#Bright Samurai Soul | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sakkiichi · 9 months

Text

IT’S YOU, IT’S YOU, IT’S ALL FOR YOU.

“Let them have the world, I only want you.”

Kaedehara Kazuha, Scaramouche/Wanderer, Venti, Xiao x gn! reader.

cw/genre: romance, comfort, angst, fluff.

✧ KAEDEHARA KAZUHA

Lightning opens the sky and the end of the world is starting.

Over Tenshukaku, bruised clouds gather, the ground rumbling to the ear-splitting sound of thunder.

Your breath comes in short, running by your lover’s side, a scene you know neither of you ever wants to relive, peeking from behind the darkened horizon.

Spears, bows and swords drawn, you rush to the scene by the resistance’s soldiers’ side.

Violent shades of violet ignite two silhouettes: one of them with their sword at the ready, the other with something floating at their side.

The Traveler is in danger.

Picking up pace, you reach the war zone, just to be met almost face to face with the slash of lightning.

Something you never wanted to encounter again, something you swore you’d never let him have to face anymore.

Electricity is reflected in your eyes when your gaze focuses on him. Your arms reaching out, to no avail, for the wandering samurai’s katana is clashing against the very same storm that burned him, in more ways than one.

Perhaps you were screaming, maybe you imagined his departed friend’s vision glowing anew, or it could be that the crackling of neon indigo around was just scorching your throat.

You don’t want to look, and yet your eyes stay glued to him, the wandering soul you’ve come to know perhaps deeper than you’ve ever known yourself.

A bright flash surrounds you and you just can’t bring yourself to watch.

In the middle of this thunder raining night, you don’t want to, you can’t bear to imagine the prospect of a world without your sun.

Salty droplets start sliding down your cheeks, your vision blurry when you finally, tentatively, crack your eyes open.

And for a moment, all air is knocked out of your lungs.

A dull colorless vision lays lifeless before you.

“No… no… no! No…” A croaked out choke leaves your throat, your legs giving out from under you.

And yet, you never hit the ground.

Familiar arms are wrapped around you, comforting, in the way only his were.

A heartbeat, loud and quick, melting into your stressed lungs, its thumping breaking the surface of your glacial deep sea when you gasp for air.

“Shhh dove, I’m here.” His head rests against yours, silky strands of hair you’ve combed and braided countless times tickling the side of your neck.

The samurai’s hold on you tightens; oxygen fills your lungs again.

“Kazuha…” You breathe, your voice a glass string, threatening to shatter with the slightest breeze.

“I’m here.” He repeats, tender lips delicately pecking your hair.

In his hold, you turn around, your knuckles white, gripping his clothes, as if he was going to disappear right between your fingers.

“Kazuha… please…” you rest your cheek against his chest, burying into him. “Don’t do that again!” Sobs, broken like the lightning pierced sky above escape you. “I don’t care if the whole world burns down, I only want you, safe and here, so please don’t…” you can’t form any more words, tears completely blinding you, ragged breaths lodged at the back of your throat.

“My hummingbird, I don’t know if I can promise you I won’t put myself in danger again,” Kazuha utters, with the softness of autumn leaves landing on your outstretched palms. His hands brush sweaty strands away from your face, the bandages you’ve wrapped and unwrapped until you knew his scars by heart, all too present when he touches your skin. “But I swear I’ll always return to you, safe.” He leaves a soft kiss on your temple, a lingering charm reminding you of his promise.

“Kazuha…” you cry again, squeezing him even tighter.

In the thunderstruck night, the poet known by the wind doesn’t let you go.

History didn’t repeat itself.

You won’t let it in the future either.

✧ SCARAMOUCHE

In the end, you’re thankful he didn’t become a god.

Looking at him now, with the last rays of summer sun carried by the breeze kissing his face, you believe Scaramouche is right were he was always meant to be: with someone by his side, not replaced, not discarded.

Not alone.

Pristine svelte hands, despite the biting gales he commands, pluck at a Sumeru rose by his side, its violet petals almost sparkling in the coppery glow of the early evening.

The wanderer’s brow furrows, a dispersing cloud flitting by in the dusk horizon. He twirls the flower around his fingers, akin to a kaleidoscope reflecting the feelings his eyes can’t fully conceal.

“What’s on your mind?” You ask, bumping your shoulder with his softly.

Months back, that gesture alone would probably have earned you a cold hard stare and perhaps the breath knocked out of you.

But he’s… different now, you guess; or perhaps he is starting to become himself.

He sighs, starting to pluck at the petals of the rose still in his grasp.

“For a moment, I thought I finally had it all.” He leans back, the flower now resting beside him, as he looks up at the glowing sky. “For a brief instant, I thought, finally, no one else would betray me, that if I stood over everyone else, I’d… I don’t know, wouldn’t be discarded once again.” He chuckles, the sound humorless. “Turns out that couldn’t have been farther from the truth, huh?” He sighs again, pulling off some grass from the ground, letting it fly away into the sunset.

“Not necessarily.” You softly tell him, picking up the rose he was holding earlier. “You’re still here, and at least there’s a small part from your past you’ve been able to pull away from, hm?” You search for his gaze, your mind back to the days in which you exchanged blows and he was still known as ‘the Balladeer’. “And I’m still here, Nahida hasn’t completely deserted you either, and well, hasn’t the Traveler invited you into their Serenitea Pot more than once?” You offer him a sincere smile that merges into a chuckle when you observe his cheeks tinting in the same colors as the sun dipping behind the horizon. “Let whoever wants to command this world have it.” You utter, brushing away starlit strands from his face. “You’ll always be at the center of mine, Kuni.” You vow, as you tuck the Sumeru rose behind his ear.

Your partner scoffs, but it comes out like more of a chuckle, the carmine on his cheeks almost glowing as silver and gold mix in the sky for a few ephemeral instants.

In a moment in which is neither day or night, your gazes meet.

And he is certain the stars dancing in your stare are very much real.

‘The moon is beautiful,’ is the thought you share looking into each other’s eyes.

✧ VENTI

Midnight dyes Mondstadt in shades of cyan. By starlight, the city of freedom is not unlike a deep lake, the lit windows akin to lanterns shining at the bottom.

On the highest point of this city, a bard sits, his lyre, by his side; his songs, silent tonight.

He feels like he’s drowning.

He’s the god of this land, and yet, no wind seems to encompass his breaths.

By daylight, no one would be able to tell gales arise inside the carefree lyricist’s heart, but, at night, the shadows tended to light up things in their true colors.

A sigh leaves him, mere ripples in the stillness of the hour.

“Long day?”

A familiar voice, the one he has wished would join his in the verses he strums on his instrument.

He turns around, eyes of northern lights following your figure as you sit beside him.

Your feet dangle from the hands of the anemo archon’s statue, night air chilly against your skin. You give him a knowing look, inviting him to go on, to speak his mind if he needs to.

“I suppose you could say that.” Venti replies, a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes plastered on his features. “But I’ll be fine!” His grin widens, a cracked mask held together by sheer willpower.

“Venti…” You scold him with no malice, leveling him with a pointed glance. “How many times have you said that knowing damn well it wouldn’t be true?”

He shrugs, looking down at the city below. A city he doesn’t think he can protect now.

He couldn’t save his friend, after all.

Who’s to say if the time calls for it, he’ll be able to save everyone, or you, for that matter?

“I know…” your partner mumbles, his voice devoid of his usual cheer. “It’s just…” the wind god looks up, as if asking the midnight zephyr, ‘where do I go from here?’ He mindlessly fiddles with the strings of his discarded lyre, right now, not certain he’ll ever pick it up again. “Wouldn’t this city… be better with someone else as its archon?”

“What makes you say that?” You ask, leaning your head on his shoulder, as you’ve done many times. The sound of his lyre used to accompany you in those. You miss it now. “I know I wouldn’t want anyone else but you, Venti.”

The anemo archon rests his head on top of yours, closing his eyes against the dark sky.

With you by his side, he almost feels like he’s flying.

“Are you sure?” He asks, barely above a whisper.

“More than I’ve ever been about anything, love.”

Venti hums, letting himself melt against your hold, at least for tonight. Perhaps he’s just too tired to discuss the topic further, maybe he just wants to believe this world still can be beautiful for him after all.

You wrap your arms around his waist.

The lake he was drowning in minutes ago stills.

The lyre is back in the god of anemo’s hands.

✧ XIAO

The yaksha is starting to think perhaps this was indeed not a good idea.

He feels miserable; he sports new wounds every night, both on his skin and his heart; he hasn’t felt your arms around his form in so long.

He thought if he pulled away, perhaps he could spend more time slaying monsters.

If there was no light at the end of the tunnel, then he could stay forever entangled in his eternal dance of life and death, right? Liyue would be protected.

You would be safe.

Except maybe that candle fluttering in the middle of the night was what gave the conqueror of demons some semblance of hope.

From the balcony of Wangshu Inn, the adeptus takes a deep breath, ready to leap to the other side of the darkened sky’s curtain.

Except, something, someone catches his wrist.

“Xiao.” The vigilant yaksha turns around, piercing gold meeting the steely resolve of your gaze. Your grip on his hand tightens. “Where are you going?” You ask him.

The demon conqueror stands at a standstill, balanced between the darkness of lost stars beyond, and the warmth of existing by your side.

The set of his jaw tightens. Why did you always make him feel this… softness inside his heart?

But no, he can’t stay. He needs to keep you safe, and if that means dipping in bloodshed, then so be it.

However, you beg to differ.

A ripple of ginko leaves, aureate against the marine backdrop of infinity flutters by.

By the time it stops, Xiao is standing in front of you, both your hands on his, the wisps of dark jade smoke and his polearm, discarded.

“Stay.” You plead, reaching out to brush silky dark teal strands away from his face. You let your fingers ghost over the dark shadows coating the underside of your adeptus’ stare, as if the demons he so intently fights were taking form in the the heaviness of his gaze.

He wants to say ‘no’, he wants to walk away.

He doesn’t think he has the right to taint you with his karma.

And yet, his patched up heart can’t help but nod along to anything you say.

So, for once, the yaksha sheds his mask, head hung low, shoulders sagging.

“Xiao,” you call, your hands cradling his face, guiding it to yours. “You deserve peace too.”

Your lover’s brows furrow, why were you always so tender and kind to him?

“But I need to protect-“

“My love, no legend is without chapters, you need rest and care as well.” You retort, your index running along the rosy curve of his lips.

The vigilante sighs, relieved or defeated, he could never tell.

“Let the world fend off for itself tonight, Xiao.” You softly breathe, a caress against his flared up skin. “Be with me, at least until dawn.”

Your arms wrap around him.

Standing in the light like this… it feels good.

Xiao leans his head on the crook of your neck.

And for once, he chooses warmth.

He wouldn’t enter the tunnel tonight.

628 notes · View notes

kaiser1ns · 25 days

Text

𝗦𝗖𝗥𝗢𝗟𝗟 𝗢𝗡𝗘 一 𝗢𝗡𝗘'𝗦 𝗗𝗨𝗧𝗬

𝗶𝘁𝗼𝘀𝗵𝗶 𝘀𝗮𝗲 𝘅 𝗳𝗲𝗺!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

SERIES MASTERLIST ｡⁠.ﾟ⁠+⁠ NEXT SCROLL

╹synopsis :: a skilled samurai had the task to assassinate one of the four landlord's daughter but things went in another direction when his parents decided to marry him off to her.

╹contents :: 2,4k words, historical!au, arranged mirage!au ; mentions of blood, murder, assassination ; symbolism with the names. read a/n at the end for more information.

╹notes :: first chapter of the itoshi sae fanfic, hope you like it ! this fanfic will have slow updates !

╹taglist :: @wirednintkoko @i-love-frensh-fries @steleir @beidousbubz @aoiropetal @raphsimp @rroxii @multi-101 @c4ttheart

Holding his two metal swords, slashing the men's throats as their bodies dropped dead onto the brown tatami mats as now they began to acquire a red color. It's his duty as one of the highest ranked samurai to keep the Shogunate territory all safe and sound, leaving no trace of his or anyone else's deeds. Another job done with even more cleaning afterwards. He sighed heavily, as he tore a cloth from the dead man's robe to wipe the blood from his katana.

"You've got some nice finishing moves, Itoshi-dono." said an unknown voice behind the man who put away his weapons and removed the samurai mask and helmet that covered his face. Scarlet hair and blue-green eyes with underlashes, flashed in the dark room, his gaze was empty as if he had no soul — and by the way he just killed these people, he was heartless too.

"I am not doing this only for the honorary, work is work and it has to be done." the redhead said, stepping outside the room and closing it with the sliding door, turning around to look at the man, "Have someone clean this mess, I have to report to the Shogun." his tone carried this not as a message but an order as he walked past them, letting them do the dirty work.

Going in the direction of the river, in its ridge to cleanse himself from yet again another sin, but no matter how many times he washes his hands, clothes or swords — the stains of the endless suffering, the voices of the innocent and not, cannot be erased. They will always be a part of him, as long as he is alive.

Itoshi Sae was the name of the samurai, a young man who served the Shogunate's secret assassination group but he was also part of the main army holding a very high ranking and status because he was the firstborn from the nobel Itoshi Family.

The Itoshi clan is the most powerful and most important of all four great clans that dominated Japanese politics — the other three are the Tsurukawa, the Mikage, and the Hiori families, who also had their representative heirs.

The moonlight danced on the surface of the water, casting an ethereal glow reflecting in his eyes. Quite the contrast with the vivid light full of life, and his dull gaze that lacked brightness and vitality. He reached the riverbank, stopping in one place to listen to the gentle lapping of the water against the shore, a soothing sound for his troubled mind.

With deep breath he began to remove his blood-stained armor, letting it fall to the ground causing a loud noise from the weight. Leaving him only with his usual attire that consisted of a black kimono, white hakama and dark blue haori jacket with white wisteria flower on the back - the Itoshi clan symbol of devotion, longevity and resilience.

Sae quickly washed whatever he could, as he put it on again and set off again for the Shogunate's residence in a nearby town. And once he got there he received a warm welcome from the maids but he paid them no mind, he didn't care if there was someone to welcome him or not, the boy just wanted the earned money from his majesty — Ego Jinpachi, an ambitious and overly confident ruler but beneath that facade, is something even more sinister as he is extremely egotistical, cruel, and self-serving man who does not tolerate traitors and liars, and that's why people like Itoshi Sae are recruited into his secret organization.

"You are here earlier than expected," the Shogunate said taking a bite of his food, while the samurai got on the floor and bowed "I'm done with what you needed me for, they are dead and soon there will be no evidence for their lives." he replied with a tone of obedience, maintaining a composed demeanor, his thoughts hidden behind his mask.

"There's nothing you can't do, always with excellent and quick performance." the black haired answered "Now, a letter from your family came, saying it was urgent for you to check. But before that, come with me, I have another task specifically for you." Both men stood up and walked away from the big dining hall, going to the Shogunate personal library, that was kept away from anny prying eyes. It was a dark place, as dark as the Shogunate secret with only a few candles to lit up and to provide visibility.

"I need you to kill the daughter of the Tsurukawa clan. You know, the young princess who talks bad about me and what I do behind doors. I have eyes and ears everywhere. My men, including me, think she is crazy because no woman has the right to talk like this and most importantly about the one who feeds them.” The samurai just listened, observing the Shogun’s body language and tone of speaking and how the word kill came out so easily from his mouth. Even though he harbored no personal attachment to his targets, the idea of killing another noble for the sake of political power wasn't unheard of but he knew better than anyone not to question the orders of his superior.

But why exactly Y/N of the Tsurukawa Family? She wasn't the only one who talked about his wrong doings but she was alive, unlike others. Sae won't deny that he had know her for most of his live as they both were the firstborns and same age — with the only difference being that the lady was an only child and the redhead had a little brother — but he definitely heard her name mentioned when there was talk of the Shogun and some kind of revolution against him. That woman spoke nonsense left and right — or at least ran nonsense for all he cared, only those like Itoshi Sae knew what was going on behind the closed doors of the empire. That's a concern for another day.

"As you wish, my lord," Sae responded with a shallow bow, his voice trailed with no emotion. "Consider it done."

The Shogunate nodded, a murderous look in his eyes that seems to be second nature to him. "Oh, and more thing Itoshi, you will have one whole year to do this, starting from next week with the first cherry blossomed tree." he said, tone monotone like it was that normal to talk about assassination "This will be your longest mission and if you don't complete it by next spring you know what awaits you. So don't make me do the unthinkable. Now you are dismissed."

With a nod, the young man took his leave, thinking about what the Shogun just ordered him to do — to kill Tsurukawa Y/N until the next spring — and despite her outspokenness and rebellious nature, very unusual behavior for a woman at that, she had always been there, next to him on official dinners, paintings or playing together with wooden swords as kids. And now she had to be gone.

As he departed from Ego's dinner time with other important politicians, his thoughts drifted back to the letter from his family, he hasn't been home for months, and apparently now is the time to do so. Arriving at his quarters in the rooms of the residence, Sae retrieved the manuscript letter, the elegant calligraphy of his family's crest a stark contrast to the bloodstains that still lingered on his hands. Without further ado, he untied the thread and the scroll unfolded.

—

Itoshi Sae, from the Itoshi Family. Please come home as soon as possible, by the time you read this letter no more than three days will have passed, and it will be one more day till you return. The matter requires your presence as the future head of the family, so please get home immediately.

—

Could Rin be causing trouble again? No, it shouldn't be that. Someone must have gotten sick or died, if they seek him physically. Maybe another idiot wants to fight him? The last time he fought someone from another lower clan or a drunkard, things didn't end very well. What could possibly be happening, he didn't care about being the next head, but had to pretend for the sake of his parents' honor. With a heavy and hopeless sigh, he tucked the letter into his cloak. He will think about it tomorrow morning when he leaves.

The morning is wiser than the night as old people tend to say, something new and exciting will await anybody but sometimes it's okay to look in the past that the night helds. Memories flooded his thoughts as he traversed familiar paths, the small pond with fish or the wooden puppets that he practiced on, reminiscing about the carefree days of his childhood before his life became entangled with the the dark side of the political power and hierarchy be it assassination, stealing important information and artifacts, weapons, you name it - he's done it.

Upon reaching the grand gates of his family's house, the samurai was greeted by the sincere smiles of his servants. "Welcome home, Itoshi Sae-sama." The people in front of whom he grew up, and they watched as he became a handsome and strong man, started to welcome and praise him. Their hushed whispers and furtive glances only deepened his sense of curiosity — something big is going to happen, and just hoped it wasn't something that important to involve him.

As he stepped into the ancestral home, entering the main hall, the samurai's eyes met those of his parents, they were happy to finally see their son — the reason of their pride and joy. There was silence as he entered, kneeling on the floor with the tops of the feet flat against the ground, sitting back on his heels, and bowing deeply from the waist with the hands placed palms down on the thighs or folded in front, looking around carefully — his father and mother were there, as well as his younger brother Rin, who was sitting next to their father. Sae's gaze fell upon a girl, an unfamiliar persona. New maid, perhaps? He remembered how his mother was very tired of doing garden work so maybe they hired someone.

Her face hid behind the golden fan she was holding and the only uncovered part was her e/c eyes as she also looked at him. Adorned in a beautiful red kimono, probably made of the most luxurious and finest silk with white crane and floral patterns with gold threads, the greenish obi was intricately tied on her waist. The flowing, wide sleeves accentuated her gracefulness, defining her silhouette with elegance, the Shimada styled hair into a large, elaborate bun on top of the head, decorated with golden comb, as she stood beside his mother.

His gaze did not miss every single detail even for a second, but this is very strange because that's not a worker's outfit. Could this be Rin's fiancé? He is two years younger than Sae and had time till marriage and the letter hadn't mentioned the true reason for his urgent return.

Oh ...

The realisation hit him like a swift cut from his most sharpest katana — marriage. The girl infront of him, is the bride. Oh sweet, Bishamonten, giving another battle to his fortune warrior. Sae's father, observing his son's reaction, cleared his throat to gain his attention. "Sae, we have summoned you here today to discuss an important matter concerning your future and the prosperity of our family." His words echoing with calming tone, "As you know, our family's honor is of utmost importance to us. It is with great consideration that we have arranged a mirage for you." He paused, allowing the weights of his words to sink in before continuing, "And to continue our legacy and alliances with the Tsurukawa Family."

He tried to be calm, to keep his composure, but his facial expression and his widened eyes gave it away. The Tsurukawa Family, the same family Ego ordered him to assassinate their heir. There's no way that's possible, the Gods above can't play such a joke on him right now.

"We understand that this may come as a surprise to you, but rest assured, it is a decision made with the utmost care and consideration for your well-being." He gestured towards the other feminine figure beside his wife, indicating the girl to put down her fan, revealing her full face. That was Tsurukawa Y/N — the young lady from the second clan in power, the same girl that will be killed by his own hands, the woman who will become his wife. It wasn't a dream, it was a nightmare.

"As your father, it is my duty to ensure that you are provided for and that our family thrives for generations to come. This marriage is a part of that responsibility," he explained, his tone gentle yet firm concluded with a reassuring nod, his eyes going to his elder son and soon daughter-in-law.

"When is the wedding?" the young samurai finally spoke up, his mind was messy, it was full of countless thoughts and plans of how this is going to work. He wanted his targets close, but not that close.

"Tomorrow," his father replied, his voice carrying a hint of sympathy for the shock his son was experiencing. "We knew that you won't come home if we said what is it for, so take it as a gift from Amaterasu."

Sae felt a knot tighten in his stomach. Tomorrow? It seemed impossible to prepare himself mentally for such a significant event in such a short time. Yet, as a samurai, he was trained to adapt to any situation. "I understand, Father," he managed to say, though his voice wavered slightly.

His father got up and put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Sae nodded his head slowly. The family left the room, leaving him alone with his soon-to-be wife, he couldn't help but feel at unease — he never had any problems about his missions. This marriage wasn't just about securing alliances or ensuring the family's prosperity — it was God's plan, a forsaken and unfortunate planning with the most unexpected twist.

Turning to face Y/N as she waved her fan grinning so innocently at him, her eyes sparkled with adoration, a slight blush painted on her face like a freshly ripe peach from his mother's garden. Sae however, maintained his stoic demeanor, his eyes cold and distant, forcing a polite smile, though there was nothing to be smiling about.

"Don't get the wrong idea, Y/N. This marriage is just a formality, a transaction on paper. There's no need for us to pretend otherwise." he said, his voice letting her know that he isn't interested in this fiasco, or in her, for now. "So don't expect much." As he spoke, the weight of his words hung in the air, casting a shadow over any hope she might have held onto.

Y/N's heart sank when she saw how cold he had become, but she refused to show any sign of weakness. With a flick of her fan, she masked her disappointment behind a facade of indifference, determined to prove him wrong, even if it meant breaking through his icy exterior one layer at a time. She would not give up on the hope that someday, just maybe, he would see her not as a mere transaction or an old friend, but as something more.

江戸散歩 [EDO SANPO]

• The meaning behind the Tsurukawa [鶴川] surname is 鶴 - crane and 川 - river. In Japan, the crane, or tsuru, is a national treasure and is considered the bird of happiness. It is depicted in art, literature, and mythology as a symbol of honor, good fortune, loyalty, and longevity. So to be free as a bird, and as calm but rebellious as the water.

• In Edo period Japan, the color red on clothes signified youth and glamour as well mad, passionate love that is all consuming but fleeting so is chosen. And the green which represents new beginnings and good fortune. So they are chosen for Y/N's kimono.

141 notes · View notes

vampyrsm · 8 months

Text

‣‣ COR UNUM: CHAPTER TWO | SUSANOO

‣‣ Synopsis: Our tale continues in a sea of red, the spider-lily flowers can only mean one thing – death is soon. With a sword in hand and a wave of bubbling anger deep in your gut, you have one chance to kill the thing tormenting you... eat your heart out.

‣‣ Main Masterlist | AO3 ‣‣ Pairing: Sukuna x Reader ‣‣ Word Count: est. 5.5k ‣‣ Warnings: Blank blogs & Minors DNI. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat. Cannibalism, set in the Early-Heian Period, trueform!Sukuna, dead bodies, descriptions of wounds & blood, dismemberment, female reader, violence, mentions of vomit.

Endless upon endless amounts of red flows around you. Ebbing and bending beneath the gentle breeze that blows by. The sun is a distant off blur, an orange hue that fades until it too is bathed in a deep crimson.

You look down, and beneath your bare feet are Equinox Flowers; better known as red-spider lilies – the corpse flower. It was odd to see so many of them gathered together, an infinite sea of them that moved together. Returning your gaze back to the sun, you spot a Torii gate in the middle of the ocean of corpse flowers.

The gate is painted bright red, just like the flowers at your feet, and it stands at least twenty feet tall. It’s overly large. Traditionally, the gates would lead to a shrine but you spy no shrine.

Instead, standing at the open gate is a figure that fills the space. You can’t make out his features, but you don’t need to see his face to know who or what he was. His four arms are crossed over his chest, forcing his muscles to bulge and inevitably make his form larger.

Was this the after-life so many Samurai spoke of? Were you to fight the demon that killed you in order to earn passage?

Said demon makes no move to step through the torii gate, instead, he continues to watch you from afar. Another breeze rolls by, and the kimono on your body blows with it. Only then do you recognise the weight in your hand, and looking down do you see the tachi you had used to kill the beast before you.

It’s clean, glinting in the amber sunset, as if it had never been used and freshly made. Did that confirm that yes this is the afterlife? That you were to fight the very thing that killed you?

You waste no more time pondering the thought. If killing that monster was the one way to ensure your soul lived on then you will not fail.

Flowers bend and move out of your way as you sprint across the field, the tachi in your hand twists until it’s poised with the tip brushing against the heads of the flowers. An upwards strike will surely disorientate it.

As you grow closer, you can make out the features of the demonic monster. His eyes are as red as the flowers around you, his lips are turned down into a deep frown as if he’s not pleased by what’s about to occur. Did he know that you wouldn’t mess up your singular chance this time?

Even so, he doesn’t move when you strike. The blade arcs upwards smoothly and slices along the width of his torso before your entire body spins with the blade. You bring it back around, strengthening your shoulders. Breathe. Once facing the monster again, the sharp metal of your blade slices cleanly through the thick muscle of his forearm. The discarded limb falls with a thud in the flower field and yet he still does not attack.

Continuing on the trajectory of the blade, you imbed the blade as far as it can go into his side. Slicing clean through both clothing and muscle as if he were nothing but meat, however, the blade gets stuck. It’s stuck just beneath his ribcage and finally, the monster starts to respond. One hand grabs at the blade, uncaring as it slices into his long fingers.

He pulls it free from his side, and his eyes remain locked onto your face. Something’s wrong, you can feel it. It blooms deep in your chest and settles into your bones when he rips the blade from your hands only to toss it into the sea of red flowers to be forgotten.

The two-faced demon tilts his head, and for a split second, he’s just staring at you before a hand wraps around your throat. Instinctively you can only react by wrapping your hands around his wrist, feeling the smoothness of it before your nails sink into the flesh.

He doesn’t react.

Belatedly you realise the hand holding your throat is the one you had removed, blood splattering up his arm but the hand is clean. The ground beneath you slowly disappears as he raises you up into the air, up to his height.

“Enough of your games.” He snarls, the lower timbre vibrates through his entire body. “Wake. Up.”

Elongated claws sink into the soft tissue of your neck and then there’s only a deafening crack.

...

The floor beneath you is cold, a smooth wood that has been thoroughly cleaned when you open your eyes to glance over the expanse of it. You’re laid on your front, tossed onto the floor like you were some doll according to the aches in your body.

Wherever you are is oddly quiet, only the eerie whistle of wind that blows through the opened koshi doors that must lead out to the courtyard of wherever you are. It most definitely was not the estate you had been living in for the past few years of your life, there’s no familiar eucalyptus smell that came with whatever the maids used to clean the linen.

Instead, you’re only met with the smell of blood. Perhaps it’s your own, you can feel the stickiness of your kimono sticking to your shoulder and yet there is no pain that comes with what had happened to you. But there’s that feeling of being watched, eyes resting upon your back as they watch you slowly return to the real world.

You can’t see them, nor hear them, is it the monster? Did he bring you back to his lair to feast on you properly? You move your head slowly, careful to not jostle the thing watching you into attacking.

To your left, there is an unlit Irori – the logs of wood in the hearth look like they were alight at some point. There’s no pot hanging precariously over the hearth, had it been used to keep the room warm?

To your right, you spot the raised platform for an untouched futon. It’s big, larger than any futon you had ever seen before. But alas, it is unoccupied and further pushes your mind to believe that whatever is spying on you is in the shadows. Your eyes drift back down to the floor, only to land on the unsheathed blade of your tachi. It’s coated in blood that has crusted in the warmth of the fire that had once been lit.

You move before you think. Your fingers curl around the hilt of the blade before there’s pressure on your forearm.

A foot holds your arm in place and sharpened nails that are like claws scratch along the wooden floor. The cold of the room is chased away with the monster holding you in place, there’s a thud of a knee on the other side of you as he successfully cages you to the floor with his form again.

“You humans never learn.” He growls close to your ear, and a huff of warm breath against the back of your neck causes a shiver to roll down the bumps of your spine. “You never think. Never listen to the rationality that I know you all have.”

The foot at your forearm somehow curls even more around your forearm, crushing the bones and tendons until you release the hilt of the blade with an undignified yelp. You’re rewarded with a chuckling pleased sound from the thing holding you down.

Hands that you have grown to recognise in such a short space of time grab at your shoulders before the world shifts and turns, you’re pushed back into the wooden floor by large hands and the monster looms over you. His foot has shifted from holding your forearm in place, but he remains kneeling over you on one knee.

With just the dim light of the flickering candles that were littered around the room, you’re able to see him in a more delicate light. He’s no longer wearing the kimono he had worn when you first laid eyes on him at the clan's estate. His entire torso is exposed, and his muscles are relaxed despite him holding you down to the floor. You’re now privy to the thick bands of black tattoos that curl around said muscles, painted along his chest and arms.

His trousers are certainly the ones he had been wearing in the wake of his attack however, the unmistakable splatters of blood and other bodily matter a subtle contrast to the black of his pants.

“Why?” The coarseness in your voice is rough, and thankfully the man/monster above you refuses to comment on it — but his lips do quirk in the faintest of cruel smirks.

“Why do you never learn?” He raises an eyebrow, the only one on his face that isn’t covered by his ‘second face’. “The same reason why you think you have the right to speak to me so freely.”

The pink-haired monster leans in slowly, body hunching over until all you can see is him. His grin grows malicious; hungry.

“Because you’re nothing but a stupid bitch.”

He stares at you, expecting some sort of outburst. Perhaps he even expects you to cry with the way his grin splits his face in half and you see the joy dance in his eyes. But in truth, you have nothing to say to the beast. Nothing you can say would be answered truthfully, he’s clearly only brought you here to play with his food.

So you don’t ask anything.

Instead, your wrist twists awkwardly, but the arc is perfect. The blade that was knocked from your hand slices through the flesh of his neck, once again dousing you in a more violent spray of blood that stings your eyes and burns at your parted lips.

You can taste him on your tongue; he tastes just like death.

The beast rears his body back just enough for the river of blood to cascade down the bareness of his chest. You expect to see fear in his eyes, or perhaps even surprise when you flick your gaze away from the expanse of the wide gash on his neck.

But rather than any of that, you’re met with what could only be summarised as boredom. His eyes are entirely unamused, lips twisted into a frown that grows more and more furious by the second. One of his four hands reaches up to his neck, blood dribbling from between the cracks of his fingers and he swipes his hand along the wound in a clean motion.

As his hand falls away, you’re met with the smooth unblemished skin of his neck. The only evidence of anything had happened is the still-wet blood that’s smudged into his skin. Did he heal it? He only moved his hand and the wound had been cured.

“Monster.” You whisper, aghast at the display.

The hand that had been used to heal his throat curls into a tight fist, blood still dripping from his hand as he slowly raises it up. The way he positions it is without a doubt going to be brought down onto your head.

His lips part, an unreadable expression on his face. “Worse.”

All the muscles in his shoulder tense up, the thick tendons on his neck show that he’s not going to half-ass the pummeling of your skull. You can only find solace in the fact it’ll be swift, a merciful death. It comes down in one swift motion, the air around his fist whistling with just how quickly he moves.

A loud knock on the sliding door stops his fist just inches from your face.

“Come in,” he commands, still holding his position over you with the fist so menacingly close to your face that you can feel the heat of his skin.

You hear the sliding of the shoji door before feet shuffle in, and you watch in horror at the way the upper set of eyes shift to glance at the guest but the lower ones remain locked onto you.

“Master Sukuna,” a voice speaks from just beyond the hand that blocks your view. Sukuna. So the monster has a name.

Sukuna takes a moment to speak, the lower pair of eyes keep you pinned in place in lieu of his body as he leans up enough to open your view up to see who the new arrival is. You don’t move your head, just shift your eyes to catch a glimpse of white hair with a splash of dark pink that looks like a stain along their otherwise pristine hair.

“Uraume.”

Uraume bows in deep respect to the call of their name, and they hold it until Sukuna finally turns his attention onto them (save for the eye that’s still angled in your direction).

“Your audience awaits,” is all Uraume says before they duck their head once again, and you catch a glimpse of their face. It’s entirely blank, with no expression to give away if they’re being forced to call him ‘Master’ or if they’re here willingly. But with the way Sukuna at least gives them the time of day, you can only assume they’re definitely here of their own volition.

“Good.” Sukuna grins, sharp teeth on display and you’re forced to snap your attention back to him when he turns his face back to you. He sneers down at you, something malicious and mischievous bouncing around his brain. “Dress this one. It’s time she learns her place.”

His weight is gone in a blink of an eye from your body, and your lungs suck in air greedily. By the time your head is clear and you process his words, Sukuna is gone and you’re left with only the one named Uraume who does finally break the façade of being unbothered when you meet their eyes. Those pink eyes glare at you, judging you; they know you attempted to kill their master.

After some forceful shoving and wrangling into a pure black furisode; the choice of colour is not lost on you. You’d only be forced into a long-sleeved kimono of such colour after losing a loved one – a spouse. Sukuna was gloating about his conquest. Quite the sadistic monster. Along with the onyx furisode, you had a white obi tied around your midsection. Such a stark difference to the inky black that drowned you.

Uraume had guided you out of what you assumed to be Sukuna’s personal quarters. Stepping past the sliding door, you were immediately met with a type of cold that slinks through somewhere that’s not usually inhabited; abandoned and forgotten. But the corridor you step out into is anything but abandoned and forgotten, it’s clean.

So much so that you can’t spot a single spot of dust or a string of spider web that should occupy somewhere so old. You can definitely tell you’re in an older temple of some sort, the floorboards whilst immaculately clean still had the age-worn signs of excessive use evident. The walls were bare, but not in the sense that it was a stylistic choice.

But rather there were outlines of where you imagine scrolls once sat with scripture and artwork. As you continue your forced venture further through the mysterious temple, you finally start to piece together just where you might be.

You hit a junction, the left hallway leads down to a shrine. But it’s not a shrine anymore, you can see that the golden statue of Buddha was forcibly removed – ripped from its place and only one creature comes to mind with the strength to do such a thing.

The realisation of where you are makes you want to scoff, it’s just so obvious of an abode for an evil spirit. Sukuna seems to have taken over an abandoned Buddhist temple. How it became abandoned, you’re not quite sure you want to know.

You’re forced away from the left hallway, a sharp turn to the right as Uraume silently guides you. They haven’t turned to look at you, but you know they’re acutely aware of the fact you’re following along. You haven’t seen another person here yet, just Uraume and… you suppose, Sukuna counts as a person — of sorts.

Eventually, you come to a halt, two large doors are in front of you. Painted in a shade of red so brilliant you’d think that it was a fresh coat of paint. Something beyond that door causes your stomach to flip itself, anxiety bubbling to a boiling point deep in the pit of your soul.

You shouldn’t step a foot beyond those doors.

Uraume doesn’t seem to care about your inner turmoil, however, as they knock their fist against the large wooden door three times. Three slow knocks, a signal. And just like that, the doors are shifted and slowly drawn open. By who? You have no idea, you can’t quite bring yourself to glance away from the figure who has tormented you in such a short space of time.

Sukuna consumes a room solely by existing, and that’s without just how large and imposing he was. He demands attention, he looks like he knows it too. As he leans back on a throne fit only for a King, a large fist of one of his many arms curled against his cheek as he watches you with mild amusement.

He sits atop a raised platform, around five or six steps that lead up to him and the only thing you can think is that not even the Emperor himself sits so high. Sukuna thinks so highly of himself. You’re grabbed and shoved into the room by unseen hands before the doors are suddenly shut behind you, effectively cutting off your only escape route.

Sukuna says nothing, even if his eyebrow twitches at the way you stare at him for a moment. A gut feeling demands you glance away from him, and you do. You take a quick moment to glance around the room, peering into the darkness of the shadows where the light of the fire burning in a pit in front of the throne doesn’t quite reach.

You think you see figures in the darkness, shuffling to make themselves small and unseen. A snap of fingers causes your attention to dart your eyes back towards the monster of a man who sits so lazily on his throne. Sukuna still has his eyes set on you before they oh-so-slowly drag down your body to assess the state of your attire.

It’s unsurprising when his lips crack into that grin that you’ve seen when he was moments away from eating you alive; he’s very thrilled with himself and his jab at your newfound widower status.

“Bow.” He demands, the word a lazy drawl on his tongue and he only grins further when he sees your eyebrows twitch together in annoyance.

He wants your obedience, your loyalty. He wants to revel in his power, and you don’t doubt anyone has lived if they refused to meet his demand. But Sukuna waits for a moment, as if to see you’d continue to defy him. Perhaps a part of him wants that, he seemed to get a slight kick out of the fact you knew how to draw a sword and use it effectively.

“BOW.” It’s a thunderous roar, enough that you see the dust of the old temple flit down from the rafters. All you can do is fall to your knees, feet coming together as you assume the type of bow he might want.

The wooden floor is cold against your bare hands as they slide simultaneously alongside your thighs before they form a triangle in front of you. You bow deeply, your forehead just mere centimetres away from your fingers. It’s a bow you’ve been in many times before, in front of your father when he was Shogun, in front of the Emperor and Empress when you had been granted audience with them.

Typically, you’d hold the bow for only a few seconds, enough to convey your deep respect for them but something tells you that perhaps you shouldn’t rise from the position Sukuna demands of you.

Your ears prick at the sound of bare feet on the floor, slow but heavy, Sukuna must’ve gotten up from his throne. He approaches you like a wolf would when hunting its prey, slow and methodical as he maps out just how to strike. Would he stomp on your head with one of his clawed feet? Would he simply rip your head from your shoulders the second you looked up at him?

Without much time to think further, there’s a harsh grip on the back of your kimono and you’re wretched upwards and forward until your face is just inches from the fire that burns in front of you. It burns even without it being on your skin, the heat licks and lashes at your face until you start to sweat.

Instinctively you can only try to move yourself away from the flame, but a hand holds you steady.

“Look closely,” he says so close to your ear, and you imagine he’s looming over you like the wolf who has the frightened bunny in his maw. Your eyes are forced to look down into the pit of the fire, where the wood burns so brightly but instead you’re met with a face.

A face you had seen many times over the past few years of your life, a face you had watched in the middle of the night as he slept next to you. It’s your husband.

Or rather, just his head. Whatever is left of it anyway. Clearly, he had been shoved into the pit quite some time ago, the signs of what happens to a body under immense heat makes your stomach roll uncomfortably.

Sukuna laughs, a deep low sound that puffs against your cheek. “He screamed when he died. Like a little pig.” It’s a sneer, and his hand only clenches more into the fabric of your kimono until it sounds like it’s starting to rip.

Just as quickly as the flame had been thrust into your face, it’s ripped away. You’re brought back to your knees, no longer forced into the deep bow and you’re met with the face of your new tormentor. Sukuna grins as he surveys the damage to your face already, the welts that were already forming.

“I have a gift for you.” is all he says before he drops the hold on your back, the force enough to shove you forward again an inch towards the flame but you’re free to scoot away from it. He steps away from you for just a moment, there’s a shuffle of feet from the darkness of the shadows before he’s back in front of you.

You can only stare at his feet for a moment, the long claws there are no longer coated in blood as they once had been when you first saw him. Instead, he’s immaculately clean. For who he is, he’s oddly patient whilst your eyes drag up along the expanse of his legs and along the thickness of his chest until you meet his eyes.

He’s grinning down at you, all sharp teeth and red of his eyes glowing with something malicious. He raises a hand out to you, his claws sinking into the darkened cloth that’s wrapped around something in his hand. As his fingers sink into the cloth, there’s an ooze of blackened liquid that drips and curls around his fingers.

Blood.

“Take it.” He demands, even thrusting it closer to your face and you hesitate only for a fraction of a second before you take the wrapped-up thing in your hand. You already have a gut feeling what it might be, the weight plus the shape of it was a dead giveaway. “Open it.”

The blood-sodden cloth is sticky and cold as you touch it, your fingers coated in a thin layer of blood as you start to pry open the layers of cloth until it slowly starts to reveal itself. The smell is pungent, a ripe type of smell that sticks to the back of your throat when you accidentally inhale too hard to try and steel your nerves as you stare down at the ‘gift’.

It’s a heart. A large one, most definitely too large to be from any small livestock animal. You drag your eyes back up to Sukuna, and his eyebrow raises in amusement at whatever emotion must be on your face.

Suddenly he crouches down, invading your space with an intense heat that’s similar to the fire burning behind him. He’s still grinning, and up close you can see his canines are more like fangs that are absolutely made to rip apart people.

“Do you like it?” You don’t know why he’s asking such a thing; you’re certain he couldn’t care less if you liked it or not. But he doesn’t give you a chance to answer as he continues, “It’s your husbands.”

It made sense, that it belonged to your husband. It was his body that was currently fueling the warmth of the room, and you can tell Sukuna has a sick sense of humour. Automatically your eyes drift back to the heart in your hands, it takes up both of your hands as you hold it the same way it was delivered to you.

Your husband's heart is cold and stagnant in your hands, it’s an odd feeling that fills your chest. A mixture of both grief and relief, it’s overwhelming in the sense that you don’t know which one to lean into more. On one hand, he was your husband and you had been lucky enough to survive as his wife – but on the other hand, he wasn’t someone you loved. You never enjoyed his company, and he despised you for your lack of giving him a son.

All the while, Sukuna watches you intently. His multiple sets of eyes lap up every reaction, every thought that flits behind your eyes and he wonders for a moment if you might just start crying. He thinks he’d enjoy that a lot. But he has something even better in store first.

“Eat it.” He’s still down at your height, large forearms resting on his knees and clawed fingers itching to grab at you when you flick your eyes up in shock at him.

“What?” You speak for the first time and it makes Sukuna’s smile widen to the point where he looks like he might just lunge and eat you.

“Eat your husband's heart.” It’s said in such a tone that you know it’s not up for debate. He’s demanding, commanding, that you eat the heart that once beat in the chest of the man you had known for the last five years of your life. “Now.”

The growling order has you bringing the bloodied muscle to your lips, eyes not once leaving his. You had a choice here, if you didn’t do this then you’re most certainly going to end up as kindling for the fire burning bright behind the monstrous four-armed demon in front of you.

If you do obey his order, then what did that mean for you? For your mentality? Even with the way you felt towards your husband, to eat someone's heart is… a lot. It’s something that changes a person, and you can tell from the look in Sukuna’s eyes that he’s definitely banking on the fact it breaks you down.

He wants you to submit, you realise. You wounded his pride with the two attempts you’ve made on his life. There’s a pang in your chest at that, not a painful one, no. It’s your own pride rearing its ugly head, it sends a wave of accomplishment down your spine. You did that, you managed to fray the nerves of what might just be one of the strongest monsters to ever exist.

So you hold eye contact with his upper set of eyes, and you revel in the way Sukuna’s manic grin falters slightly at your own smile before your teeth sink into the heart. The metallic copper taste of blood hits your tongue first, and you have to suppress the urge to gag at the taste of it. Then comes the sinking of your teeth further and further into the muscle, it’s tough, chewy.

It takes far too much of your jaw strength to fully bite through the organ, and just as much of your own mental fortitude to not spit it out as you chew on it. Sukuna is watching with rapt sick fascination, his lower set of eyes watching the dribble of blood from either side of your mouth as it curls down your chin and along the column of your throat. His upper ones are still connected with your own, he’s waiting to see if you crack.

You’re not sure how you do it but you swallow the lump of muscle in your mouth, and that’s when your eyes flutter in a futile attempt to stop the urge to regurgitate it. Your stomach fights hard to not allow it to settle inside of you, but you swallow harder until it’s clear from your throat.

When you finally do meet Sukuna’s eyes again, he has an eyebrow raised in what must be surprise that you managed to do it. Then his face drops into a mean sneer, his upper lip curling up in what might be a snarl before he speaks again, “Finish it.”

Part of you wants to throw the bitten heart in his face, maybe it’ll give you a spare second to sprint out of the room before he catches you and inevitably kills you too. Could you open the heavy wooden doors fast enough to make your escape? Probably not. It’d be all for nothing.

So you bite, and you bite. You chew and swallow through the growing urge to vomit as you keep eye contact with Sukuna. He’s still sneering down at you but even you can notice the odd glint of what might be reluctant pride in his eye.

With one final gulp of the muscle, your hands are only left to curl into the wet cloth that sits empty. Your entire lower face feels bloodied, sticky with a wet liquid that’s starting to crack and dry the longer you’re sat near the burning fire pit. Sukuna remains down at your height for a moment longer, his eyes darting down to the blood you’re coated in.

Your mind is reeling, from both the intense heat that’s starting to grow hotter and hotter in the large throne room and from the fact you did that. You ate your entire husband's heart, it sits heavy in your stomach and just that thought alone has your stomach tensing in preparation to spit it back out.

But you don’t. You hold your ground and raise your head up high, defiant to the beast before you. It takes only a second before clawed fingers are grabbing at you, they curl painfully into your bloodied cheeks as his palm cups your chin. He tugs you close enough that you can feel your own heavy breaths bouncing off of his face back into your own.

Was he still going to kill you after what he made you do? It wouldn’t be a shock if he did, he seemed like the type to get enjoyment out of people's misery before killing them. Maybe at this point, it would be a mercy. You had no family to flee to, no husband left to come and find you. You were trapped in the maw of a vile creature.

Sukuna holds his gaze over you for a long tense moment, his eyes scanning over your features and flicking back up to your eyes as if he’s searching for something. What that might be, you’re unsure. You’re not quite sure if you want to know what’s bouncing around in his head.

“Take her away,” Sukuna finally settles on saying, standing to his full height once he forcefully shoves your head back. You fall out of the position you were holding on the floor with your legs tucked beneath you, your bloodied hands slipping against the polished floor.

There are footsteps, barefooted until they’re around you. You look up to see two girls, with faces that look like they’re uncomfortable with what they had to witness. Did he keep women here as a sick sort of show of power? Their hands tuck beneath your armpits, forcing you to stand as you stare stupefied at all the pieces that start to click together in your head.

Sukuna is sitting back on his throne by the time you’re being dragged from the room, your numb feet slowly starting to feel out the ground beneath you. And all you can do is stare at him as he watches you, he doesn’t look quite as malicious as he did at the start – but rather, he looks like he’s pensive about something, a thought that’s troubling him.

The large wooden doors shut with a resounding slam, and the last thing you see before you’re pulled around a corner was those crimson-coloured eyes staring at you.

‣‣ Main Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

#tw cannibalism #cw violence #dead dove do not eat #cw dark content #cw gore #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #jjk x reader

297 notes · View notes

khruschevshoe · 8 months

Text

I don't believe in soul mates but damn if Jayden Shiba and Antonio Garcia make me reconsider I mean JESUS. Every trope in the book. Long lost childhood friends. Antonio (bright, flamboyant, pun-making, devastatingly brilliant) promises his best friend Jayden (lonely, isolated not-quite-heir in the tower convinced his life will only ever amount to him sacrificing it to lead a team and save the world) that he will become the first Samurai Ranger not from one of the Samurai bloodlines in history and then HE DOES THE STRAIGHT UP IMPOSSIBLE JUST BECAUSE HE PROMISED HE WOULD. He shows back up and we get the first genuine smile from Jayden in the whole show (first relief we see, first glimpse at him without the world on his shoulders). Then Antonio drops the iconic "believe it baby, I'm back" and they spar and Jayden says "still think you can take me" and it's the most tension nickelodeon has ever shown in its entire existence and I am 11 when this show aired with no idea that gay people existed and my parents had just gotten divorced so when I tell you that these two convinced me that love existed, you've gotta understand the IMPACT they had-

*clears throat* Sorry about that.

Anyway, in this essay I will-

@augment-techs @skyland2703

#jayden shiba #antonio garcia #power rangers #power rangers samurai #jaytonio

156 notes · View notes

verysium · 3 months

Note

would a beautiful young lady like you be so generous and besprinkle me with some sae itoshi thoughts

beautiful young lady? 🤭 anon you are so sweet. and for that, i present to you a writing idea that has lingered in the back of my mind for a while now. introducing......✨rōnin sae✨

he was originally the first-born son of a wealthy samurai clan but was ostracized due to his left-handed fighting style and refusal to conform to bushido. the night of his thirteenth birthday, he wrongfully murdered a man, and for that he was exiled by his family and later banished from the estate. forced to leave everything behind, he traveled on foot to kyoto to enter into the service of the daimyō at yodo domain, but no master or dojo would accept him.

after three years, he became a wanderer, a ghost identified by nothing except the incorporeal lingering of fear he left behind. no one has ever seen his face, nor do they know his name. a pair sharp teal eyes is the last thing the unfortunate souls see before they meet their end at the tip of his blade. he slices so clean it leaves no blood, only a soft body caught between the furrows of earth, lodged into eternal sleep beneath the snow.

working part-time as a serving girl between a soba shop and a brothel, you encounter him on one of the longest days of winter, the sole customer who dares to enter between the hours of midnight and dawn. as you set down his bowl, your eyes catch onto the silk tie fastened to the hilt of his katana, a rich hue of burgundy red. he must be a member of the upper nobility, you think. you've only ever seen the color on the obi of the wealthy patrons and the entrancing eyes of the madam's geisha. you politely ask him where he bought such beautifully dyed fabric, setting down his chopsticks with a sweet smile. he stares up at you from beneath his jingasa hat, so low on his face that you cannot see his eyes. a beat of silence passes, then two.

it is blood.

his tone is quiet, deep enough to send shivers down your spine. he waits to see the horrified look on your face, the crumpling of your delicate features so that he knows when to leave, where he is not welcome. but it never comes. instead you beam, blabbering on about how you figured he was a ronin with the number of bodies he left behind, and the number of days he says he's been here. he remains silent, though you see a flicker of something beneath the brim of his hat, the color so bright you do not know if it is blue or green.

you realize who he is. and you don't care.

that is enough to get sae interested in you, at least interested enough not to kill you. most people never hear the rumors let alone fathom his existence, yet you let him stay here with you, as if you expected his presence all along. at first, he coughs and refuses, standing up swiftly to find the exit. but when he lifts the noren and is hit with a face full of harsh snow, he begins to reconsider your offer, to wait until the storm passes.

you boil tea on the kettle as you lay out a spare futon on the tatami, lighting a candle in the darkness. in the corner, he sees a small misshapen bundle beneath the blankets, and he immediately pulls his hand back when two glossy eyes peer back up at him. the bundle he realizes is your mother, and the blankets he learns is a deathbed. you have no other kin left, no money to feed yourself, nowhere to hide the rotting body. only in time will he fully understand the ghosts of your past. you are the daughter of a prostitute; he is a son in exile. it shouldn't even be considered a match, but it strangely feels like one.

the storm passes, but sae doesn't leave. instead, you and he settle into the mundane expanse of cold routine, him searching for hire by day and you working by night. except one night, you do not return home by the tenth hour bell. it isn't until the sun carves a sliver into the morning sky that he sees your silhouette in the doorway, kimono slightly rumpled. you pull the ornaments out of your hair, makeup smeared as you run frantically into your room, slumping before your wash basin.

it doesn't take much from him to pry out an entire story from your lips. apparently your friend himeko has disappeared, the last you've seen of her was her entanglement with a young nobleman who promised to buy her out of the brothel. you sigh, lamenting that you are not attractive enough to be wed, much less make your way up the ranks of the maiko. sae wants to say you are foolish for believing a man's lies, but he holds his tongue when he sees your expression, the delicate features of your face crumbling, the same way he expected them to the night you met. it is the first time he sees you cry, and he cannot even hold you. he does not know why this hurts so much.

it's too late by the time he realizes.

you've buried yourself into him. stomped your muddy footprints all over his heart. left evidence in the snow. successfully haunted him in every single iteration. now he tells you that he would wed you in a single heartbeat. any sign of discomfort and he would not hesitate to kill. his only regret is that he wished he could give you more than this life of an untethered ghost, more substance than this lack of being. but your lips quell the storm that resides in his heart, his rotting fingers trembling as they find a home on the side of your cheeks. if he were to die, he would be content to be buried inside you, his stone cold body resting within the peace of your existence.

it is the hour between midnight and dawn when sae realizes the snow outside has stopped and that his life has only just begun.

#asks #can you tell this was inspired by mizu...#sae itoshi #sae itoshi x you #sae itoshi x reader #sae itoshi x y/n

60 notes · View notes

bl4cktourmaline · 6 months

Note

hii! how are you? if possible, i would like to order a kazuha fic where he and his s/o make flower crowns?

thank you, have an amazing day!

A CROWN OF FLOWERS FOR YOU

♬ yue is typing...

↻hii hii anon!! I never really try making a flower crown so I have to look it up, hopefully it's accurate!! ><

⇄ kaedehara kazuha x gender neutral reader

► ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : A Crown Of Flowers For You...

✿﹕ ︵︵✧₊︵︵ꕤ₊˚︵︵˚ೃ ︵︵ ૮꒰˵• ᵜ •˵꒱ა ﹕ɞ

The lush colors and vibrant hues of the blooms coming together, creating a stunning landscape, the smell of the flowers combined with the bright colors has the power to fill one’s heart with joy as the soft breezes pair with the buzzing of bumblebees to create a peaceful and serene environment.

One can often get lost in a field of flowers, or partake in a peaceful moment of reflection. Sunbeams course through the sprays of petals, while the tinkling of birdsong fills the air. A field of flowers is a sight to nurture the soul and behold with awe.

The vibrant display of flowers covering the ground from bold purple, blue and white flowers sat right in front of you. If you listen close enough...there was a faint sound of busy bees rushing around to collect their pollen. The sweet smell of blossomed flowers filled the air, the purple petals felt like soft velvet against your skin.

Sitting down on a field of beautifully blooming flowers was you and your beloved, humming a melody happily as your fingers carefully try to pick which flowers to use for your crown.

"You seem really happy" Kazuha smiled, watching you happily picking your flowers.

"Of course!! You brought all of those flowers for me" Your eyes sparkles, picking an assortment flowers with soft flexible stems then separating them to two types; one are with long stems, the other are with shorter stems.

"Okay, since this is your first time making one, I'll be slow with the instructions"

"Alright"

"You know how to braid?"

"I fear not"

"Okay, watch me" you grabbed three qingxin flowers with the longer stems, crossing them over each other slowly "Braid them together by taking the stem from the outside right and placing it between the other two"

Taking the stem from the outside left, placing it over the other two, continuing this method until you get the width of the flower head before adding another qingxin flower by laying it, the stem rests on top of the center stem.

You keep on braiding the stems, holding the new flower stem together with the center stem and repeat until you get the desired size of the flower chain. Once you were satisfied, gently placing it above your laps.

"I hope it wasn't too complicated? It's hard to explain it in words, I usually just watch my mom do it for me when I was a kid until I get the hang of it" Turning to look at your lover who was crossing stems after stems, creating a similar chain of flowers.

"Like this?" He hold up a neatly flower braid once he was finished from braiding the flowers which took you by surprise.

"Ohh you're a fast learner!"

"I only just observe what you did"

"Not that fast though!!"

Kazuha let out a few chuckles as you keeping on giving him praise after praise, clearly impressed by his observation skills "What is next after this?"

"Oh, so you want to grab the end of the chain and braid the remaining ends before tucking them in near the start then ta-dah!" You held up your creation to demonstrated "Your flower crown is done!"

"Hmm..." He was staring at you with a serious look in his red eyes.

"Kazuha...?" Confused by his stare, you were getting slightly flustered by how intense it is.

"Close your eyes"

"Uh...okay..?"

Shutting your eyes closd, darkness greets you as your ears pick up ruffling movements from the platinum blonde samurai.

What was he doing...?

Then you felt it.

A light weight was placed on top of your head and before you could open your eyes, a soft and warm feeling cause you to freeze up, touching your forehead as a whisper reach your ears "I hope we keep doing this for many years to come...we may be far from each other when I'm traveling but I'll come home to you near the end of a journey..."

You opened your eyes at this, only to be gifted by the sight of a slightly flustered samurai, chuckling "Oh, Kazuha..."

Your laughter was the question, he wanted to spend his whole life answering it...

꒷꒦꒷꒦⋆⑅˚₊┈ • ┈ ✿・ʚ ฅ•ﻌ•ฅ ɞ ・✿ ┈ • ┈₊˚⑅⋆꒷꒦꒷꒦

42 notes · View notes

cryoculus · 1 year

Text

— guard dog 05 ⟢

pairing: thoma x assassin!reader

summary: this isn't the first time you've attended a festival at amakane island. but why does it feel so different when you watch the fireworks with a green-eyed outlander?

word count: 5.3k words

notable characters: thoma, kamisato ayaka

tags: found family, enemies to lovers, slow burn, angst, eventual smut

warnings: allusions to past trauma

header art cr: ha__ze on twt

masterlist

“Have you been to a festival before, little one?”

Doctor Naoko’s voice was quiet amidst the rain prattling against the windowpane. You glanced at him curiously, sliding the minced lavender melons in a cooking pot with the blunt of a kitchen knife.

“No,” you told him, slightly miffed that he’s still calling you little one. “But Mother and I used to watch the fireworks from Narukami Island before…”

He nodded solemnly. “The Tatarigami.”

“The Tatarigami,” you repeated.

A thick silence filled the room as you watched a bright violet sheen bleed into the boiling water. You’d volunteered to make tonight’s batch of lavender melon soup, given that Doctor Naoko was preoccupied with something else. That being, a sturdy katana given by the village chief.

The samurai who owned it passed away earlier this week. He could no longer resist the effects of the curse, it seemed. But with no family to leave his katana behind, Doctor Naoko insisted that he keep it for now. While the prospect of a sword in the possession of a traveling doctor might’ve been odd, the village chief allowed it.

Now, there he was—diligently wiping the blade’s edge at the dinner table.

“Would you like to see the fireworks someday?”

You turned to look at him bizarrely, stirring the pot a few times before responding.

“And infect the people of Narukami in the process?” you laughed. “Doctor, you know what the rest of the locals say. If you’re born in Higi Village, you die in Higi Village. That’s even more true now.”

Doctor Naoko sighed, sheathing the sword before laying it atop the wooden table. There’s an…indecipherable look on his face as he processed your words.

“You’ve been taking the supplement, right?”

Your brow furrowed, gaze darting to the medicine cabinet near the entrance to his home. Though you couldn’t see it now, you knew there was a vial of that odd, pink liquid that the doctor asked you to test for him. He never told you what it was made from, and you didn’t ask.

Normally, one would be opposed to becoming a lab rat. But you��ve long accepted that one day, you’ll wake up with blood dripping from every orifice—the most definite sign that the Tatarigami had claimed yet another soul in its grasp. Your life had already lost its meaning the moment you’d been born here, and you owed it to Doctor Naoko to assist him with his research anyways.

“Yes,” you murmured. “The nosebleeds have stopped since you put me on the new medication. So have the migraines.”

He hummed. “And the nightmares?”

You bit your lip. He sighed.

“Well, progress is progress.” Doctor Naoko laughed. “If the new medicine proves to be effective, then we can stop giving that placebo to the villagers. We can finally give them a real cure. And maybe…we can take everyone out to Amakane Island to watch the fireworks. How’s that sound?”

Your eyes roved to the cooking pot, watching as bubbles broke through the rich violet surface. You knew that the worst lavender melon soup could cure was fatigue. Knew that Doctor Naoko had been deliberately lying to the villagers about its medicinal properties. But with how his research has been fairing, you decided to humor him. Just this once.

A kind smile inched past your face, hoping that one day, the doctor’s musings would become a reality.

“I’m looking forward to it.”

A few months after Doctor Naoko made the implicit promise, you’d fled Yashiori and witnessed your very first festival.

The experience had been underwhelming at best. As you weaved through the throng of visitors on Amakane Island, you couldn’t quite understand what was so exciting about festivals and fireworks and everything else the doctor had animatedly told you about. Not even the colorful string of lanterns and the jovial atmosphere could convince you.

But then again, your heart was heavy with the weight of grief. You came to Narukami Island, not to indulge in the festivities, but to find work.

Work fit for a scoundrel who let the doctor die right in front of her.

Before he passed, your biological father had been one of the guardian samurai of the village. Though he didn’t live long enough to teach you the art of the sword, you learned the ropes rather quickly once you’d taken Doctor Naoko’s katana and left. It was for that reason (among many others) that you chose to be a mercenary.

You found that building a name for yourself wasn’t as hard as you expected. Your methods weren’t confined to weapons alone. In this line of work, you had to learn about poisons, espionage, and of course, deceit.

There was a time when you’d considered using your…affliction to get jobs done. The Tatarigami curse didn’t play favorites. It spread indiscriminately to every sorry mortal it could get its hands on. If your target was around you long enough, you’re certain you could infect him in no time.

But the longer you took on all those odd jobs, you realized something.

You’d gone through the rest of Doctor Naoko’s supplements when you made the trip to the capital. Of course, they weren’t enough to last you for longer than you’d prefer. You only ever expected yourself to live for a few months more before the curse could fully take effect, but as you took one mission after the other, that’s when you noticed.

The Tatarigami couldn’t chain you to its grasp. Doctor Naoko’s supplements worked.

You were cured.

And that’s how, in spite of your blatant dislike for them, you started frequenting festivals more often. Whether they’re held in Inazuma City or Amakane Island, you’d be there—lingering in the shadows as you watched the colorful fireworks light up the sky.

After all, attending on his behalf was the least you could do for the doctor who’d saved your life even if his had been cut short.

“Milady! Miss Kira! You’re finally here!”

Your thoughts were abruptly derailed as a familiar voice hauled you back to the present. Just like he always did.

“Thoma,” Ayaka greeted her chief retainer with a smile. “I’m glad to see that everything seems to be in order.”

The blond laughed raucously. “Of course. I don’t want you to work any more than you already have. We all know those meetings at the Tenshukaku could be a bit much. Oh, you even brought Miss Kira along!”

You managed a tight-lipped smile. “Pleasure seeing you here, Master Thoma.”

“Miss Kira told me along the way that she’s yet to witness the fireworks show.” Lie. “And that she wanted to experience a festival firsthand.” Another lie. “But ah… As much as I’d love to show her around, I should look for Brother. Have you seen him?”

Thoma hummed in contemplation. “I could have sworn I saw the Commissioner discussing something with Mister Naganohara and Yoimiya at the top of the hill. Would you like me to escort you?”

Ayaka shook her head. “No. I have a more important task for you.”

“And that is?”

The princess smiled in a way that was just a tad bit mischievous before abruptly placing both of her hands on your shoulders.

“To show Miss Kira just how fun Amakane festivals can be, of course!”

Saying that you were appalled to be left alone with Thoma was an understatement.

To your utter disappointment, the chief retainer didn’t even express the slightest hint of refusal once Ayaka had issued the order. Thoma simply nodded along with that stupid, obedient smile of his before the rest of the guards led Ayaka further up the hill. You could only scowl as the princess left you in the dust—only to be tended to by your captor.

“Soooo…” he drawled, that familiar, knowing look settling once more on his face. “I take it that this isn’t your first time witnessing this at all?”

You rolled your eyes. “Just give me the tour so we can get it over with.”

“Hey, the only way you can enjoy a festival to the fullest is if you don’t rush things,” Thoma tutted. “I’m sure a brooding assassin such as yourself wouldn’t have the time for that sort of appreciation anyways.”

“Okay Mister Festival Connoisseur, can we get a move on now?”

The first stop was a takoyaki stall with a handful of visitors crowding the vicinity. The scent of fried squid and smoke filled your nostrils, and you squinted ahead just to catch a glimpse of the man filling orders up front. But before you could even ask Thoma how long the two of you had to fall in line, one of the owners was already calling out to him in welcome.

“Master Thoma, it’s you!” spoke a woman with graying hair. “You’re here to fulfill your promise to offer us your patronage, I take it?”

Thoma chuckled earnestly as he tugged you by the elbow. “Miss Reina, I had no such intention to leave you hanging! I was just waiting for my companion here to arrive is all.”

You eyed him bizarrely but Reina again spoke before you could even put a word in.

“Oho? Companion, you say,” The woman stared at you in a way that you knew was meant to tease. “So, what’ll it be tonight, Master Thoma?”

The chief retainer hummed. “How about…two Amakane specials?

Reina nodded as she scribbled the order before another one of the patrons blatantly shouted hers right next to your ear. The crowd was getting more and more congested and you instinctively leaned away just to grant yourself some more breathing room. But in the process, you accidentally pressed yourself closer to Thoma’s side.

Damn it!

“It's getting quite busy tonight,” Reina sighed apologetically. “How about the two of you look around for a while and I’ll deliver your food once it’s ready?”

You gulped. “That won’t be nece—”

“Sure,” Thoma interjected. “See you later, Miss Reina.”

Surely enough, the chief retainer took it upon himself to drag you to the next booth over without another word. Once you’d gotten away from the rest of the hungry visitors, you shot him a scowl.

“You were totally abusing your privilege,” you hissed, fisting his jacket. “Just because you’re a hotshot from the Kamisato clan, doesn’t mean you get to abuse the people’s kindness like that!”

Thoma shrugged. “It’s not abuse if the kindness is willingly offered in the first place, Miss Kira.”

“You—!”

“Master Thoma!”

Startled, you glanced at the man who addressed Thoma with the same enthusiasm as Rina from the street food stall. He stood right in front of an array of festival masks with varying designs. Fom tengu to oni to kitsune—he had them all.

“Sanden!” Thoma greeted in earnest. “Got any new designs we can get our hands on?”

The vendor, Sanden, nodded. “You’re just in time, actually. My daughter has been going on and on about these two fox spirits from a storybook Miss Yoimiya had given a month ago. Here, take a look! They’re a matching pair.”

He gently lifted two black kitsune masks off the display board—both adorned with metallic patterns that contrasted with their obsidian sheen. One was lined with golden accents, while the other, a glittering silver. Sanden gave the former to Thoma, and the latter to you.

“Interesting,” your companion doled out, studying the craftsmanship rather intently. “If you don’t mind me asking, what’s the story behind them?”

Sanden smiled. “Well, those two fox spirits actually represent the sun and the moon. The story goes like this: the sun spirit runs across the horizon for hours on end, in a futile attempt to chase the moon. And come nighttime, the moon spirit does the same in hopes of reaching the sun.”

“That seems a little too tragic for a children’s book, doesn’t it?” you asked dryly as you checked out the mask in your hands.

“Not at all, miss.” The vendor shook his head. “Because the two spirits long to be together, they gave birth to the cycles of night and day. Knowing that our realities are borne from the love the spirits have for one another is rather comforting in this age of chaos. Don’t you think so?”

“But that’s just a legend, right?”

Sanden shrugged, one eye dropping into a wink. “We can never really know, and that’s what makes it all the more enchanting.”

“Here.”

Blinking in confusion, you jolted slightly as Thoma plucked the silver-sheened mask from your grasp. But your expression softened when you realized he’d already adorned the golden one at the side of his head. He fastened yours in place, and you were too stunned to protest.

“Whatever tale they’re based off of, masks are a staple in festivals,” he murmured, smiling at his handiwork once he pulled away. Thoma then turned to Sanden. “How much for these two?”

The vendor shook his head. “I almost didn’t make it in time to set up shop, and you helped me sort everything out, Master Thoma. It’s on the house.”

“Master Thoma! Little miss! Special delivery!”

Just in time, a lively looking Reina carried two plates containing a vast assortment of street food. Egg rolls, dango, takoyaki, rice balls, sushi—they were all plated so neatly, you couldn’t believe your eyes. So that was the Amakane special.

“Just like old Sanden’s masks, your food is free of charge.” Reina winked before handing you your orders. “This is the least we could do for the person behind the festival.”

For the first time, you bore witness to Thoma with his face flushing at their words. Dear Archons. You didn’t know it would bring you such relief to know this man was actually capable of becoming embarrassed.

“You lot give me too much credit,” he sighed, nibbling on a stick of dango. “I’m only doing as I’m told, you know.”

“And we’re just thanking you for your hard work,” Sanden chuckled, patting him on the shoulder. “Well, go on! Find a comfortable spot to eat with your date. Miss Yoimiya’s fireworks show is about to start soon.”

You nearly choked. “I’m not his—”

“We’ll go ahead and do that then~”

Two times. This man just interrupted you two times today. You were sure to make him pay for it later, but for now, you were going to go along with his whims and eat. You’re starved.

In spite of how crowded the island has gotten, you and Thoma managed to secure a table near the venue’s edge. The indistinct noise and chatter from the visitors were still present, but this far off, you could at least consume your dinner(?) in peace.

“So how are you liking the Thoma Festival Experience so far?”

Swallowing a mouthful of onigiri, you blanched at him. “Did you just call this the Thoma Festival?”

He shrugged, poking holes into his takoyaki. “It’s just like everyone said. I was in charge of organizing the whole thing, so it’s only proper to call it as such.”

“...You’re despicable! And everyone gave you all this stuff for free, too.”

Thoma merely responded with an infuriating laugh, which you decided to tune out as you observed your surroundings.

You didn’t know if it was just you but…Amakane Island looked a bit more lively as opposed to the previous times you’d decided to drop by a festival. Despite the fact that spring was still a few months away, the cherry blossoms were in full bloom. Their petals wafted around gracefully, like they knew exactly how to set up the perfect atmosphere alongside the bright glow of the lanterns.

And then, there were the people.

Before your unfortunate ‘capture’ at the Kamisato estate, you used to avoid ordinary citizens like the plague. Even if the actual plague that had infected you a few years ago had long gone, you still felt…dirty. Unworthy to bask in their company for too long.

Hell, you killed people for a living. If all these visitors knew who you were and what you did, you were almost too certain they’d run you out of town with torches and pitchforks. That’s why you always preferred to work in the shadows.

It was easier that way.

“Hey, you feeling alright, Miss Kira? You look like you’re attending a funeral.”

Glancing up from your plateful of street food, you met Thoma’s viridian gaze. He was gazing at you curiously as he suckled on a dango stick, which made you scoff in disgust. But when a few sakura petals landed between his hair and his headband…

“What are you…?”

You leaned forward, bracing one hand on the wooden table as you brushed the petals away—caressing some tufts of his golden hair in the process. Thoma simply stared in stunned stupor as you took your seat again. But before you could even tease him for his sudden silence, your eyes landed on someone else.

It was Ayaka. Looking even more distressed than she did earlier today. She and the rest of her guards were hastily making their way down the hill, with the Commissioner, Ayato in tow.

“Milady!” Thoma called out, probably having followed your line of sight. “Anything wrong?”

Stopping in her tracks, Ayaka turned to Thoma with a tired smile. “Something just came up at the Tenshukaku again. Hold the fort while we’re gone?”

“...Alright. You can count on us.”

You shot him a look. “Us?”

“Thank you,” Ayaka sighed—the relief in her voice evident to a fault.

Before their retinue could make a swift exit though, you managed to meet Ayato’s gaze in the heat of it all. Those startling blue eyes, almost silver in the moonlight, were the same yet so different from Ayaka’s. In spite of having lived with him for about a month now, you still had a hard time telling apart his expressions.

You couldn’t tell what he’d been thinking at that moment, but it was clear that the Commissioner still didn’t trust you. Not one bit.

And it was awfully smart of him not to, really.

“Gods, I wish those two would catch a break soon.”

In front of you, Thoma had already finished his Amakane special and was resting his head against the palm of his hand—sighing almost wistfully. You couldn’t help but agree.

“Did you know that Aya—ah, milady collapsed on her way to her room earlier?” you asked.

Obviously, Thoma did not know about this.

“What?” he spoke sharply. “You didn’t do anything underhanded, did you?”

You crossed your arms. “She’s obviously well enough to stress about the Tenshukaku meetings again, isn’t she? I’m a criminal but I still have some tact.”

Just as quickly as it came, the alarm on his face melted back into a warm smile. Warm enough to make you feel uncomfortable.

“It’s just as I suspected. I successfully house-trained Inazuma City’s most notorious assassin.”

You flung a ball of takoyaki at his face.

The rest of the night went by in a flash.

Just like with everything else he does, Thoma had a knack for festival games. This one booth held contests for which person could successfully catch the most goldfish in under one minute. Which was no easy feat, given that the nets were made out of flimsy parchment paper instead of, well, actual nets.

You were already struggling with catching one goldfish, yet Thoma managed to fling at least ten into the damn basket.

“That’s Master Thoma for you,” hollered the game master, handing Thoma the prize for his seemingly unbeatable record: a handmade bake-danuki plush. “You can try your luck next time, newbie!”

You grumbled something about rigged festival games and biased judgement.

“Aww, no need to look so down in the dumps,” Thoma chuckled as the two of you strolled up the path—manipulating the bake-danuki’s little plush arms in an attempt to cheer you up. “Mister Danuki will be sad if you continue sulking.”

“Tell Mister Danuki to mind his own business,” you growled.

The chief retainer gasped, placing Mister Danuki’s hand above its chest in mock offense. “That’s a bit impolite even for you, Miss Kira… Oh?”

Glancing at whatever caught Thoma’s attention this time, you feast your eyes upon a lone wooden board with colorful charms strung together on display. The chief retainer slowly made his way closer, and in spite of yourself, you followed suit.

For a moment, he was quiet—green eyes scanning the dreams and wishes the visitors wished to take up to the gods. You didn’t quite understand the prospect of using these charms, in all honesty. From all the news of the Vision Hunt going around, you weren’t sure if the Raiden Shogun was in the mood to grant anyone’s wishes.

Yet Thoma was staring at them like they were the most important things in the world.

“Did you know that milady has never been to a festival?”

You were visibly confused. “What? She was just here a moment ago.”

The smile that tugged on his lips had a hint of sadness in them—an emotion that you never would have associated with Thoma until now. His gloved hand inspected the charms with great care, like he was afraid they would break.

“Well, she’s always in attendance, that’s true. It’s expected of her as the Lady of the Kamisato house,” Thoma explained. “But in spite of all the talk of business, the occasional fan dances she beholds to the people of Inazuma… She’s never been to a festival, the way the two of us have.”

You contemplated his words for a moment, realizing that the moment you had arrived, Ayaka immediately thought about discussing business with her brother instead of enjoying herself.

“Do you…” you began, clearing your throat uneasily, “want to make a wish, then? With a charm?”

Thoma turned to you with a puzzled look, blinking once, twice, before bursting out laughing.

“I didn’t take you to be the type to believe in such superstition, Miss Kira,” he snorted.

Your cheeks heated up. “I-I do not! It just seems to me like you’re the one who’s into this sort of thing… I’m not always an asshole, you know?”

His laughter stops—expression morphing into something calmer. More sincere. Thoma raised a hand and you were instinctively on alert for any tricks he might pull, but all the chief retainer did was brush away the flower petals that got caught in your hair. The same way you did with him earlier tonight.

“I know.”

You didn’t know where you should look. For some reason, his emerald eyes smoldered too much for comfort, and you hadn’t the slightest clue what to reply. But it’s as if the gods had heard your internal cry for help when Thoma finally snapped out of it.

The endearing look in his gaze vanished in a flash, replaced by something similar to panic.

“Move. Quick.”

He seized your hand in his, pulling you along as he led you to the shore. You were about to protest his sudden gesture, but when you glanced behind you, you spotted a couple of uniformed soldiers emerging from the entrance.

Soldiers from the Tenryou Commission.

“You know you don’t have to act like I’m a rebel from Sangonomiya when we’re alone, right?” you huffed, minding your step as Thoma led you further down. “I’ve been pretty…chill with the Tenryou Commission for the past few years.”

Thoma laughed breathlessly as the two of you made it underneath the jutting cliff of Amakane Island—far from the festival, far from the noise.

“It’s better to be safe than sorry,” he reminded, taking a seat on a mossy patch of rock. You sat down next to him with your heart beating erratically in your ribcage.

He still hadn’t let go of your hand.

“And besides, the fireworks show is about to start.”

“The wha—”

The sound of ballistas going off above you nearly scared you out of your wits, until you realized that the source of the noise weren’t ballistas at all. Fireworks of all shapes and colors shot up to the sky at breakneck speed before blooming beautifully into the night. You tilted your head further for a better view—mouth hanging loose as you marveled at the display before you.

That was strange. This wasn’t the first time you’ve watched the fireworks, yet…

Even if the show was still underway, you managed to peel your eyes from the sight. Instead, you affixed your stare on where your hand was pressed against Thoma’s on the cold, mossy rock. You dared to rake your eyes upward.

Unlike you, Thoma had been fully engrossed with the fireworks. A childlike grin played on his lips as the colors flashed before his green, green eyes. But in spite of the bright hues that reflected on his face every few seconds, you couldn’t help but train your gaze on the plump swell of his lips instead.

There it was again. The odd stutter in your heart.

Though the fireworks show lasted for no longer than five minutes, it felt like those few moments had been unspooled from a seemingly endless eternity. You knew better than to cling to a memory as insignificant as this one but…

The warmth of Thoma’s fingers on top of yours. His silly bake-danuki plush sitting comfortably on his lap. The golden accents of his kitsune mask glittering in the night. And the smile he flashed you when he finally caught you staring—

You burned it all in the back of your head, hoping that even if the fireworks lasted mere seconds, the time you spent with him would stretch across lifetimes.

“Yoimiya outdid herself again this time.” He sighed once the show had come to an end, rising back to his feet as he untangled his fingers from yours. You couldn’t help the prickle of disappointment in your chest. “Well, what do you think?”

You ignored his question. “Thoma, why are you so nice to me?”

His smile fell. You pressed on.

“I take it that you’re nice to anyone and everyone you meet but… I’m not just some random girl from the city you decided to take here on a whim,” you elaborated, feeling your throat close up with every word. “I’m a murderer. Someone that’s been hired to kill Lady Ayaka of the Kamisato clan. Yet you’re…doing all this? What’s the point?”

With one hand holding Mister Danuki, Thoma reached up to touch his pendant with the other. It seemed like an unconscious action, but you elected not to ask.

“I’m sure you know I’m not from around these parts, yeah?” he remarked. “I’m an outlander. Born and raised somewhere else, until I found my sorry ass washed up on the shores of Ritou.”

You arched an eyebrow. “I figured as much.”

Thoma chuckled. “That makes things easier to explain then.”

“Even before the Sakoku Decree, the Kanjou Commission didn’t take kindly to foreigners. I had nothing but the clothes on my back and the dog tags I’m wearing now. To survive, I had to steal just so I could eat. In short, I was a criminal for quite a while, too.”

“How does this correlate to you taking it easy on an assassin?” you wondered.

“I’m getting there, hold on.” The blond laughed, sitting next to you once again. “I lived like that for a few weeks but then…milady’s parents found me. Her mother is very kind. Even if I didn’t know how to speak the language, she didn’t send me to jail when she caught me nabbing her purse. Next thing I knew, I’d been adopted into the family.”

“Long story short, I know what it feels like to be alone. That kind of loneliness drives us to do all sorts of unimaginable things,” he murmured quietly. “But that doesn’t have to be the end of the line. The late Lady Kamisato showed me as much. And even if Lord Ayato practically threatened to have me executed if I ended up being wrong about you, I still insisted.”

You were silent for about three heartbeats before—

“You’re a fucking idiot.”

The sand began to trickle into your sandals with how heavy your strides fell across the ground. Thoma was hot on your heels as you ditched him, but it wasn’t like you’d been walking fast enough to evade him.

You were just…pissed. Beyond belief.

You reminded him of himself because he used to be a fugitive, too? That’s rich. As if someone loved by the people of Inazuma knew a fraction of what you went through. As if a person who never had to taint their hands with blood could understand.

“Hey!” Thoma called out, seizing your wrist in an iron-tight grip. “You’re still prohibited from wandering around unsupervised, Miss Kira.”

“I’m still going to do it, you know.”

You’d uttered the words so quietly, he barely caught what you were saying. But the chief retainer wasn’t an idiot. He knew what you’d been pertaining to right away.

“Why?”

“Because I was paid to do it,” you said, which wasn’t exactly true. You will be paid was the more accurate wording, but you needed to stand your ground right now.

Thoma nodded slowly. “Okay, but why?”

“What are you getting at?”

“I mean, why would you do that to milady, who hasn’t given you a single reason for you to kill her?” he wondered, sounding genuinely curious. “I’d understand if she was some ruthless tyrant that’s out to seize all the Visions in Inazuma, but we both know that’s far from the case.”

You stared at him incredulously. “...Because that’s what I was paid to do?”

“Hm? So if I gave you six-hundred mora right now to do a little dance for me, you’d do it?”

“Fuck you.”

In spite of it all, Thoma laughed. Laughed right in your face as he used Mister Danuki to wipe the tears from his eyes.

“Archons, you have such an unreasonably foul mouth, you know that?” the chief retainer pointed out with a grin. “You’re angry because you think I’m taking pity on you. Is that it?”

You tried to pull your arm free, but he refused to budge. “That’s none of your business.”

“Oh, but it is,” Thoma insisted, pulling you closer until your faces were mere inches away. “As my personal captive, it’s exactly my business to gauge your emotional constitution. I can’t exactly change your mind about taking milady’s life if I’m riling you up every other minute, yeah?”

“But isn’t that what you’re doing right now?” you bit back, ignoring the way his breath fanned your face. “That’s what you’ve been doing since you held me prisoner at the estate, you dumb guard dog.”

He chuckled breathily and you felt the reverberations in what little distance sat between you. This close, you could see just how much more green his eyes could get—entrapping you in a swirl of jade and viridian, until you’ve completely forgotten what you’d been arguing about in the first place.

You most certainly didn’t miss it when those eyes of his flickered to your lips.

“That, I have…” he admitted quietly. “You can even say I’ve taken quite the liking to you, dear Miss Kira.”

Before you could even hope to ask him to clarify, Thoma was already peeling himself away—taking both the warmth of his touch and the smolder in his eyes. The chief retainer was on his merry way, walking back to the festival without a stutter to his step. You replayed his words over and over in a span of ten seconds before:

“What do you mean by that?”

He stopped in his tracks, loose ponytail swaying as he abruptly turned around to meet your eyes. Thoma was silent for only a moment before giving you his reply.

“It means what you want it to mean.” He smiled. “Come on. I’m sure the folks from the Tenryou Commission have long left. We still have a festival to clean up after.”

“We?”

Thoma gave no further response. Your eye twitched.

But you found yourself trailing after him anyway.

<- previous | next ->

#genshin impact #genshin #genshin fanfic #genshin smut #genshin fanfiction #genshin x reader #thoma smut #thoma fanfic #thoma x reader #genshin scenarios #genshin headcanons #genshin thoma #cryoculus #guard dog

69 notes · View notes

kaizoku-gary · 2 years

Text

The calm before the storm

Pairing: Kinemon x reader with afab/female reader

Genre: smut, fluff

Word count: 2102

Warnings/Tags: unprotected sex, oral sex (reader giving), cockwarming, age gap (no underage).

Summary: the reader notices how tense Kinemon is the night before the big battle and decides to give him a little head help.

A/N: I find the lack of Kin'emon smut disturbing.

Where are my fellow Kin'emon simps!?

BTW, this is a little AU where everything stays the same except Kin'emon is not married (O-Tsuru doesn't deserve to be cheated on) and he's not a freaking giant... because ouch.

Read it on AO3

Cover by: ヤシヨ

------------ >> * << -------------

As the big day approaches, the tension grows like an ominous wave menacing to drown everyone's hopes. In two days you’ll all be sailing to Onigashima, to avenge Oden’s death and restore the rule of the Kozuki clan over Wano. But that's easier said than done; the enemy is too powerful to be taken for granted and the rebel group is notably outnumbered. As much as you try to ignore it, and no matter how strong your conviction is, these two facts manage to keep you awake at night. Still, you're willing to give your life if that means Wano will be freed from Kaidou's reign of terror.

The night begins to fall while the group discusses and revises the last details of the plan. Defeating the emperor may be a long shot, but the rebels aren't weak, and having the support of such a strong crew like the Straw Hats increases the chances of winning the war. After a while, when there's nothing left to say, it's time for everyone to go to bed and rest.

Despite your worries and anxiety, you fall sound asleep as soon as your head hits the pillow. But it isn’t long until your recurring nightmares begin. Your friends and allies die one by one on the battlefield. You're badly hurt, but you keep fighting like a wild animal. Then you hear a deafening blast. An enormous shadow rises over you. Kaidou traps you between his claws and you hear your bones cracking... You snap awake and sit on the bed, panting and trembling as you try to shake those horrible images away. A moment later, you decide to take some fresh air. Maybe a short walk will calm your mind down.

As soon as you step outside the house, the bright light of the moon and the soft breeze coming from the sea welcome you. You close your eyes and take a deep breath, focussing your mind on the sound of the waves; remaining there for a couple of minutes, as the melody of the night slowly eases your soul.

After a moment, you begin walking towards the cliff, planning to sit there and admire the ocean before going to bed when a dark figure sitting on a stone catches your attention. You approach it as carefully and quietly as possible. The chances of it being the enemy, are low, but letting your guard down is never a wise choice.

As you come closer, the mysterious figure becomes more familiar to you. Soon you notice Kin'emon staring at the sea with a deeply concerned expression on his face. The samurai notices your presence and quickly turns around with both hands on his swords, ready to attack.

"Y/N! I thought you were already in bed." Kin'emon says relaxing his posture.

“I guess I’m not the only one who can’t sleep.” You mention with a tired smile as you walk closer. “May I join you, Kin-san?” You ask pointing to the empty space next to him.

"S-sure!” He replies avoiding your gaze as he sits, resting his hands on his thighs. For a moment, you could swear he is blushing.

The stone is smaller than it looked and your bodies are barely millimeters apart. A shiver runs down your spine when you feel Kin'emon's warmth so close to you and you let out a faint nervous sigh. The tingling sensation between your legs makes you blush and you press your thighs together trying to make it disappear. Having such thoughts for your master it's quite inappropriate, even more now as the biggest battle you've ever fought approaches. Still, you can't help but let your mind wander and create different scenarios, where you finally get to tell him how you feel.

"What’s keeping you awake, Y/N?” Kin'emon asks after a long silence, and by the tone of his voice, you can tell he already knows the answer. You sigh, bringing your hands together and rubbing them nervously.

“I- am too worried to sleep.” You finally reply, leaving away the gloomy details of your nightmares.

Kin'emon lets out a sharp sigh and you lift your hesitant gaze to look at him. He looks pale and the circles around his eyes appear darker; despite the fatigue and the weight he’s carrying on his shoulders, the samurai's spirit remains unbreakable. Nothing will stop him from accomplishing his mission and you admire him deeply for that. It breaks your heart to see everything he's going through to keep his promise and you wish he could relax and forget about everything for a while.

"Y/N, what are you thinking about?” Kin'emon asks softly, turning around to look you in the eye. It occurs to you now that maybe you’ve been staring at him for a little too long.

Your face and ears feel suddenly hot, but in a rush of adrenaline, you ignore the impulse of apologizing, as well as your common sense. Instead, you hold his gaze and clear your throat.

“I,” your voice comes out as a trembling whisper and you make a short pause to calm down, closing your eyes as you take a deep breath. Don't do it. You're gonna fuck it up. He's gonna be offended. Your inner voice warns you again and again, but you've made up your mind. It is now or never.

“I was thinking…” you continue while moving closer. “…that maybe you'd like to release some tension before the big battle.” You finish, placing your hand on his.

This time is Kin'emon’s turn to blush. The samurai freezes in place, unable to think properly after your bold proposition. It's been a long while since he's been intimate with someone. His body is aching to take things further, and his mind is having a hard time keeping everything under control.

After what seems like an eternity, your hand reaches for his face, stroking his cheek as you lean forward to kiss him tenderly. Kin'emon lets out a long sigh and it doesn’t take much time for him to start responding to your caresses. A hesitant hand moves to the small of your back and squeezes lightly at your muscles. You break the kiss to look into his eyes and a faint whimper scapes him. Kin'enmon's cheeks are flushed and you smile at how cute he looks.

“Are you okay with this, Kin-san?” You ask and he nods right away. The poor man is awfully touch starved and it shows.

You stand up, and a “where are you going?” appears instantly on Kin'emon's face.

"It's okay," you reassure him, giving him a peck on the lips before kneeling between his legs. The samurai bites his lower lip in anticipation while you slowly untie his belt, exposing his perfectly sculpted torso.

Carefully you place his swords on the floor before letting your eyes relish the view: his toned chest going up and down with every breath, his stone-hard abs glistening with sweat, and his growing erection already dripping with precum. If he only knew how crazy he drives you...

Soon you give in to the urge to lick his abs, leaning forward to pepper his skin with kisses and let your hot wet tongue travel on his abdomen. Kin'emon lets out a low groan, briefly closing his eyes as his muscles twitch under your touch. He'd almost forgotten how good it felt being touched like this and anything you do takes him closer to heaven.

Your mouth leaves his abs and your eyes look for his before your hand wraps around his shaft. Kin'nemon lets out a deep moan after you begin slowly stroking up and down his erection. He is having a hard time trying to keep his eyes open and focused on yours, and his blush refuses to disappear.

“Is everything okay, Kin'emon-san?” You tease and can swear he goes harder just to hear you pronounce his name. The samurai only nods, unable to form any coherent sentences when you rub your thumb over the tip of his hard member, spreading precum all over it.

Giving him a last mischievous look, you lower your head to give his cock a slow flat-tongue lick from the base to the tip. Kin'emon shudders, pressing his eyes shut as his fingers dig into the cold stone beneath him. Heaven is even closer now.

"Oooh, Y/N” He moans, biting his fist when you begin leaving wet kisses all over his shaft; trailing the veins on his member with the tip of your tongue. The noises you're eliciting from him are better than any melody you've heard before, and your own arousal is becoming more difficult to ignore.

You wrap your hand around the base of Kin's erection, licking your lips at the sight of his dripping cock before taking him slowly in your warm mouth. Kin'emon's grunts become louder as you bob your head up and down his length; letting your tongue swirl around his tip, to go down again. His hand moves to your cheek, stroking it tenderly as you slowly suck on him.

"That feels so good, Y/N," Kin'emon whispers between pants. His muscles begin to tense and his breathing becomes shallower. You can tell he's about to come and gradually decrease your tempo until you finally let him slip out of your mouth.

“Not yet, Kin-san.” You reply at his surprised whine, smiling sweetly before standing up to let your kimono fall to the floor. Kin'emon gasps and his eyes go instantly wide as they travel across your naked body.

"Do you wanna touch me, Kin-san?" You offer, taking his hands in yours to place them on your breasts, turning the man into nothing but a babbling mess. To your delight, his erection twitches, and his blush deepens even more.

"It's okay. There's no reason to be nervous," you coo as you straddle him, throwing your arms around his neck before your lips meet his again. This time the kiss is desperate, hungrier. Hands explore every inch of each other's bodies as your tongues fight for dominance. Kin's strong hands grab your hips, bringing your closer until his rock-hard erection presses delightfully against your core.

"Kin-san~," you whimper, bucking your hips against him, seeking friction.

"You're so beautiful, Y/N," Kin'emon whispers in your ear before his lips travel to your neck. His beard tickles your skin as he nibbles gently on it. You tremble under his touch, closing your eyes to savor the sensation as your fingers massage his scalp.

"I need you, Kin-san~," you whine desperately and he lets out a breathy chuckle. "May I?" You purr, staring into his eyes.

Kin'emon nods impatiently and you adjust your position, guiding him to your entrance. How is he still blushing like that? Is the last coherent thought you manage before slowly impaling yourself in his member; letting out desperate moans as his girth stretches your velvety walls.

"Oh, you're so wet, Y/N,~" Kin praises between your breasts, gently squeezing your buttocks, as he leaves soft kisses on your sternum.

"Kin-san~," you moan while you ride him at an agonizing pace. His hands now guiding your movements.

Right now, both of you are lost in sensations. Nothing else matters but the feeling of skin on skin, the hunger, the passion; the joy of sharing such an intimate moment with someone you deeply care for. Tomorrow doesn't matter anymore, nor does anything else.

You increase the pace of your movements and Kin'emon buries his head in the crook of your neck, muffling his moans against your skin. His hands hold you tightly as if you were going to float away and you mimic him, gently pressing him against you as your hips roll faster and faster. A few moments later, the tension that has been building up inside you explodes in a colorful blast of bliss. You cry out Kin's name as your orgasm hits you violently, making your muscles spasm without control. Not even a second after Kin'emon spills himself inside your walls, holding you tightly as he rides his own climax.

For a long while, both of you remain still, buried in each other's arms with no intention of letting go. Enjoying the ecstasy that brings each other's warmness. The sounds of faint delighted sighs and gentle kisses join the melody of the waves, and you wish you could live forever in this moment...

"Y/N?" Kin'emon whispers and you look tenderly into his eyes. "Would you stay with me tonight?" He pleads, before nuzzling your neck.

"Of course, I will," you reply before pulling him for a soft kiss.

------------ >> * << -------------

#kinemon x reader #kin'emon x reader #kinemon #kin'emon #one piece #kinemon one piece #kin'emon one piece #one piece fanfiction #I simp for this dork since Punk Hazzard #no beta read

204 notes · View notes

sleepyburito · 2 months

Text

Frankie

credits to @localentityhere for being my consultant for this and credits to @star-rascals for the encouragement!

Frankie is a playable character in Honkai: Star Rail.

A reporter and photographer for Penacony’s newsletter, they often wander both the hotel and dreamscape catching the most obscure news on camera. After their hiring and permanent residence in the hotel, they’ve become a wandering soul, describing themselves as an ‘escapist’.

𓆩⟡𓆪

Overview

Rarity: ⟡⟡⟡⟡

Path: Nihility

Combat Type: Imaginary

Bio

Pronouns: they/them

Species: Human

Faction(s): Penacony (on profile)

The Reverie Hotel

Masked Fools

Afterlife

World: Penacony

Messages: Frankie’s messages

Voice

English: Mizu (blue eyed Samurai)

𓆩⟡𓆪

Trivia

Frankie works as a part time reporter for Penacony’s news in order to pass the time

They spend the rest of their days wandering around both the dreamscape and reality while relaxing in precarious places

Their strange and dangerous travels are due to their blessing ‘Where no one goes’

This blessing allows them to teleport anywhere within their line of sight

Their mask is a bright red and blue feathered eye mask

They usually wear it hanging from their belt rather than on their head

Their idle animation and phone case feature the origami birds present in Penacony. Their idle animation features them reaching down and freeing one of the birds before talking to it for a few moments and the bird then flies off

They were the 5th child Valentina took in

They claim their elation is exploration, this ties to their blessing ‘where no one goes’

⋆

Etymology

Frankie is a neutral name meaning Free man; Truthful, sincere. It is a gender-neutral name with Latin and Germanic origin

#honkai star rail #honkai star rail oc #Afterlife Faction

3 notes · View notes

staysaneathome · 8 months

Text

Turnabout SamurEye

Martin Blackwood stares at the fallen head of the oversized cartoon samurai mascot, and asks himself yet again how he got here.

The simple answer to that question would be “on the 386 bus that has a stop five minutes’ walk away from Global Studios”, but that isn’t quite what he means.

For all that he is a defense attorney, Martin’s always fancied that he has a poetic soul, one that still can’t quite believe he managed to scrape his way through law school and a handful of cases to running his own, meager firm. Sasha always used to laugh and tease that it was a combination of his dramatics and insecurities talking, that Martin was an ace attorney in his own right.

There are some days when missing his best friend and mentor gets easier, but today isn’t one of them.

There is a gentle tug on his suit sleeve.

Robbie’s eyes are crinkled in a smile above their face mask. They sign, “Ready to go check out the scene of the crime, Martin?”

He nods back. “Yes, ah, let me just take a picture of this for our evidence, first.”

They settle back, still bouncing on their heels slightly as he finishes up.

It makes sense they’re excited, he supposes. It’s not everyday that someone gets to go on the set of their favorite TV show, even if the leading actress has just been accused of murdering her coworker.

He probably would’ve taken the case even if they hadn’t badgered him into it with protests of the Blazing Samurai’s innocence, he reflects as they start walking towards the set area. Work has been thin on the ground lately, and the fees for Mum’s care home and renting the office space certainly aren’t going down anytime soon.

“We should get steak after this.” Robbie signs.

Martin blinks, has to mime out the signs himself to ensure he’s interpreted them correctly.

“What? But we just had lunch on the bus! How can you still be hungry after that?”

Robbie raises their chin proudly. “I have a second stomach for steaks!”

Martin gives them a knowing look. “Right. And, er, that wouldn’t have anything to do with the fact that you’ve just discovered that Lynn Hammond, The Blazing Samurai, also loves steak?”

Robbie’s eyes dart to the side guiltily as their fingers trip over the sign for “Noooo”.

“Ah,” Martin can’t quite control his grin at that as he pokes their shoulder. “Objection—the witness is withholding testimony!”

He snickers as they playfully shove his arm, hands a rapid flurry. “Don’t do that outside of court!”

There are wires and cameras everywhere when the two of them arrive on the set proper, large green screens and painted backgrounds propped up against the walls.

Robbie is practically vibrating with excitement next to him, likely torn between their desire to explore and their sense of duty as his self-imposed assistant.

They really remind him so much of Sasha, at times like this.

“Keep a lookout for anything that could be a clue,” He advises. They give him a mock salute.

There’s a large white outline near the base of the director’s chair, a discarded spear next to it. The murder weapon, presumably? It’s big and heavy, couldn’t be picked up by anyone who wasn’t trained for it, like Miss Hammond or even Jude Perry, the victim. That’s what it says in the autopsy report, but…

Martin frowns and kneels down next to it.

Surely, something like this, which is meant to have stabbed through Jude Perry’s torso, surely it ought to have more, well. Blood, on it? There’s a bit of dried bright red liquid on the very tip, but something’s…?

“Martin Blackwood.”

Martin freezes up. No. No, no, maybe, maybe he’s hallucinating things. Yes, that sounds plausible, surely he wouldn’t be here. He’s always been content sitting pretty in his office, while Detective Tonner brought him all the evidence to ruin Martin’s day, please don’t let him actually be—!

“Covering your ears and ignoring me doesn’t mean I stop existing, Blackwood.”

Well, worth a shot.

He takes a deep breath and turns to face the Demon of the Bar, trying desperately to turn his grimace into a polite smile. “Prosecutor Sims! How can I help you today?”

Jonathan Sims does not look happy.

He’s as crisp and ironed as ever, from his starched collar to his pressed cravat to the tips of his shiny, shiny shoes.

Martin feels small and shoddy just looking at him.

“I seriously doubt you could. I’d be better off banning you from the crime scene, so your bumbling around doesn’t destroy valuable evidence.” Sims scoffs. “That would be a welcome relief.”

Ouch. It takes everything Martin has not to wince.

“However,” Sims heaves a great sigh. “The law still states that the defense must have the same opportunity as the prosecution to examine evidence, so I can’t have you thrown off the premises. Yet.”

Yet??

“Yet?!” Robbie signs.

They’ve taken a step to place themself between him and the man who haunts his sleep every night. They are also trying to roll up the billowing sleeves of their apprentice uniform with their fists clenched.

Martin quickly places a hand on their arm and gives his kind-of-assistant-by-adoption a placating smile so they don’t do anything crazy like assault the prosecution.

“So I take it you’re representing the guilty party in this case?” Sims sneers.

“L-Lynne Hammond isn’t the one who killed Jude Perry!” Martin protests. “We’re still gathering evidence, but, but all the character witnesses thus far have shown that she wasn’t the kind of person who held any grudges against the victim!”

Robbie nods furiously next to him, signing “That’s right! The Blazing Samurai could never do that!”

Sims glances between them and Martin with an eyebrow raised.

“And you believe it’s suitable to bring a child along to a murder investigation?” He demands imperiously, one finger pointing at Robbie. “Really, Blackwood, I knew you were irresponsible, but this takes the cake.”

Robbie puffs up indignantly, hands moving almost too quickly to parse as they sign, “I’m not a kid! I’m thirteen years old!”

“Wh-?!” Martin splutters, “That’s not the—! And you, Sims, you were trying to find them guilty of murdering Sasha last month!”

“That—!” Sims sniffs, trying to regain his composure. “That’s different.”

“How?!” Martin cries, trying not to tear his hair out. “They would’ve got the death penalty! The only reason they didn’t is because I found out the real murderer and she decided it’d be funny to frame me as well! If we hadn’t gotten that list of names—”

“I’ve been meaning to ask you about that, actually.” Sims cuts in, glare hard. “How did you find that list of Nikola Orsinov’s blackmail victims?”

Martin freezes.

“I. Um?”

Prosecutor Sims tilts his head, pinning Martin in place under that stare which thousands of witness have sworn somehow makes them say things they’d never tell another soul.

“Well?”

It’s not like he can just say ‘oh the tween tagging along with me is a spirit medium and channeled the ghost of my dead mentor who’s also their older sister so she could tell me and force Orsinov to confess! Oh and your hair looks really good like that and I’d maybe like to gaze into your eyes constantly and I’ve been in love with you since we were both five so do you wanna go out sometime?’

No. No, no, bad Martin, bad! Just because he’s got a nice face does not make him boyfriend material. Jonathan Sims is a dick, no matter what he was like when you were in primary school together. 17 years of radio silence to you and Gerry have sent that message.

Besides, you learned this lesson with Michael. He was pretty, and funny, and seemed like the perfect boyfriend, and what did he do? He framed you for murder. Yeesh. Why is that becoming a pattern in his life. Better for everyone to not—

There’s a gentle tap on his arm.

He looks down to see Robbie staring up at him, signing “Martin?”

Wait. Hold on. Oh god. How long has he just been staring into Jon’s eyes for?! Sim’s eyes?! Shit?!

The prosecutor is giving him an odd look, his glare morphed slightly to…something else? “Well?” He snaps.

“I…uh…um. Well. You know how, er, Robbie, Sasha is their, was their older sister?” He darts an apologetic glance to them. They hunch into his side slightly.

“I know the relation between the acquitted defendant and the late Ms. James, yes.” Sims drawls, “What of it?”

“W-well,” Martin bluffs. “Sasha and Robbie had a separate hiding spot here in the city, when, when Robbie had come to visit her before. She, she’d left a copy of that list here, a while ago, so Orsinov and Sarah Baldwin didn’t know about it. Robbie mentioned the place off-hand before the last day so I…checked…”

Jon’s glare has deepened to its former disdain.

“Forget it.” He sneers. “If you’ll do nothing but lie, I don’t know why I bother. Still, if you’re going to be that obvious, it’ll be easy to prove the accused’s guilt in court tomorrow. Good afternoon, Martin Blackwood.”

Prosecutor Sims turns on his heel and marches away.

Martin watches him go and tries to ignore the twinge in his chest.

There’s another small tug on his suit sleeve.

He looks down to see Robbie staring up at him with gratitude. They slip one hand into his and give it a squeeze, one hand touching their chin as if blowing a kiss. “Thank you.”

He squeezes back, a tired smile on his face. “Oh, it’s no. No trouble, really. I’m not about to tell anyone about you-know-what just, just willy-nilly.”

Robbie puffs out their chest, hands coming up to sign, “Let’s go prove that mean prosecutor wrong! He’s nothing but a phony anyway, you’ll show him!”

Martin huffs a small laugh at their enthusiasm.

Wait.

Something clicks in his head. He turns back to examine the spear.

Blood is this color when it comes out of a body, yes. But for it to stay this way when dried, and there to be no stains around the white outline of the corpse…

“It’s phony.” He mutters, excitement raising his volume gradually. “It’s—this crime scene, it’s not real, it’s, it’s fake! The blood on the spear, it’s not the right color, and, and there are no other bloodstains or anything, so that means that when Jude Perry died, it wasn’t on set! It had to be somewhere else, and the body was moved here later!”

Robbie matches his excitement when he grins at them, fingers drumming against their neck rapidly.

“C’mon,” Martin says, feeling the thrill of unraveling a contradiction, of getting closer to the truth. “Let’s go see if we can’t work out where the real murder happened.”

8 notes · View notes