hands.
He slowly lowered the ink to the page, tentatively tracing the now-familiar pattern. Every motion was hesitant, testing, and he found himself constantly looking over at you for any sign that he was doing it right. Your little smile told him all he needed when he dropped the brush on the table with a faint click and sat back, looking over his own repetition. The characters werenât perfect, obviously, but it was something to call his.Â
âGood job!â He looked over at you when the little praise fell from your lips, ducking his head with a faint smile. No one had ever truly told him that heâd done something well - with the exception of Ubuyashiki, of course - but it felt nice.
You drew a different pattern of characters on the page, just three or four new ones in a brand new sequence. The onyx ink shone like gold on the page, and he couldnât believe just how⌠good⌠this felt. Writing properly for the first time. When you passed the brush over to him, he palmed it the way you showed him, curling his fingers around the bamboo handle and bringing the brush to the page. He replicated your brushstrokes as best he could, uneven as his writing may be. He finished the pattern, looking over at you and your gentle smile. Your eyes traced over his reprise, before turning your gaze to him with a kind smile.Â
âThatâs your nameâŚâ you cooed gently, pointing at the brand new sequence. A little spark of surprise lit up his mind, lavender eyes trailing over each individual marking. That set of characters - that was his name, spelled out in little brushes of nighttime on paper. His nameâŚ
He traced over the words a third time, the spring breeze ruffling his haori as he mimicked each character. His name. Sanemi Shinazugawa. You watched him map out the same pattern over and over again, as if familiarizing himself with the sequence. Familiarizing his very being. His eyes soften, glittering with the white-gold light that filtered in through the shoji screens. He hesitated for a moment, gazing aimlessly over the sequence of his name, a flicker of emotion in his gaze that was usually suffocated by the anger that always choked him.
âTeach me how to write my brotherâs name?â His voice was uncharacteristically soft. A small gaze over at you punctuated his words, and you nodded kindly in return. Taking the brush into your hand once more, you mapped out the characters in Genyaâs name for the white-haired man at your side.
âOf course.â
âŚÂ
Heâd ended up learning a few more basic terms - just things like âIâm doing wellâ and âmy name is,â just to go along with his new knowledge of how to write his name. And not only his, but Genyaâs, too. As he walked back to his estate, he found himself tracing those characters over and over again in his head, not willing to let himself forget any of it.
âThe master requests your presence!â He damn near jumped out of his skin, whipping around with a hand poised defensively on the hilt of his katana. His kasugai crow swooped down to land on a tree branch, tauntingly out of reach of his blade. âOyakata-sama needs to see you!â
âFuckinâ birdâŚâ He muttered, watching the onyx-feathered avian wing away without further instruction. With a longsuffering sigh, he turned down the path that would lead him to the masterâs estate instead of his, spring wind buffeting his haori as he paced down the trail. Ferns swished with whispery voices at the bases of trees, a butterfly swooping between bluebells in a flutter of lilac wings. After a good period of walking, the sounds of people rushing around reached him from not far away - a notation that meant he was close to the masterâs estate. The path turned paved, stone clicking under his footfalls as he caught a glimpse of Ubuyashikiâs rose-violet sleeves. He turned a corner, watching the master tip his head in the direction he was approaching from, his milky eyes thoughtful under the sunlight.
â...Sanemi?â He questioned. âIs that you?â
The Wind Hashira froze for a moment, bowing low out of respect. An azalea blossom drifted on the sun-warmed breeze and landed at his feet, a shimmer of deep pink on pale stone tiles. âYes, Oyakata-sama. You asked to see me?â
A fond smile graced Ubuyashikiâs face.
âHow did your writing practice go?â His sleeves billowed in the wind, swirls of warm pink-touched lilac staining white fabric in mesmerizing swirls.
âIt went⌠wellâŚâ
âSplendid. I had a feeling they would be a good teacherâŚâ Sanemi felt memories from earlier dance in his mind, flickers of characters on alabaster paper, midnight brushstrokes spelling out his name. He traced the pattern in his mind once more.
âI called you here because of a new mission.â The Hashira perked up immediately, eager to fight and win once more. âDo you recall your previous assignment, when the demon cloaked itself in shadow to hide from the sun?â He remembered the satisfying way his blade cleaved through the demonâs neck, the metallic scent of blood flooding the airâŚ
âYesâŚ? Why?â
âThere have been reports of another, much stronger demon that has adapted the same method. It is hiding in the forests of Tsukikage, a village that has experienced brutal attacks from this creature. Supposedly it has the ability to clone itself, alongside being able to produce acid from stingers around its body. It will be a formidable opponent, yet I trust that a Hashira as strong as you will defeat it with ease.â
A ripple of excitement coursed through Sanemiâs body, more than ready to feel the spray of blood over his skin as he severed the demonâs head. He could imagine it already - another shadowed forest, maybe a cave or a clearing, the sting of venom on his skin as he lured the true demon away from its clones using his Marechi blood⌠the give of its skin under his swordâŚ
âI will not let you down, Oyakata-sama.â He said firmly, standing a little bit straighter. The master smiled fondly.
âI never thought you would. Thank you, Sanemi.â
âŚ
Wooden swords cracked against each other, the sound reverberating throughout the courtyard. The Wind Hashira spun in a controlled spiral through the scattered slayers, parrying hit after hit as he danced through the blades. Fighting came naturally to him - a routine that was precise and artful, something to master and succeed in. The breeze swooped around his blade, sun beating on his back as he sent someone's sword clattering to the side, drawing a quick, measured breath before sidestepping someone else's attempt.
He swung his training sword in an arc, knocking someone to the side. Disarming them quickly, he forced another lower rank slayer to the ground with the tip of his blade, blocking someone else with a sharp kick to the chest. âYou can do better!â He roared, sending another sword to the dirt below. âHonestly! I expected more from you lot!â
A particularly brave young man rose to his feet, launching himself at Sanemi with shockingly amazing speed. The Wind Hashira parried the blow, finally satisfied with the effort.
âThat's better!â He watched the slayer throw attack after attack at him, each one coming closer to landing on his body as he spun carefully out of the way. The two stood just feet apart, everyone else effectively knocked out as they watched the slayer face off a Hashira without fear. Their swords connected with a deafening crash, Sanemi's eyes lighting up with delight, flying after the boy with another vicious blow. âSo there is some sort of competence in you all! This is what I want to see from you!â
The young slayer set his jaw, eyes darting around for an opening, feet planted as he was thrown to the side by a merciless strike from the Hashiraâs sword. Sanemi felt a ripple of satisfaction course through him as he felt a wooden blade connect with his shoulder.
âThere we go!â He cried, sending the slayer flying to the side with a crash. âBe more like him!â He dropped his blade, footsteps padding over the dirt.Â
âWhat's your name, kid?â
The boy's face went pale, gazing up at Sanemi with fearful eyes. âMy⌠my name?â he stammered, quickly rising to his feet with ramrod-straight posture. âMy name is Asahi, Shinazugawa-sanâŚâ
Sanemi cuffed him on the shoulder in an odd display of pride. âYou'll move on to the next Hashira soon.â He stepped back awkwardly with a final nod of acknowledgement, turning to address the rest of the slayers. âVery well - you're all dismissed. I expect better tomorrow,â
He watched the trainees walk away with murmurs of resentment, something he found himself not caring about. Asahi, the one with potential, picked his way through the crowd with knowing confidence, making him sort of proud. He whirled on his heel, the last rays of sunset painting the ground in marigold-bright light, his body casting long shadows over the ground. Slipping a screen door open, he stepped into the Wind Estate with a heavy, exhausted sigh.
He changed into nightclothes, lost in a sort of daze that always came after training like this. His shoulder ached from where the slayer's sword had met his skin, but it made him a little proud instead of angry. Maybe some of what he was teaching actually did stick in these less-than-competent trainees. Maybe one or two of them actually cared, if this Asahi kid was anything to go off of.
He laid his sword down next to his futon, close enough to grab in the middle of the night if need be. Moonlight cast a soft, baleful silver light through the shoji screens, a faint glow over his room as he slipped under the covers. Heâd never been good at falling asleep. Too many shadowy memories that clung to him behind his eyes.
But today? Today wasn't a constant reminder of every single hellscape he'd been through. He'd been with you instead. He slowly traced the characters in his name on the fabric covering his stomach, repeating it over and over again in a soft pattern. Then he wrote out Genyaâs name. Then his own, once more. The repetitive motion lulled him into dreamless sleep, slowly slipping away from lucidity into the warm embrace of the night.
âŚ
He woke up hours later, blinking drowsiness from his eyes as the early dawn sun cast white-gold light over his skin. Had he actually slept through the night? ImpressiveâŚ
Rising to his feet and stretching, he listened to his bones crack satisfyingly as he adjusted to moving around. How long had it been since he'd gotten a proper night's sleep? He couldn't remember - but it must've happened last night, considering how oddly refreshed he felt. Maybe writing would be beneficial after all, if it made him sleep well. Shinobu was always pestering him about itâŚ
Slipping his uniform on, he tightened the belt at his waist with a soft sigh. Anticipation coursed through his veins, mixing with adrenaline to make a heady sort of drug that had him shifting his weight from foot to foot when he pulled his haori on. He had that mission today - more fighting, more victory, less demons. It made picking up his sword all the more gratifying, knowing the successful mission he'd be completing with this blade later.
Sliding the shojis open, he was met with the breeze gracing his skin in a warm, feathery caress.
âShinazugawa.â Obanaiâs cool voice split the morning stillness, making Sanemi glance over to meet the other man's heterochromatic eyes. Kaburamaruâs cutting gaze locked on his, red eyes almost curious as the snake stared at him with the same knowing look that the other Hashira did.
âIguro.â He offered a nod of respect, walking down the stairs of the engawa to approach the Serpent Hashira.Â
âOyakata-sama asked us to do group training with the younger slayers.â Obanai explained, Kaburamaru letting out a low hiss of acknowledgement. âWe're supposed to spar each other as an example and help the young ones do the sameâŚâ
The Wind Hashira thought it over as the two walked side by side towards the training grounds, watching the sun rise over the mountains in the distance and bathe the world in light. The silence wasn't uncomfortable, more so just⌠quiet, the silence that surrounds two friends who don't need to talk to be around each other. When the two of them stepped into the courtyard, every other slayer turned toward them as they took their positions at either side of the fighting ground.
They shared a look, dropping into fighting stance, and Obanai leaped at him in a black-white whirlwind, haori fluttering as he twisted to throw a hit at Sanemi.
Their swords met with an explosion of noise, wood grating together before the blades slid off each other and sent each Hashira back a step. Sanemi recovered quick, sidestepping one of the Serpent Hashiraâs blows and twisting to throw one of his own. The rhythmic crash of their blades resounded through the silence of the courtyard, the eyes of all the younger slayers trained on the two of them as they danced through attacks with practiced ease. Obanai's fluid movements paired with Sanemi's aggression made for one hell of a fight.
The Wind Hashira forecasted his counterpartâs next step, moving to block his next blow, the following explosion of sound rippling through the two of them as he brought his blade down hard on Obanai's, sending the wooden sword tumbling from the dark-haired manâs hands. A soft, prideful smile crossed his face as he brought the edge of his blade up to rest against the pale skin of the Serpent Hashira's throat, a feather-light display of victory.
âThat's what we want to see from you all.â Obanai's cold voice split the stillness with a ripple of whispers from the trainees. As the lower-rank slayers began to migrate into pairs, finding open spots around the courtyard to begin sparring, Obanai trained his blue-gold eyes on the Wind Hashira with a curious rule of his head.
âHow's the whole writing thing going?â
He let out a long-suffering sigh, rolling his eyes. Why did everyone care? âIt's okayâŚâ The mere subject brought memories to his mind - ones of the gentle smile you offered him every time he wrote out a sequence correctly⌠the flower gardens that outlined your estate⌠the patience in your eyesâŚ
Obanai nodded simply, turning away without further question. Gratitude coursed through Sanemi's body, internally thanking his friend for knowing when not to push.
The first sounds of swords crashing together began to resound through the courtyard like fireworks piercing the air. Sanemi turned to the open training ground, taking in the satisfying way the sun caught on sword blades and glittered in his vision. Fighting came so naturally to him - and maybe, just maybe, writing could too. He floated between sparring pairs, watching the slayer's blades crash against each other in vicious strikes, noting the progress the younger slayers were making. An odd swell of pride filled him watching them succeed. Was he getting soft�
Surely not. He wouldn't rest until demons were eradicated for good.
âŚ
He traced a path shrouded in moss, padding along the ancient flagstone trail. Vines snaked up tree trunks, the whole forest floor covered in shadows that snaked over ferns and night-dwelling flowers in a choking embrace. His haori fluttered in the cool breeze, the scent of petrichor flooding his senses as the windâs voice floated in its whispery tone in his mind.
His fingertips drummed against his sword hilt, the incessant drip of rain on stone shattering the unnerving quiet.
He stepped over a fallen tree, the brush of damp leaves sending a shiver down his spine. His mind was thick with anticipation, the air humid and suffocating in its own exhilarating way-
-and a low hiss sounded through the air. He slowed, his footsteps as quiet as the touch of the breeze on ferns. He ducked below a low-hanging branch, hand coming to rest defensively on the hilt of his katana, drawing a slow breath as he stepped into the edge of a shadowed clearing.
There it wasâŚ
The demon stood at about Uzuiâs height, scarred skin gleaming in the darkness of the shadow. It was making a keening hiss, almost a cry, glittering opals set into its shoulders and arms. It was like a jewel taken manifest - a grotesque mimicry of beauty that once was, remade into something horrible.
It whipped around, likely sensing the footsteps of the approaching Hashira, training milky eyes in Sanemi's direction.
It wasâŚ
Blind.
Easy.
He froze, taking in the sickening curve of its spine, bones jutting from its jewel-studded back. Back talons dug into the ground, those cloudy eyes flaying him alive as they stood unmoving. A horrible, pained cry tore from its lips and a second one appeared beside it, the faint light glimmering off the tar-black skin on the mimic. Opals glittered as the two demons disappeared, and he drew his blade with a gentle hiss of metal on the sheath - just in time, too, as only a second later a burning scent filled his senses with chemical and death. Smoke rose from the dead leaves at his side, a sort of inky substance covering the melting plants.
Acid.
He leaped to the side, green-black sword flashing as he heard another hiss of burning leaves right where heâd been standing. The flash of jewels in the baleful light was tell enough for him - he lashed out, sword connecting with a jeweled shoulder. A hiss of pain rose from the creatureâs mouth, teeth flashing. Claws connected with his chest, a fierce blistering pain shooting through his mind as he felt blood spill down his front in warm scarlet cascades. With a fierce roar of pain and determination, he yanked his sword from its shoulder and plunged it through the chest, heaving the katana upward to sever its body in half from the ribs up. It faded into a wisp of charcoal grey smoke.
The mimic.
A muscle in his jaw ticked in frustration, but he didnât have long to be upset before there were another three demons flanking him from all angles.
âBreath of Wind!â He felt a thrum of power ripple through his sword, an excited sort of anticipation flooding him. âFourth Form!â
His blade lit up with a jade-green glow, the breeze swirling around him in a merciless vale that only got stronger the brighter his blade shone. The malefic light gleamed in the milky eyes of the demons - green on white, life on death.
âRising Dust Storm!â
The wind turned vicious, ripping the demons apart in an unending cyclone, and he smirked with satisfaction before darting off into the clearing again. It was still - the eye of the hurricane. Any moment now, there would be something that jumped out to try and kill him. His blade was poised at his side, lifted defensively as he let his eyes dart around the clearing. There, up in the tree branch. The lingering light of his Wind Breathing shone off his sword blade to illuminate the edge of something, bleary in the shadows. Something big. Malevolent white eyes shone in the crisp dark - not white like doves or lilies, white like the dead, burnt husks of trees, like the bleached headstone of a long-forgotten gravesite, like bones littering the groundâŚ
 He shot like an arrow, fast as he pierced the air, feet connecting with a large boulder and pushing off to send him flying into the shadows. His blade pierced something, something real this time, a spray of blood soaking his haori and uniform, staining his skin in puddles of crimson. A roar of pain, and a vicious swipe of a clawed hand sent him flying from the branch. He landed hard on his back, rolling to stand as quickly as he could. Cold, dark acid met his bicep, burning holes into his haori and filling his nose with the bitter scent of decay.
Then it met his skin.
He shrieked with pain, stumbling back a step as the color drained from his skin and he willed himself not to die. The venom sank into his muscles, filling his every nerve with a chorus of agony. A heavy footstep into a stream running beside him sent a cascade of cold water up, soaking his left side and mingling with the blood covering him to make a diluted, rosy flow of blood down his skin. Looking up as the water began clawing the acid from his arm, he shifted his sword-carrying hand to negate at least some of the pain. There it stood, ebony skin gleaming malignantly in the solemn glow of the undergrowth. He threw himself at it again, blade sinking into its side before he was efficiently thrown to the ground.
Struggling to his feet, he glared at the mimics that circled him with bloodthirst written in his face. There were about five, and the real demon stood not too far away from its copies, the blood from its shoulder would disappearing as it regenerated itself.. As hard as it was to see, a sort of foggy haze had drifted over those ghostly eyes.
It took him a moment to figure out, dodging claw swipes from the mimics.
His blood.
The demon was drawn out towards his Marechi blood. That would be his win, solidified.
âBreath of Wind: Second Form!â He ducked below a tree branch, leaves ghosting over his bloodstained neck as he heard the mimic demonsâ keening wails and dodged to the side. Darting back into the clearing, he had all five of the copies out in the open. The jade glow of power hummed through his veins as he brought his sword up, drawing a deep breath.
âClaws-Purifying Wind!â
The gales erupted, ashy mist exploding around him as the wind began to act as an extension of his blade, tearing the demons into mere dust before him. The brush of that ash on his windpipe sent him coughing, his sword kept up defensively as he readied his injury-ridden body to land that final hit. The true demon was already drunk on the scent of his blood - already incapacitated despite its best efforts. It tried to land a hit on him, its movements uncoordinated as it struck the air beside his head.
âFirst Form!â He planted his feet, whipping to face that opal-studded monster with a look of victory shimmering in his eyes. Heâd won.
âDust Whirlwind Cutter!â
The zephyr became a hurricane. He relinquished his body to the command of the wind, letting its whispery voice become a typhoon in his mind and guide his blade in one last vicious blow. The metal sank deep into its throat, a piercing scream tearing from its lips as he cleaved the demonâs head off in a smooth cut, spinning to land on his feet. The skull toppled backwards, blood spattering across the forest floor. The dull sting of acid kept his mind alert as he watched that onyx body fade into ash, whipped away on the same wind that had helped him kill it in the first place.
He stood for a moment, breathing heavy and letting the air sink into his wounds. Blood dripped down his front, his blade, his haori soaked in the carmine liquid like roses on mountain snow. A heavy sigh tore from his lips, his katana clicking satisfyingly back into its sheath.
Another victory.
He was back to the rage that always filled him, bloodshed bringing his loathing for demons front and center. This one was dead. The village was safe.
He could go get healed - and then he could go see you. He let himself recall the flowers that lined your estate, the warmth of the cup in his hands as he watched you write out sequences of characters for him to copy⌠you spelling out his name⌠it was shockingly relaxing. His eyes traced the clearing, settling on a branch heâd knocked down in the fight. He lifted it into his hands, breaking the end off to make it shorter. Not too thick, not too heavy - a good weight to hold. A makeshift brush.
He set the top of the stick into the dirt, dragging the lines of each character into the hard-packed ground. He had to scratch over it a few times to get it to show, but it worked. He spelled something of his own. Tracing over the characters again, he wondered if youâd be proud.
âMy name is Sanemi Shinazugawa.â
Such a simple sentence - not significant in the slightest - but it was him. That was his very identity, spelled out in a few lines and a pattern of characters. He stared at it for a moment before scratching out the characters of his first name with the toe of his sandal, paying no mind to the blood dripping over the writing.
âMy name is⌠Genya Shinazugawa.â
His brother. He didnât know why heâd asked to learn how to write his name⌠maybe it was just to have an excuse to sit with you a little longer. Maybe he wanted to try and be a nicer brother.. You were an odd influence - he wasnât quite sure what possessed him to make the decision.
As he began his walk back to the Butterfly Mansion, footsteps padding over shadowed, mossy ground, he realized that maybe he was excited to learn to write after all.
âŚÂ
The thick scent of wisteria blossoms filled his nose, so different from the bitter scent of smoke and blood that had filled the forest. It masked something sharper, the sting of medicine that wouldâve plagued the air otherwise. Something sweet masking something painful - just like the woman examining his arm. Shinobuâs purple eyes danced over the acid burns that pockmarked his already-scarred bicep, an unamused look on her face.
âAnd may I ask exactly what the demon shot you with?â She said smoothly, looking away from his arm to take a damp cotton pad into her delicate hands. The scent of alcohol - strong alcohol - made his eyes water, and he instinctively flinched away from the cleaning cloth in her hand. A dagger-filled glare made him sit still again.
âI dunno⌠some venom bullshitâŚâ he sighed, winching at the brutal sting of the alcohol-soaked cotton on the sensitive burns. âHurt like hellâŚâ
âIâm sure.âÂ
A spool of clean bandages found its way into her palm, a syringe in her other. He shot her a questioning look that turned into a wince very quickly as the needle pierced into the burn. âFuck!â He swore, hands curling into white-knuckled fists, âWhat the hellâŚ?â He gazed into the glass tube, where his blood swirled against the sides in thin layers of deep maroon, being drawn from the area which the acid had contacted. She set the syringe down with a soft click against the table, wrapping the bandages around his arm, cloaking the burns in a layer of fabric similar to the wrappings that encircled his chest from the nasty claws heâd taken a blow from. The stitches those slashes needed were an experience.
âIâll run some tests on your blood to see if I can identify what that acid substance is, but otherwise you should be alright. Donât make any drastic movements and come back if either of the wounds look infected, especially the one that you got from the venom- Sanemi, are you even listening to me?â She said, raising an eyebrow as he snapped back to reality with a shake of his head.
Truth be told, he was in fact not listening.Â
He was too busy thinking about the next day. He had never been excited about sleeping before - why should he rest when he could be out fighting demons? And yet now⌠now he wanted to sleep to make the night pass faster so he would get to see you. The friendly one who was to teach him now to write. And god, did the relaxation sound nice right about now.
When was the last time heâd ever willingly relaxedâŚ?
âNo⌠zoned outâŚâ He sighed, the dull ache of his wounds beginning to appear in his mind as the adrenaline wore off. She nodded, a muscle in her eye ticking.Â
âI was saying, you shouldnât spar for a day or two while you wait for the skin to begin to solidify. No missions for a week or so, and come back to me if either of these get infected. Especially this one. She tapped her fingers over his shoulder, gesturing to his burns. He merely nodded once, disappointed by the lack of fighting heâd be doing for a few days. Offering a small bow to the Insect Hashira, he slipped away on quick footsteps to get back to his estate - surprisingly efficient for someone with injuries that made him flinch almost every step.
And he was not aware of the knowing purple eyes that watched him as he left, a little smirk on Shinobuâs face as she turned to go back inside her own home.
âŚ
He padded along the sakura-lined path, pink petals catching in his hair like blush-colored snowflakes. Shaking them off with a sigh, he lost himself in the scent of the blossoms and the sound of the river from far behind him. A flash of alabaster filled his vision and his heart did a weird little skip of excitement as he neared your estate. His wounds didnât hurt so bad now, allowing him to further debate why he got so happy to be here.Â
Murals filled his vision, swirling colors dancing in lilac irises as he slid through the huge carmine gate with silent footsteps. His sandals clicked on the stone courtyard, eyes trailing around the flower gardens lining everything. Patches of gardenias and lilac bushes filled the air with a thick sugary scent, the whole patio glowing with pink-green-yellow brightness that only gets more colorful as he paces through the flowers. The pond off to the left sent sparkles into his eyes, lotus blossoms glowing bold candy pink through the disorienting glow of the waterâs surface. He blinked away the violent light, your figure appearing through the glare.
You were painting again, brush on your canvas as you dragged a line of marigold-orange over the white surface to make a mosaic with the blue and green that already streaked the paper. Color usually was dull in his eyes - everything a shine of grey-green or cadet blue thanks in part to the colorblindness that shrouded him in a realm of shadow. And yet⌠this seemed brighter. As if you had some sort of life in your actions that broke the misty veil of grey that covered his vision.
Maybe he was just delusional.
You looked up, gentle gaze finding his. He watched your lips tilt up in a sweet smile, one that made his heart feel suspiciously soft. He masked any emotion on his face behind an unamused shield, looking down on where you were sitting.
âHello, Sanemi!â Your voice was as sugary as always, and he watched you rise to your feet with a sort of effortless grace that he couldn't help but notice. âReady to write again?â
âI'm here, aren't I?â he said sharply, immediately beginning to overthink. Was that rude?
âCome on thenâŚâ He began to follow you through the gardens back to the same tea room the two of you had sat in last time. Its open shoji screens let light pour over the table, steam rising from two porcelain cups. An onyx paperweight stood on the edge of a page, the carved dragon swirling in an oddly fluid way for something made of stone.
You gestured at one of the scarlet cushions you'd sat on last time, sinking onto the one beside it with a content sigh. He looked over the paintings on the wall before settling down beside you, letting his gaze drop to the paper before him. The blank surface seemed almost intimidating, blank and waiting for him to do something - whether heâd succeed or fail an absolute mystery.
âRemember anything from last time?â You looked over at him expectantly, raising your cup to your lips. The ceramic glowed in the afternoon sun pale against your honeyed skin.
He sighed heavily, lifting the brush into his hand the same way he'd done last time. The weight of it felt⌠familiar. Not in a way that he could pinpoint - it just⌠did. The handle was smooth on his scars as he brought the ink-dipped brush to the page. He followed the same pattern he'd traced into the bloodstained dirt yesterday in the forest, trying to replicate it as best he could.
âMy name is Sanemi Shinazugawa.â
You smiled as you read over the characters, and he watched your eyes brighten with a swell of pride in his chest.Â
âVery good!â The praise made his heart go soft again, and he ducked his head to hide the little smile that curved on his face. Your soft hands brushed his as you took the brush, gentle on his scars. He stared at his hand for a moment, before snapping out of the weird trance and taking his cup into his palms to distract himself. The warmth seeped into his skin, his eyes tracing the new patterns you drew out over the page. He read them slowly, taking in each neat brushstroke with a watchful gaze.
He realized a moment later that a book lay open on the table, characters aligned in neat rows over that alabaster page. Everything was perfectly aligned, and told some story about a half- demon swordsman. He watched you copy down a sentence, the pattern of characters matching up exactly.
 You passed the brush back to him, the handle warm from your touch as its familiar weight settled against his palm. He began to mimic the sequence, slow and careful, tracing the lines you'd written with as much accuracy as he could.
You studied the work heâd done, noting the way his handwriting had become less wobbly and uneven. He was making progress⌠or, some form of itâŚ
âGood. Now, you pick a sentence to copy!â You gestured at the book, and he skimmed the page with an assessing look. Choosing a sentence about some kind of battle with a sea monster, he glanced back and forth between the book and the page he began to write on. The characters appearing under the brush matched that of the book nearly perfectly. He looked over each kanji, scrutiny burning into the page as he judged his own work with discontent written in his face. He clearly didn't think he did a good jobâŚÂ
âThis is perfect!â You hummed softly, offering a kind smile to ease the look in his eyes. Sure enough, his heart softened again at your praise. âNow you can learn each separate kanji's meaning - see, this one is âtheâ and this one is âforâ...â
He watched you point out the different characters, the focus on your face endearing. Raising his cup to his lips, he looked over the way you dissected the sentence into each separate word. The taste of white tea flooded his senses as he looked over the annotations, turning all his focus away from the sweet little sparkle in your eyes.
âYou can practice each one of theseâŚâ you said contentedly, a sip of your tea punctuating your words. He lifted the brush into his hand, slowly beginning to copy down the kanji for the word âtheâ almost religiously, desperate from a distraction from the soft look you had on your face.
As he repeated each phrase over and over, he wrestled with the weird feeling in his heart. It was⌠softâŚ
Nice, almostâŚ
No.
This was making him weak. This⌠weird⌠fluttery bullshit.
He was over it.
Trying to find any distraction, he dropped the brush with a clatter against the wood of the table. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw you raise your eyebrow in slight confusion - which quickly morphed into a weird sort of pride or happiness as he flipped through the book with a bit more aggression than necessary. He skimmed each sentence, settling on one that contained the word he wanted. He broke that sentence down the way you did, copying your method exactly before lifting the brush into his hand and tracing the character against the paper workspace.
âWind.â
He paused when he finished, scrutinizing his work once more.
âVery good!â You clapped your hands together with excitement, and his heart fluttered despite himself. What in the good goddamn hell even was thisâŚ?
He sifted through his memory, dredging up the recollection of an old letter from the master talking about a mission he was expected to go on with Himejima back when the Wind Pillar first achieved his rank. Back when MasachikaâŚÂ
Never mind it. Himejima had been referred to as "the Stone Hashiraâ in that letter - and he broke each piece of the phrase down. He tried to remember how the letter wrote it, recalling each line in the kanji, and attempted to replicate it from that past memory.
âHashira.â
You looked the character over, face contorting into a little smile of surprise. âYou knew that?â
âI guessâŚâ he whispered, hesitant.
âIt's rightâŚâ
A little flicker of pride shone in his heart, a firefly against the darkness of his anger. The brush graced the paper once more, ebony lines putting the new characters together.
âThe Wind Hashira.â
When he saw you nod, he gazed over the words again. Beneath the kanji, he traced out a familiar sequence that he now knew so well.
âSanemi Shinazugawa.â
That was him.
He straightened, trying to suppress the smile that came to his face as the flicker of pride flared up into a blaze in his chest. Why did this feel nice now�
âPerfect!â That sweet cooing voice would be his undoing. âYour handwriting is getting so much better and you're writing it perfe- oh?â
He flipped through the book again, finding the word he needed. The brush was beginning to feel natural in his hands, as if becoming something that he could handle as well as the sword he loved so much. When that bamboo handle clattered against the tabletop, he watched you expectantly as you gazed over the new kanji below his name.
âThe Light Hashira.â
You froze, a giddy smile glowing on your face that was just so bright he could barely keep his own smile off his face.
âYou're getting it!âÂ
His lilac eyes found yours with a thoughtful look, his skin tingling with all the pride filling him. âHow do I write âsword?ââ
âLike thisâŚâ
He watched your hands dart across the page with skilled grace, feeling more happy than ever. Now he copied down the kanji with an energy he didn't have before. Excitement, it almost seemed. God, what were you doing to him�
That bubbly feeling went on for a good few hours more, him only leaving when the sun dipped below the horizon. Your estate was radiant in the golden light - and you were even more so. You tucked a few books into his hands, the worn leather of their covers soft and warm in his hands. âKeep practicing!â You'd whispered, and he watched you take a few steps back toward the tea room.
WaitâŚ
He darted after you, gripping your shoulder before you could leave. You whipped around, eyes shining in the sun, and he forgot how to breathe for a moment.
â...I practiced on my mission yesterday⌠it was just my name, not anything big, just-â You cut him off with a tight embrace, shocking him into stillness. The feeling of your arms around him was just⌠right⌠and god, the way his heart skipped made him think for a moment that he was beginning to die. Your body was warm against his, chin resting on his shoulder in something so sweet he felt heat grace his face. He was indebted to the sun for glowing an orange bold enough to cancel out the color on his cheeks. Hesitantly, his scarred arms came up to return the hug.
âI'm proudâŚâ you cooed, making his heart skip treasonously once more. âI knew you'd come around to the whole writing thingâŚâ
He just nodded, words abandoning him in your presence. When the two of you actually parted, he felt⌠odd. Not having your arms around him was weird, like the two of you were a puzzle and now there was a missing piece without you here. He thought about it a moment, the empty feeling that now buzzed at the edges of his mind, as he walked across the wooden bridge that would lead him back to his own estate.
You made him happy, as much as he hated to say it. Every time you smiled at him. Every time his heart did that traitorous little flutter. Every time your voice filled his ears with praise as he did something right.
What⌠what was this?
Was itâŚ
No.
It couldn't beâŚ
It couldn't be loveâŚ
âŚ
The hushed whispers of the other Hashira's voices graced Sanemi's ears as he stepped into the room where the master was waiting for them. His eyes immediately landed on you, sitting beside Mitsuri and laughing over something. He picked a spot beside Obanai, who exchanged a brief nod of respect with him before Ubuyashiki clapped his hands softly. Everyone's eyes trained on him, and his soft voice rang out over the room.
âHello, my children. I have called you here today for a report on the training of the younger slayers - nothing extraordinary.â His smile was as soft as ever, the light of the late morning sun filling the room. âWho wishes to begin?â
Uzui straightened, his jewel-studded eye patch glittering nearly as bright as his obnoxious smirk. Insufferable, that's what Sanemi had always thought of him. âWell, Oyakata-sama, all is going well with the slayers under my training. They're getting faster, certainly, which I am quite proud to see, but despite their quick progression, they're just not on my level yet~!â
The Serpent Pillar shot Sanemi a look, and they both rolled their eyes.
âI am glad to hear it, Tengen. Keep it up.â
âMy training is also going well, Oyakata-sama!â Mitsuriâs cheerful voice rang out through the room, and he watched Obanai visibly soften as she began to speak. He had to remember to tease him about that later.
The meeting was pretty boring - all he had to do was say a few words on how those pathetic kids were as weak as ever - and before he knew it, he was rising to his feet so he could leave. Tomioka brushed past him, that bullshit haori fluttering softly. He scowled, glaring after him.
âSanemi?â The masterâs voice filled his ears and he instinctively turned around with a low bow.
âYes, Oyakata-sama?â
âI merely wished to congratulate you on the success of your mission. Thanks to you, Tsukikage is safe. That's something to take pride in.â
âI appreciate it, Oyakata-sama. As soon as I am healed, you can send me on another mission. I look forward to succeeding once more the second I am able to.â
âI will certainly think about it, Sanemi. I extend my gratitude to you once again. You are dismissed.â
He bowed again, already itching to get back to your estate. Those familiar paths made the tension leave his shoulders, peaceful and quiet. Youâd disappeared quickly from that Hashira meeting, and he liked to think it was because you were as excited to see him as he was you. A sakura blossom landed in his hair, but this time? He didn't immediately move to brush it away.
This time, he just let the pink petals catch in his hair, knowing he could care less. Slipping through the gates of your home, he let the wind catch in his haori, walking over to the pond he usually found you at.
Except you weren't there.Â
He looked around, eyes sharpening with worry, and watched the petals of the cherry blossom he was standing under hit the surface of the water. Ripples swirled out, breaking the stillness, the flicker of koi fins glowing against those lotuses that studded the lily pads.
It was perfectly calm.
Until the blade of a training sword swung down in front of his face.
He spun to the side, drawing his katana defensively, the green-black blade shimmering in the sun as he watched you swing out of the branch of the tree. The tap of your sandals on the stone punctured the silence, and he cautiously slipped his swords back into the sheath with a soft click. âNice dodgeâŚâ you chirped, reaching to the base of the tree where your own katana lay sheathed in the grass. You passed him a second training sword, his fingers closing around the hilt like muscle memory.
âThe hell you jumping out of trees for?â He shot back, eyes glittering with confusion.
âWe spar.â You called simply, pacing a few feet away and gesturing to the spot opposite you. âIf I win, you have to do extra practice today.â
He smiled, feeling right at home as he stood facing you, the sword in his hands familiar and right. The two of you braced to begin, and he watched you move in a blur of sunlight and speed, his blade coming up to parry the hit with practiced ease. Flurries of hits ricocheted off of training swords as the two of you stepped through attacks like it was something as simple as merely breathing. And for you two? Maybe it was.
He let the windâs whispery voice brush his mind, filling his head with soft commands of âstep rightâ and âdodge.â He spun past your blade before it could land on him, the responding crack of wood on flagstone music to his ears. The breeze rippled with satisfaction when that hit missed - and yet you got back up once more, haori fluttering when you rose, the sunlight flowing naturally over your skin like you were some god, some blessed child of the light that had been sent from the heavens to grace the earth with your benevolent presence.
And blessed he was.
The glow shimmered off your skin like the way light shone in water, patterns of spiderweb-like gold that dipped and swayed over your arms as you threw hits at him with accuracy that made him smile to himself. The edged of your swords clashed, and he looked up into your face.
God, were you beautiful.
Spirit glowed in your eyes, a fierce fight that burned under your skin like glowing embers in a fire. Nothing could compare to that defiant sparkle, the warmth that seemed to radiate so freely from your skin⌠the way his breath caught by just looking at you⌠god, it was treasonous. He was getting soft⌠but how on earth had you managed to steal his heart with just a look? The daffodil-gold of sun on your unblemished face had him faltering, and you pushed him down with one final strike.
Heâd⌠lost.
You smiled with delight, bladeâs edge hovering over where his heart rested beneath his skin, and the happiness on your face would have brought light to entire villages. He wasnt even upset that heâd lost - too caught up in that pretty smile to care much. You held that sword with such familiarity that it impressed him, considering you seemed more in touch with the blade than even he was.
âI didnât think Iâd beat you, Sanemi!â you chirped, voice just so cheery it made his heart skip. âYouâre a much better swordsman!â
âOh, fuck off⌠Iâm injuredâŚâ
However true that was, he knew he was lying. The injuries werenât the reason that he lost - it was simply his inability to take his eyes off you. God, he was lost in the way sunlight sparkled off your skin, the way it framed your face like a haloâŚ
You didnât need to know.
âŚ
He was copying sentences when Mitsuri arrived.
You were sat next to him at a proximity that was making it hard to focus, ink tracing over the page as he picked apart lines from books that were laid out across the table, forming together patchwork lines of his own out of each seperate word. Familiar. You were just flawless, still glowing from the pride of beating him. Watching each character take form under his hand as he slowly wrote out each individual word. Anything to take his mind off you.
White tea and the scent of begonias flooded his senses, the familiar scent of your estate that heâd grown so used to. God, did he revel in the way this place felt like home to him every time he stepped into the courtyard. The paths leading here had become muscle memory, just another action that was as simple as a heartbeat, something he could flow through without doing much thinking.
âY/N?â The cheery voice of the Love Pillar rang out through the courtyard, and footsteps padded over the stone. Sanemi instinctively straightened, unwilling to let the other Hashira see how relaxed he was sitting here with you at his side.
âHello- oh, there you are!â A blur of pink-green bounded happily around the corner, and the smile that lit up your face forced him to tamp down the color that threatened to flood his cheeks. âOh, hi Shinazugawa! Fancy seeing you here!â He offered a slight nod in response, not deigning to look up from the page lest he meet your eyes and fall apart.
âI needed to talk to you about this mission that Oyakata-sama wants to send us on because the location is a little oddâŚâ He let himself shut out the world as best he could, ignoring the chipper sound of Mitsuriâs voice and instead spelling out the kanji for âwindâ over and over and over again. The characters that were a part of himself. His identity. Theyâd become second nature, now. He could write out exactly who he was on the paper, the first things heâd learned to write.
âThe Wind Hashira.â
âSanemi Shinazugawa.â
Thatâs right. He was not a lovesick fool. He was not disappointed when you stepped outside to talk with Mitsuri without distracting him. He was not longing for your presence right now. He was the second strongest Hashira - he was stronger than this.
But it didnât feel that way.
For you, he was weak.
When you settled back down beside him, the tension in his shoulders was released almost immediately. He didnât like how much you affected him, but he couldnât help but smile when your eyes darted over the page heâd been writing on and you beamed with pride. When your hands touched as you took the brush from him, he felt his skin stay tingly even as he picked up his cup to hide the way he was smiling. He was not a lovesick fool. Heâd repeat it over and over, until it made all this go away. That was how itâd work. But the way his breath hitched and his heart raced every time you looked at himâŚ
Thatâs what kept him up at night long after the two of you had parted.
It was midnight - or sometime close to then, he wasnât fully sure. All he knew was that he was wide awake, sitting at the low table under the window in his room, and he was writing.
He had two or three books open, which number it was he didnât know, considering he was only half-lucid, but he was tracing down characters the way heâd done so earlier. The ink was as dark as the onyx sky outside, and he found himself wishing it was your light beside him instead of that of the lanterns. Heâd begun at the first chapter of one of the books, taking apart sentences until they were no more than individual words, piecing them back together like stitching something. The sentences felt natural - likely because the feeling of taking things apart and fitting them back in place made those lines feel as patchwork as his body felt, each scar like one of those words.
Or maybe it was because of you. He couldnât get you off his mind, no matter how hard he tried. The warm glow of the lanterns didnât fail to remind him of the way the sun had shimmered off your skin, the way your sword had pushed him to the ground, the way heâd gotten distracted just looking at you. He felt hopeless, at this rate. Why couldnât you just leave his thoughts alone?
He let his gaze trace over the words on the page, the header of chapter 22 visible in the corner of his eye. At this point, he had enough pages of sentences to piece together a book of his own, even if those sentences would make no sense once combined. Skimming the last few words of chapter 21, he found nothing much to dissect - until that very last sentence. His breath hitched, mind flooded with an idea that would either be entirely stupid or the best thing heâd ever done. Somehow, he felt that this was more likely to go down that first path.
He took a smaller sheet of paper, and drew a deep breath, trying to calm his heart. In his best handwriting possible, he slowly traced out those kanji on the paper with a sort of care he didnât know he was capable of. It was like the words were delicate - fragile - something that would break if he did one little thing wrong. When the last line in the last character settled into the page, he dropped the brush and sat back, looking over what heâd written.
And he knew then that those words were for you.
They were strong, something heâd never realized before. Words held weight, and that was why these ones felt so gratifying to write down. He knew then that these words were heavy. That they could do many things to a person. But god, did they feel so right under his hands - and it was true then that he knew who he was speaking to through his writing. The ink felt like birdsong, the paper lighter as he brought it into his palm with such delicate gentility it was almost foreign. The two of you were something breakable, hovering on a knifeâs edge, one step from falling apart or into each other.
And he didn't know which one was which.
He put out the lantern, blinking softly as his eyes adjusted to the dark, and he stepped over his sword to slip into bed. He didnât know what tomorrow would bring. There was no way of telling. All he did know was the truth behind those words, the ones he cast one last glance at before letting sleep drag him under.
I love you.
âŚÂ
Youâd smiled at him again today.
The whole time youâd spent with him, writing, youâd had this permanent smile on your face. To him, the expression was brighter than the light you controlled, one that made it seem like the world really wasnât quite as bad as everyone made it out to be. Like maybe, he wasnât so broken after all. Maybe he was worth your attention.
He was standing just around the corner of the tea room, watching the weeping begonias over the threshold sway in the breeze. That feeble, breathy voice brushed his mind, swirling in his thoughts as he drew a slow breath. White tea and flowers. The familiar scent of your estate and all its viridian-tiled, blossom-draped glory.
The scent of home.
He looked down at the paper in his hands, the pure color of the page clashing with the uneven shadows and light that was his skin. His scars. The marks heâd always grown to loathe, despite how they marked all that heâd survived. The marks that seemed beautiful under the glow of your soft eyes, your caring smile⌠the stories that you made him love. Manuscripts of their own, flowing over his skin like writing that created the story of him.
I love you.
The words were so simple, and yet they made his whole world seem to narrow. This one moment could push the two of you either together or apart, and he had no telling which. He could just not do it - lock all the longing deep into his heart and walk away now - but he felt frozen. God, he just couldnât do it⌠couldnât leaveâŚ
So he left that one fateful slip of paper before the doorway, giving it a final glance with eyes full of turmoil, and darted away on light footsteps. The second his feet touched the pathway outside those crimson gates, he let out a whoosh of breath and turned for the trail back home. Except⌠home was behind him. Home was the place where ink spilled over paper and smiles graced his gaze, where delicate sakuras danced in the wind and drifted to land in his hair, where your embrace resided and paintings graced every wall.
A place of color and light that heâd never known in his monotone life.
But there was nothing he could do about his decision now. The future was set, and he could only wish and pray. Maybe you hadnât seen the note yet. Maybe you had.
He could only guess, as those words replayed in his mind like a mantra.
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
âŚÂ
Moonlight drifted on baleful wings over the courtyards of the Wind Estate, where lanterns glowed like dancing fireflies in the cold darkness. Sanemiâs skin prickled under the biting chill of the wind, nothing like the sun-warmed zephyrs at your home. These winds were merciless. Frigid. Heâd always been a sort of hyperborean - someone who didnât mind the sharpness of frost and shadow that cloaked the night - and yet now he found himself longing for your familiar warmth. For the feel of your arms around him, that safe embrace that had melted the icy shields around his heart so fast.
The clash of sword on sword filled the air, brutal and unforgiving as his scars pricked under the windâs teeth. Obanaiâs glittering eyes holding his when they spun to face each other. The Serpent Pillar looked the part of a true spirit there, ghost-pale skin gleaming in the moonlight, the keening hiss of Kaburamaru carrying on the tendrils of ice that flowed through the wind. The flames in the lanterns flickered under the suffocating press of cold, one of them being smothered to death in the frigidity and plunging part of the courtyard into malignant dark. His eyes hardened as he blocked another his, bracing his body to keep from sliding.
He was reminded quickly of the way your sword had danced on his, the feel of your strength biting into his as the two of you danced around each other with blades raised. A soft ember of warmth flowed through his chest as the recollection, and he sighed lightly with fondness. That is, until he leaned back and felt the graze of a wooden blade against his throat. The edge of Obanaiâs sword had missed him by a hairsbreadth, his breath catching as he staggered back in an attempt at recovery. A flicker of confusion fluttered through those knowing blue-gold eyes as he threw a harsh blow at the Serpent Hashira.
Obanai tipped his head, freezing. The freezing wind caught in his billowing haori sleeves, glimmers of monochrome fluttering in the gales. He let his blade drop against the dirt with a soft clatter, one that made a distinct memory of tea and fox paperweights pierce back into his head with unforgiving accuracy. The ghost of you filled his mind before he was snapped back into his cold, bitter reality. He wasnât at your side, wasnât feeling your gentle touch on his hands, your arms around him, no. He was being irrational.
âThe hell was that?â The heterochromatic Pillarâs voice was a low, malevolent hiss as he shot Sanemi a look that was half-confused, half-disapproving. He loathed that knowing stare - and despised the way the snake seemed to be matching it with that godforsaken scarlet gaze.
âI donât know what youâre talking about.â
âYou hesitated. We both know you donât hesitate.â
Damn this stupidly observant man⌠being under that gaze felt like being flayed aliveâŚ
âMaybe Iâm just tired.â
The Serpent Hashira shrugged, looking unconvinced. âFine. But you better not slip up like that on a mission.â Sanemiâs hands clenched into fists, and he held himself back from punching him - a very impressive display of self-restraint on his behalf.
Those quiet footsteps clicked with malice over the courtyard as he watched Obanai walk away. When he couldnât see the black-white striped fabric of the Pillarâs haori anymore, he sank to his knees with a longsuffering sigh. The moonlight burned into his skin like a brand as he breathed in deep, the sting of cold air tethering him to the world. You were distracting.
If he didnât get a response from you soon, he was going to go insane.
No matter how much he loathed the idea.
He couldnât know - he had to know, or everything would go to hell. The contradiction was making his mind hurt.
He rose, face turned toward the sky. For a moment - just a brief moment - the Wind Pillar looked truly calm. Lilac eyes that were usually so full of bitter hatred now glowed with moonlit serenity. Finality. The scars that covered his body seemed less like reminders of pain and more like stories of survival. He felt lighter.
This was the eye of the hurricane.
And then he whirled around, leaving the two training swords laying out, the shoji screen clicking shut behind him as he let sleep claim him one last time. Cold gales choked out the lanterns one by one, shadows curling over the ground in malevolent whispers.
This was the last night he could avoid this.
Tomorrow was the start of the end - or, just maybe, a new beginning.
âŚ
The sound of younger slayers was faraway and irrelevant to the Wind Pillar. Training had been⌠disappointing. Not that it ever wasnât, but the sheer agitation that flooded him had turned him more bitter and jumpy than before. Everyone was talking with their friends or sparring partners, walking away to their respective rooms for the afternoon. Sun beat mercilessly on his shoulders, a sakura blossom drifting from a tree to land in his hair.
He stood against the railing of a wooden bridge, the latticework held nearly tight enough to crack by his white-knuckled grip. The soft ripples that emanated in the water from each petal landing on the surface had him tranced, lilac eyes trained intently on the river as if the water was some sort of respite. There was no one around - and it was peaceful enough, even if everyone could see his perturbation. He wondered if youâd seen the paper. The words had never left his mind, dancing around in his thoughts like a neverending chorus of devotion.
I love you.
God, he was hopeless. He felt so weak, and it only got worse by the day. Every day. Every hour. Every damn second he went without your eyes on him again was making him more uneasy, and he couldnât stand feeling so helpless. The whisper of the water and wind did little to soothe his disquiet, his hands curling into themselves just to feel the bite of his nails into the heel of his palm.Â
He was barely lucid, his breath too labored for it to just be stress.
A soft tap on his shoulder shook him from his daze, and he damn near jumped out of his skin as he whirled around,
There you stood, radiant in the noonday sun.
And there, in your hands.
The alabaster paper with those three damn words.
âSanemi.â You offered a soft nod, respectful but maddeningly uninformative.
âY/N.â Your name felt so right on his lips, and he felt his heart finally begin to calm, as if your mere presence was enough to settle the disconsolation. You reached up to pluck the blossom from his hair, your proximity making his breath hitch.
âDid you mean it?â
He hesitated for a moment - and yet he remembered Obanaiâs words: âYou donât hesitate,â - and he drew a breath.
âOf course I did.â
The smile that graced your lips right then rivaled any sunset heâd ever seen. You were just ethereal, your features softened even more in the warmth of the light. God, nothing could compare to that sparkle in your eyes - even if you took everything beautiful in the world and fused it into one, it wouldnât ever come close. Damn⌠he was lostâŚÂ
âSay it.â He snapped back into reality, feeling color grace his cheeks as your words registered. You just looked so hopeful⌠so pure and happyâŚ
âI love youâŚâ
You leaped at him and threw your arms around his neck, your lips finding his in the brightest of kisses. It was at that very moment that you cracked open something happy in his heart - something hidden under stone and scars and years of pain and abuse. Something that only you could ever reach. His hands tentatively came up and wrapped around you, and he melted into that kiss, fully breathless and drowning in you. Together, you were the wide open sky - wind and light swirling in a giddy dance that heâd never known before. You were sun and stars, light and shadow, everything good and bright that graced the world.
And all because of those three words.
I love you,
I love you,
I love you to the end of time and all the way back.
There was just you, the only thing that mattered in his world, the one who had him hopelessly in love.
My life will be fine because youâre here in it.
When you pulled away and said âI love youâ back, he almost fainted, a true smile flashing across his face for once in forever.
Iâve never loved something more.
âIâll do more for you⌠I write it all for youâŚâ He whispered, no control in his words anymore. He pulled you into his arms in a crushing embrace, still in disbelief that you loved him back.
gotta love waking up on vacation to see all the love you guys gave my Mui x Reader fanfiction :3
thank you for all the engagement with my recent work - wasn't expecting it to do so well, but it's glad to see I did our forgetful boi justice :)
I currently have 2 Sanemi x Readers in the works! one of them is more completed than the other, so that is likely going to come out anywhere from the next three days to the next week depending on my motivation :)
if there's anyone in particular you'd like to see me write for, I will not hesitate to answer asks - shakespeare's ghost has been blessing me with writing ideas lately, so I should be stacked with wips to work on (I'm thinking aged up post-war Muichiro x Reader) and I cant wait to post the next fanfic!!
stay lovely my friends and have a wonderful day/night :)
Synopsis: Muichiro had finally learned to remember you. You and your sweet smile, you and your love and your kind touches and your strength. You, who related to him in the fact that you became a high-ranking, respected demon slayer at such a young age. You, who stood valiantly in the Infinity Castle alongside him and everyone else. You, who his crow just announced the death of. And you, whose memory was fueling his fighting spirit as he ran through these never-ending halls. Always you. Every time.
Warnings: ANGSTTTT, Infinity Castle stuff (after Mui splits up w/ Gyomei but before he encounters Kokushibo), mentions of blood/violence, swearing, ANGST AGAIN
Oh I wish I could take you
All where Iâm heading
I guess I could FaceTime
Into all of your weddings
Muichiro ran unrelentingly through the halls of the Infinity Castle.
The golden light of the lanterns shone malignantly over the floor, casting long shadows over everything. It felt like they were reaching out to grab him with dark tendrils, reaching to pull him to the ground and choke him. Reaching to end him. But he wouldn't let that happen. Not on his watch.
He listened to his footsteps, striking the floor in fast, rhythmic patterns, outrunning the shadows with every beat. His sword rested at his side, one hand on the hilt, ready to draw and cut anything apart with brutal efficiency. His uniform fluttered in the air as he tore through the halls, wind rippling the ebony fabric. Himejimaâs voice telling him to split up ran through his mind as he cleared floor after floor, breathing hard but running steady. The soft reminder of you kept him going. You and your sweet words and soft hands that fit so perfectly in his. Your loving care that kept him hopeful. You. A young Hashira just like him. Someone he could love and rely on.
âY/N L/N is dead!â
He almost stumbled. The braying voice of a crow rang out through the halls, not slowing his quick pace, but making tears sting his eyes.
âThey fought valiantly against Muzan Kibutsuji and have been defeated!â
Oh.
How cruel was your fate?
A direct encounter with the Demon King himself - he began crying just thinking about it. How you likely would have died. Torture and pain and nothing peaceful. Blood everywhere as your faith was broken and beaten. Shattered into a million pieces and gone, forever. Heâd never see you again. Youâd never again tell him you love him. Youâd never again take his hands in yours and help him remember the things he couldnât. You cared. Youâd actually made him happy.
And Iâll be on your TV
So you wonât forget me
He remembered the days heâd be fully blank - mind cloaked in mist and shadow, any memories gone. But when you walked in, the fog cleared. You helped him remember all the things he could barely do so himself. You were the sunshine in his darkest days. You were the light in his cloudy life. He kept up pace through these halls, the walls pressing in on him. His vision went all blurry with tears, eyes stinging, the sour taste of bile in his throat, his lungs burning, wanting to just scream and massacre everyone in this godforsaken castle.
If only he could.
You wonât forget me, right?
He remembered you asking him that in the earlier days. When you were still misty in his mind. But god, heâd listened! Heâd put his all into remembering you and heâd done it. You became the only person before Tanjiro that had actually managed to matter enough for him to care. No one else was as important as you. You loved him.
And surely you still did, right? Even if heâd failed you?
He knew what youâd say - that it wasnât his fault, that he couldnât have gotten there in time, that there was no way he could kill Muzan, that you were doomed from the start. But damn, heâd fight the whole world, demon and human, if it meant youâd stay alive. Heâd do anything for you. His footsteps began to sicken him, but he couldn't slow down. He couldnât stop.
Oh then tell me why
Why Iâm all in my head
Why youâre all on my mind
Memories of the happy days flashed through his mind. The days youâd sit together on the engawa of the Butterfly Estate when you were healing from a mission, silent and so loud all at once. The times youâd stand with him under sakura trees and heâd talk to you about everything that mattered. Everything he remembered. The days heâd be tired from Hashira Training and heâd sit beside you and let you tell him about nothing and everything in the same moment.Â
He was silently sobbing now, tears flowing uncontrollably. Still, he didnât cease.
Why it feels like my friends are leaving me behind
Why I miss all the shit
Iâve seen a million times
No, donât look back, just drive
The castle began to blur, everything turning to a painful whirl of golden light and alabaster shoji screens as he tore through the halls. The lanternlight danced in his vision and mixed with his tears, as if you were still reaching out through the light to console him. He grit his teeth and kept going, his body screaming at him to stop.
He couldnât.
Even as his world began to fall apart.
Someone tell me why
Why my town feels like home
For the first time in years
Whyâd I need to be known
They fucking know me here
Youâd given him a chance.
A chance to remember.
His every step felt leaden, hitting the floors as he felt his Slayer Mark burn into his skin the same way it did in the fight against Upper Rank Five. He pushed harder still, fighting through the tears to run harder. Himejima was counting on him. The master was counting on him.
You were counting on him.
He would keep fighting for you, because thatâs what you wouldâve wanted. Was it? You were already beginning to fade away from his memory, the fickle strength of his remembrance slowly beginning to release you. It was like all this time, the foggy tendrils of recollection were holding you in his mind with an embrace he didn't know he was capable of. And now⌠now they were letting you fall away, even as he fought to keep you.
You who cared. Who let him fail over and over again, every time coming back to his side like nothing was ever wrong. Like you didnât care whether or not he messed up. Like all that mattered⌠was him. God, it hurt. It hurt to fail you - to let you die without even trying to save you, when all youâd ever done was come back to him. He wanted you to come back now, to look at him with those soft blue eyes- or were they green? Brown?
Oh, no no no⌠he couldnât forgetâŚ
But it could be a movie
With a feel-good end
Oh god, I hope it is
He screamed, loud and piercing and broken, voice thick with tears as he ran. He was drowning, sinking faster and faster and there was no way up, not when he was forgetting you-
Then my whole life
Could sound like this
âCome on Mui! Letâs go see the fireworks!â
âYou need to be more careful with yourself! Donât just jump at the demons, sillyâŚâ
âYouâre shaking⌠come inside, itâs okay nowâŚâ
Your soft voice faded in and out of his mind, every step a whirl of hurt and too-fast pain and grief stacked so high he couldnât hold it in anymore. He sobbed openly as he ran, shoulders trembling with quiet gasps as he went. Where was he even trying to go at this point? The castle stretched on forever! Where was he going? Who was he trying to get to? What if he got lost? Stuck here?
Would it even matter, without you?
He tripped over his own feet, falling to the floor and barely catching himself on shaky hands. His head was spinning, everything dizzy and suffocating and oh- oh godâŚÂ
Donât turn around kid
He thought of you, reaching for any memory he had left. He sifted through his mind, whole-body shivers wracking his frame. He began to slowly piece together messy broken pieces of you - reminders of who truly mattered. Who really cared. And, with a despairingly hopeful sob of surprise, it began to work. You came back to him.
He was remembering you, pushing himself up to his knees. You, standing in front of him, your soft eyes looking at him with adoration so sweet it could have made him sick. What color they were didnât matter - not when you were looking at him like that. Like he really did matter. Like you cared. Like you could look past how badly he remembered things and just see him, the broken boy who desperately craved someone who loved him.
You know what youâre doing
He rose to his feet and took a wobbly step forward, gritting his teeth hard enough to hurt.
Your warm voice telling him how much you loved him - telling him that it was okay to cry, that being broken didnât make him worthless. That he deserved you.
Tell us about it at the ten year reunion
He craved your embrace, the steady feeling of your heart under his hands as he leaned into you, letting you hold him close like he was precious. The warmth that seeped into his too-cold skin and drove away the demons that haunted him. The soft kindness you poured into his soul so effortlessly, the sort of gentle love that made the brightest colors feel dull. He wanted you to be here at his side, holding his hand as if he were six years old all over again.
He began to remember falling asleep next to you, his eyes fluttering closed only to shoot open at midnight thanks in part to nightmares. The silent cold ghosts that haunted his sleep like sentries. He would see you, your face outlined in starlight, baleful silver on your warm skin. He remembered pressing his hand to your chest, testing, waiting, feeling the slow thrum of your heart under his palm.
â...whatâre you doinâ...?â youâd ask, voice thick with sleep.
âChecking to see if youâre breathingâŚâ
Weâll all be here kid
Sayinâ we knew ya
Hope you can make it till the ten year reunion
Youâd want him to keep going. To leave the Infinity Castle and make a life for himself. You wanted him to be happy, and he felt tears well up in his eyes again as he took another step, wavering on his feet like a baby fawn.
That was what haunted him.
How could he be happy without you?
Alright then
He picked up his pace, building up to his run again. Heâd keep on going for you. Anything for you. You and your warm embrace, your kind eyesâŚ
Just make it sound like this
He remembered standing under sakura trees with you, talking about pointless things and tucking blossoms into your hair as you leaned on his shoulder. Soft kisses framed by rosy pink petals that were the same color as the blush on your cheeks.
He remembered sparring with you, a whirl across the training grounds as the two of you wielded your blades like it was a dance. Every precise hit ringing out loud and defiant and clear, the way his footsteps were now against the stillness of the Infinity Castle.
He remembered sitting beside you at midnight on the edge of a pong at the Butterfly Estate - the place where you shared your first kiss, a place where only the moonlight reflecting on the water would ever bear witness to you two.
Heâd go on.
He had to.
Then someday Iâll sing
About the shit I did
And not the shit I missed
He wished you couldâve been there with him. There were so many things heâd allowed himself to hope for, no matter how often he tried not to get his hopes up.
A true future.
Maybe a wedding.
A life, with you.
Somewhere he could be safe.
Somewhere that now, he could no longer have.
He vowed to himself then that heâd never fall in love again.
Not unless it was you. His kind-eyed angel. His one and only. The person who knew what it was like to be broken and scarred the way he was.
âI canât wait to see you againâŚâ He swore he could hear your soft, songbird voice somewhere out there, calling out to him one final time. A choked, quiet sob wrenched itself from his chest as he pressed on for you. In your memory. The final truths that he now carried in his broken heart. The fickle pieces of you that he could manage to keep.
âGoodbye, my love.â he thought, blinking his tears away and feeling his face slip back to its emotionless mask.
(I like AJR. I like Muichiro. this idea came to me unsolicited at 3AM and you know I had to do it. slay. now that I've discovered that long fics are fun, my upload schedule may go all over the place. however, I won't stop uploading :) see u guys soon!!)
(p.s. go listen to ajr's music if you haven't already its so good)
my goal is to start treating my usual shorter fanfics as smaller oneshots in-between bigger works - sure, this may screw around with my writing schedule, but y'know what?
I want to make more writing!
so anyways, that's about it, and I'm so excited to unveil that first piece of proper fiction :)
Something wasnât there - something was missing, but with the way his mind was all blurry with fog and forgetfulness?
He just couldnât figure out what it was.
There was a hollow spot inside of him where something used to be - something warm, something that flickered like a candleâs flame in the darkness. What it was, he didnât know. But sometimes, he remembered the gentle summery feeling of whatever puzzle piece had fallen away.
Well, until Tanjiro became a part of his life.
Those first few days the red-haired boy was with him, he could swear there was a little, tiny spark in the hollow where the emptiness was, suffocated in mist and fog and fickle memory, a tiny dancing flame that for a split second, lit up the cold darkness that kept him veiled in its choking, relentless, depressive hold. It was there, even if he forgot it.
Tanjiroâs warm voice - his gentle eyes and open mind, his kind heart and fierce protectiveness⌠every little characteristic began to shrink that void in his chest.
The sparks began to duplicate. Every word that spilled from the Kamado boyâs lips made another golden flicker light up in his heart, warming the icy cold hollowness that had filled him before. Every smile, every laugh - they all made that little firefly into a swarm of glowing, dancing lights that swirled in his mind and his heart whenever he was around the boy. It was nice, in a way of its own.
âThanks, Tokito-san! Iâll be sure to tell Nezuko you say hello!â Tanjiro called back at him, waving from where he was walking away. Muichiro raised his hand back, wistfully lost in thought. Heâd barely been able to focus on the question Tanjiro had asked, more so focused on the furious patter of butterflies inside his chest that all glowed with that fierce light that had cut so cleanly through the mist.
He couldâve sworn there was a name for it, the warm, fuzzy feeling.
He was certain, but what was it�
The sparks began to condense, turning into a small flame. A small light in a sea of darkness, a tiny flame kept alive by the familiar warm kindness of Tanjiroâs voice.
The sweetness of his laugh.
The caring, protective strength in his smile.
It burned soft but unceasing, staying steady as the dog pressed down in it from all different angles. It stayed strong and true, as if a little fragment of the sunny boyâs happiness had found its way into his chest and settled there. It was so familiar⌠if only he could remember-
Love. That was the name. He was in love. With Tanjiro Kamado, no less. But if the feeling was this warm? He wasnât complaining.
Misty wind swirled through the dream-forest, shrouding the mossy floor in veils of silvery tendrils that brushed against Giyuuâs skin like butterfly wings.
It was ethereal, but suffocating, in a way. Mystery coated the world, the scent of pine trees and rain filling his lungs as he breathed in the water-thick air. He walked through the trees, weaving through rocks and roots as if he had somewhere to go. As if there were some goal to achieve.
He burst through a gap in two trees, finding a clearing that was free of the choking fog. No mist curled over the land, sun dancing through the tree branches and dappling the ground in green-gold light. He looked down, drawing a deep breath. A glittering glimpse of red-white flickered in the corner of his vision, and he jumped a little, whirling around with a rustle of grass.
A familiar fox mask sat in the hollow of a tree root, scarlet ropes draped over ferns and moss. He felt his breath hitch, pulse jumping with recognition.
âYouâre finally hereâŚâ A soft voice split the quiet, and he turned to face whoever it was speaking, though he already had an idea. He was met with warm, silvery eyes, peach-pink hair, a familiar scar and an even kinder smile⌠SabitoâŚ
He let out a breathless little laugh, jumping over a large, flat rock with a scatter of pebbles clicking over the stone. Muted footsteps padded their way towards his best friend, a smile like no other pulling at his face. It was so free here⌠so ethereally beautiful - but nowhere near as beautiful as the pink-haired boy that stepped forward and took Giyuuâs hands in his. Warm callouses pressed into the swordsmanâs palms, gentle and familiar. âIâve missed youâŚâ Sabito whispered, gentle eyes glittering with a sort of devotion only fitting for fairytales.
They leaned closer, warmth seeping into their bodies and driving out the chill of the misty forest. A stream bubbled happily in the background, dancing over rocks as his best friendâs hands came up to hold his face as if he were something precious. His touch was feather-light, almost like Giyuu might break if he pushed too hard.
The forest held its breath as they leaned closer, closer, lips a breath away, and-
Giyuuâs eyes snapped open, the faint crack of thunder driving him awake.
He felt a hollow, cold emptiness spread throughout his body where the warmth of Sabito was supposed to be, and he pulled his knees to his chest. The blankets were too cold, the room too big, everything too much. He wanted to be back in his dream again - wanted to be deluding himself in his little love story for as long as he could.
Because Sabito wasnât here, and damn if the fact didnât bring tears to his eyes.
He wanted the silver-eyed boy to be beside him in the moonlight, wanted to fall asleep in his arms instead of the cold, empty space beside him. He wanted it so bad - but the patter of rain was the culprit who stole that sweet delusion from him. He let out a longsuffering, wobbly sigh, tears spilling over his cheeks as he flopped over and dragged the blankets over his head.
The Flame Hashira had never laid eyes on something so gorgeous. Heâd always been one to see the sunshine in even the darkest of moments - always one who spread his smile to whoever may come near him. Always searching for the beauty in everything.
But none of that compared to you now, standing before him with such a pretty smile. That pale blue kimono flattered you, the navy wave patterns at the hem making your eyes stand out to him as he walked closer to you. When your hands slipped into his, he could have sworn his heart skipped a beat, a faint heat gracing his cheeks.
When heâd asked you to the festival on New Years, the time of year where they made the sky burst with red-green-gold showers of sparks, heâd never expected you to say yes. But here you were, standing before him with such a warm smile painting that pretty face, making his breath catch in his chest, and he could hardly believe he wasnât dreaming.
âHello, my flame!â He said, regaining the words youâd ripped straight from his throat with just how stunning you were. âYou look heavenly tonight!â
That shy blush that spread over your face made his breath catch, your hands so warm in his as he tried to calm his racing heart. All his attention was on you, like a moth drawn to a candle. The noise of the busy people around you was shut out, as if you were the very thing his world revolved around. Every star in his sky. Oh, it was unbelievable how much space you took up in his heart, his every decision marked with âwhat would they doâ or âwhat would they think of me?â
âShall we find a spot for ourselves? I believe the fireworks begin soon!â He said jubilantly, his smile rivaling the sun itself. With you here, everything seemed to just get brighter.
âLead the way, flame princeâŚâ Your soft voice and gentle smile made his heart race giddily, and he gently tugged you along by the hand. The two of you weaved your way through the crowd, almost like two little kids running to play. Your kimono fluttered behind you as you ran, a breathless sort of whimsy making the two of you feel so weightless. As if the world couldnât hold you down.
You found a secluded little place where youâd get a good look at the sparkly bursts of fire that pierced the sky, collapsing into each other in fits of breathless giggles. His heart was racing, not just from running through people, but from holding your warm body against him like this. He pulled back a little, red-gold eyes studying the soft smile on your face with nothing but true love in his gaze. The flush on your cheeks from the cold air was nothing short of adorable, making him swoon internally at how gentle you looked. It was hard not to compare you to a baby bunny, looking at your pretty little face.
You sank down into the cool grass, the star-flecked midnight sky unfurling over the two of you like a blanket of ebony-dark infinity. He pulled you close to him, letting his body heat seep into you. The whole crowd had fallen silent, as they all waited with bated breath for the firework show to begin. He laced your fingers together, holding your hand with such devotion as you two watched the first set of brilliant rainbow explosions shatter the silence with great purple-silver bursts against the onyx sky.
He turned to you, the new year settling over you like a warm embrace. Your gentle eyes looking at him as each crack of the fireworks in the air split the quiet⌠It was a beautiful dream, despite how you were as real as it could get.
âHappy New Year, my flameâŚâ
His lips found yours as another bang sounded off, gentle and caring as his thumb brushed over your cheek. He couldnât believe you were hisâŚ
You were just walking home, the calm glow of the moon beaming down on the path ahead of you. A simple nighttime walk - that was your first mistake.
Because soon enough, a second pair of footsteps began to fall in time with yours, pricks of nervousness stabbing through your heart. Who could possibly be awake at this hour of the night? Why were they following you? What did they want�
Scrapping together the fickle pieces of courage you had, you whirled around.
And you were immediately met with a clawed hand swiping at your throat.
With a shrill cry, you leaped back, barely missing the jagged talons that wouldâve torn your head from your body in one cruel motion. Terrified eyes flicking up to see exactly what was attacking, the grotesque face of some sort of demon glared back at you. Fangs glittering in the starlight, pale eyes glowering with malevolence, you froze. Just accepted your fate there.Â
This was it. This was where you were to die.
âGet out of the way!â someone yelled, and another figure flew past you, pushing you back. The stars glittered off the honed edge of a sword, and you stumbled backwards. Trying not to lose your footing and fall, you watched that green-black blade rip through the demonâs throat like it was the simplest action in the world. Frozen in place, the demonâs head tumbled backwards, blood pouring from its ravaged throat. The white-haired stranger stayed quiet for a moment, watching the body at his feet fall apart into mere dust, before turning around to train rage-filled lavender eyes on your terrified form.
âWhat were you thinking?â The man spat, whirling around as the last of the demonâs body faded away. âWalking alone at night like this? Youâre just asking to get torn to shreds!â
You staggered back a little, the harsh tone of his voice startling your already terrified heart. But once youâd managed to catch yourself and look back up at him, you watched his eyes soften a little bit. A flicker of something cruelly similar to care showed in his gaze, alongside something else - wonder? It wasnât a great guess, because surely he didnât care that much.
âSorryâŚâ His voice was so much gentler now, sword clicking back into its sheath as he breathed for a moment. âYou alright?â
âYeah⌠I⌠I guessâŚâ You nodded tentatively, and watched as his head tilted to the side. He studied your shaking form for a moment, hand resting on the hilt of his katana as he regarded your terrified gaze and trembling hands. Drumming his fingertips against his sword, he drew a calmer breath. The moonlight gave you the opportunity to fully take in the man whoâd so effortlessly saved your life - some type of guardian angel, surely. Scars raked across his body, the permanent stories of past battles that marked his skin like some kind of manuscript, only further exemplifying his strength.
âSo⌠why were you walking at nighttime? Alone?â He questioned, a sort of social awkwardness in his voice that seemed so human compared to the clean, measured killing machine youâd seen just moments previous. It was⌠reassuring, in its own right. âNot the smartest of decisions, clearlyâŚâ
âI was just trying to get homeâŚâ
He nodded as if agreeing, which, maybe he was, seeing as how all the anger and fighting spirit youâd bore witness to had seemingly melted away. âWhich way is your house?â
You raised a shaky hand, pointing toward the eastern horizon, and watched him tip his head in thoughtful silence. That repetitive tap of his fingers against his swordâs hilt was⌠calming, as if the noise were reassuring you that you were in fact alive. Alive, and no longer alone after such a purely horrifying encounter.
âIâll walk you.â He decided with a nod of definitive finality, eyes finding yours again as he took a step along the path towards the direction youâd pointed in. When you hesitated, he looked back at you with a little bit of impatience in his lavender irises. âYou coming or am I gonna have to wait?â He said, voice laced with the same snappy tone as heâd used before.
The two of you walked in silence, broken only by the noise of your footsteps against the ground. Except, it wasnât an uncomfortable silence. It was almost⌠kind, in a way of its own, as if the reassurance you felt having him at your side was seeping into the very air surrounding you. You slowly began to see the outline of your house in the moonlight, the lanterns on the front steps like tiny pinpricks of sun in the darkest of abysses - or little fireflies against the dark backdrop of the night.
When the two of you reached the front steps, you placed your hand on the railing, feeling the familiar wood of your own porch under your hands, and turned around. âThank you, so much⌠youâre a godsend⌠I donât know how Iâll ever be able to repay youâŚâ
Sanemi, heâd told you his name was on your walk back, looked up at you as if he wasnât expecting to be addressed again once you reached your front door. âItâs nothing, really⌠donât worry about it.â He offered you the smallest of smiles, studying you again with those knowing lilac eyes. âHave a good night.â
You gave him a small wave as he turned away, a smile of your own twitching at the corners of your lips. Shutting the door behind you with a soft click, you shook your sandals off with a deep sigh of pure relief. You were alive⌠all thanks to that white-haired man whoâd come to your rescue. What a fairytale ending for you.
Shinobu was barely suppressing her anger with a smile.
Everything seemed to go wrong today.
People messed things up, there were too many patients to check up on, there was so much to do, and she was tired.Â
Her butterfly haori fluttered softly as she busied herself trying to prepare a dose of medicine for Aoi to take to a patient, but she just couldnât focus. Pills scattered, falling to the floor, and she picked them up with a series of furious deep breaths.
A tap on her shoulder startled her out of her mind, the familiar scent of sakura mochi reaching her nose.
Mitsuri.
âHi Shinobu!â The bubbly girl started, her bright green eyes making the Insect Hashiraâs heart leap. She added the treasonous feeling to her list of things to be mad at, turning her doll-like smile to the pink-haired Hashira behind her.
âI was wondering if you wanted to come sit with me for a minute? I have mochi!â
She could use a break⌠and with Mitsuri? It did sound just lovelyâŚ
âWhy not? I suppose I could spare a momentâŚâ
She mused thoughtfully, her smile softening at the green-eyed girlâs happy little jump. She took Shinobuâs hand, leading her along to the engawa of the estate. They stepped out into noonday sun, glittering off dewdrops on grass like small mirrors nestled in the earth.
Sitting down beside the Love Hashira, she marveled at how soft sheâd become. Heart skipping traitorously in the presence of the woman, whoâd already chosen a sakura mochi to eat with a content little smile. Delicately picking her way through the desserts, she chose one that had a rosy tint to it and brought it to her lips, the sugary taste drowning her nerves as she bit into it.
âSo howâs your day going?â
Mitsuri nudged a cup of tea over to her, and she accepted it with careful hands. The warmth of the cup seeped into her palms, a pleasant feeling that didnât match the original stress of the workday sheâd been putting up with.
âOh, fineâŚâ She lied carefully. âJust a little tiring, yâknow?â
âOh, yes! Iâm sure you have so much to doâŚâ
âYouâd be right⌠it can be a lotâŚâ
The Love Hashira went silent for a moment, taking a sip of her tea.
âCan I do your hair?â Shinobu was taken aback for a moment, quickly regaining her composure as she put together what the pink-haired girl had said. âIt might help calm you down, and your hair is just so pretty, and⌠you knowâŚâ
She thought for a moment, the sweet look in those gentle green eyes softening her further.
â...sureâŚ?â She hummed tentatively, reaching up to remove her butterfly clip. Her hair fell from its spot, brushing her face as she listened to Mitsuriâs bubbly laugh.
The Love Hashira settled herself happily behind Shinobu, and it astonished her how nice it felt when the sugar loving girlâs fingers carded delicately through her hair. She felt her begin weaving braids together, the gentle tug making her go soft.
And so, she finally learned to calm down for a fleeting moment in a small corner of the Butterfly Estate.
A small corner of sticky fingers and the taste of sugar, of gentle happiness and styled hair.
Other demon slayers and kakushi making rumors spread about him and Uzui and Rengoku.
Sure, they were his boyfriends, but did everyone need to talk about it?
He saw the Sound Hashira through the crowd, the red-gold hair of the Flame Hashira unmissable beside him. The two were impossible not to see - the center of attention, as always. But Uzui seemed⌠distant, almost. Or at least, more than usual. His head was tilted to the side, crystal headband glittering in the sunlight. Flashy. Just how he liked it.
Rengokuâs smile was bright as ever, his arms crossed over his chest and his head held high and proud, though his eyes shone with something⌠else⌠among all the happiness in his gaze.
â...canât believe those two would get with someone so⌠quiet!â
âWell, we donât know if itâs trueâŚâ
The whispers. That had to be it. The whispers were bothering them too.
But then Uzuiâs red eyes found Rengokuâs and a look passed between them, the smirk that painted the Sound Hashiraâs face dangerous in a way of its own.
Red-gold eyes scoured the courtyard, and Giyuu suddenly became very aware of where he was. He was just standing against a wall - his lovers could see him from anywhere⌠and so he did what any reasonable person would do, and stepped towards the nearest door. Luckily for him, it wasnât that far away.
Unlucky for him, the flutter of his distinct haori was easy to spot. He winced at the noise of footsteps behind him, and yet he was thoroughly unprepared to get caught up in a whirlwind of fire and diamonds. Tengenâs strong arms circled him from behind, the Sound Hashiraâs chin resting atop his head as he held him close.
His breath hitched softly out of surprise, but he was cut off before he could say anything by the touch of Kyojuroâs lips on his. The Flame Hashira laced their fingers together, the combined affection of his lovers being something he did enjoy.
Except for when they were in public.
âSorry, prince, but those⌠uninformed⌠slayers got on our nervesâŚâ
Tengen cooed gently, his embrace still warm and gentle and safe. Rengoku pulled away, smiling like the sun had personally offended him by trying to compete with his brightness. He kept his hands in Giyuuâs, the gentleness of the gesture a sweet reprieve from his current reality.
âI agree! We had this conversation but a few nights ago, love! Our fellow demon slayers deserve to know of our spectacular relationship, do they not?â
Albeit being softer than normal, Kyojuroâs voice was louder than he wouldâve liked. Especially with the amount of people that could now see the love he usually got in secret.
â...do you see that?â
âI told you so!â
âI just knew they were togetherâŚâ
As Rengoku kissed him again, he came to the conclusion that maybe this wasnât too bad.
Especially if it meant he didnât have to wait for kisses.
(Put Uzui's wives in the corner - sorry - and this is what you get, apparently :) hopefully the first piece of poly fanfiction this blog has did these three justice)
He was a loud, brash, exuberant boy. Free and careless in the face of the world.
And Tanjiro, the âwalking ray of sunshine?â
He fell in love with him like it was nothing. Despite all the yelling and chaos he spread with every step. Despite how inexperienced he was with being actually cared for. Despite his struggles with showing affection.
He didnât mind.
He was perfectly fine sitting on the edge of a pond at the Butterfly Estate, healing from wounds he sustained on his last mission and thinking of his boyfriend. The early morning sun reflected off the water mesmerizingly, making the surface sparkle like a pool of molten diamond in the dawn light.
It was so peaceful and stillâŚ
Until a series of fast, running footsteps skidded past him in a blur of black-blue chaos. Inosuke whirled around with a yelp, rushing to his side and throwing himself down beside him, shoulders heaving with each panting breath.
âMonjiro! My minions told me to give you this!â
He yelled, loud voice a familiar noise. He held out his hand, revealing a small bouquet of red and blue flowers. It looked so⌠out of place, seeing someone who was so loud and wild doing something so delicate like giving him flowers. Not that he cared⌠this was probably the most affection the green-eyed boy had shown him in the whole time theyâd been together.
He reached out with gentle hands and took the flowers from his lover, his face alight with a smile. Looking up, Inosukeâs bold green eyes met his. They carried a sort of⌠gentility, one that heâd never seen in the boyâs face before.
âDo you like it?â
Inosuke asked, voice quieter than ever before. He sounded⌠hesitant, as if he were unsure if Tanjiro would appreciate the affections he was giving. It was so foreign to see him actually being âgentleâ for once. He could care less, feeling his heart swell with love for this boy and all his brash, loud, secretly caring glory.
âI love it, Inosuke⌠thank youâŚâ
He said sweetly, looking at his boyfriendâs face. He looked shocked, almost, as if he werenât expecting such a positive reaction - which should have made him sad, if not for the wide, true smile that showed on the green-eyed boyâs face just moments later.
âHa! Chuitsu was right for once! The King of the Mountains wins again!â
He turned his head up haughtily, drawing a soft laugh from Tanjiroâs lips as he cradled the blossoms close to his chest like they were precious - and in this case, they were.
âSo that means weâre married now, right?â
Inosuke turned to him, squinting in confusion as he saw the scarlet-red blush painting his boyfriendâs face.
âWhat? Thatâs what Monitsu said!â He looked genuinely cluelessâŚ
â...Zenitsu was wrong, though I wouldnât be opposedâŚâ He let his voice trail off, ducking his head shyly.
