#arrachnes

[strebcr]

"Oh well, I guess I'm just a freak then."

"You told the neighbor lady, that you could show her infinite horrors. You also traumatized and old man for shits and giggles!"

[whirling-fangs]

The Dog, the Cat and the Boar

As long as humankind could remember, the wild lands of Japan had always been inhabited with Yōkai. Some large, some small, some dangerous, some inoffensive. Some evil, some benevolent.

The Dog, the Cat and the Boar cared little for such labels. They could not remember how long they had known each other. Their differences only cemented their bond, one's qualities complimenting the others' flaws. They were a team.

They were a family.

The Dog, the Cat and the Boar roamed the lands together. They were all the ruler of their own domain, and they would sometimes part to attend personal matters – but at the end of each quest, they would always meet up for a celebratory banquet.

Together, they were unbeatable. There was no enemy fearsome enough, no army large enough to take them down when they combined their strength.

Their downfall could only come from inside.

The humans and the yōkai were always bound by a precarious balance, begging to be shattered. It only took one spark, one death too many, to light the fire.

The Dog believed that humans were fundamentally good, and worth protecting against those that evil had irremediably tainted. The Cat believed that humans were the root of all problems, and that a peaceful coexistence was nothing but a pipe dream.

The Boar could not pick a side. He watched helplessly as his comrades grew further and further from each other, too set in their own ideals to see what they were losing.

Decades worth of memories. Of shared meals, shared laughter, shared smiles. Three similar trinkets, carved out of their own fangs. How odd for the Cat to be the most sentimental of them all – the Dog and the Boar had laughed, as they happily donned their friend's gift.

The Boar fled the bloodshed. He refused to let his memories be tainted by what had become of his comrades. He departed to the lands he had long left behind, to the mountain that had been the command center of his turf.

He was never to part from it again.

The years passed. Leaves grew anew on the trees, only to turn yellow, orange, red, lying a thick carpet across the lower slopes. Snow covered the mountains and melted away, turning lazy brooks into mighty rivers. The Boar listened to the wind, to the distant news its howls carried all the way to his mountain.

When he learnt of his old friends' untimely demise, he was not surprised. A single tear rolled down his cheek, before he brought his axe down the large log at his feet. Timber for the winter to come.

A simple life. Away from the rest of the world, away from the wars, the famines, the plagues. The Boar stopped listening to the wind's cries.

Until the old world came crashing into his old cabin, in the shape of a disheveled woman.

She was but skin and bones. Her face deformed from being bashed in, clothes torn over her bruised body. Tears had frozen over her mangled visage, her feet and hands turned blue from hypothermia.

The Boar ought to have chased her off. Had she not felt the demonic aura that surrounded his mountain, warding off any creature that bore even the slightest hint of ill intent?

The barrier only let the animals through. Only their hearts were pure enough to cross the sheer manifestation of the Boar's will.

As the Boar opened the door, and the woman collapsed into his arms, he was struck with a realization. This one's heart was not tainted. He had never seen such a pristine soul, gleaming with such force despite the abuse she must have endured.

The swelling of her face subdued with intense care. Her traits angelic, one eye gone blind from the repeated hits. Eyes that shared the same vibrant green as the young leaves of early spring.

The Boar's favorite color.

The weeks turned into months. The months turned into years. The woman's pursuers never came looking for her. The Boar's heart opened again, day after day, letting the radiance of the woman's soul seep into his old wounds. Cure aches that had festered for decades on end.

The Boar thought he couldn't be happier.

He was soon proven wrong.

The little one had his mother's eyes, and his father's ears. Every time he laid eyes upon that small form, allowed those minuscule fingers to wrap around his thumb, the Boar could feel his heart grow another size.

What a fleeting, fragile little life that was. There was nothing he wouldn't give in order to protect it from harm.

Dark clouds gathered above the mountain. They announced a storm unlike any other, one mighty enough to rip the trees apart and turn the rivers into devastating streams. The Boar led his family away from the cabin, into the deeper, higher caves, where they would be safe from the landslides and the floods.

Lightning parted the skies. The Boar felt the barrier, or rather, what remained of it, shatter all around him. For every wound that healed inside his heart, the barrier had grown weaker.

The Spider had not missed that chance. He knew all about the Boar, about his former comrades, about the past that the Boar had for so long tried to run away from. Like an old nightmare resurfacing, fate had caught up with him.

How ironic, for the Boar to finally take a side. A spit in the face of his dead comrades, was it not?

Rage festered inside the Boar's chest. The Spider needed nothing more to seep inside his soul, and seize a heart that had lost all its defenses.

When the Boar opened his eyes again, the scent of blood mixed with petrichor assaulted his senses. A terrible chill ran across his spine, from the warmth that coated his fingers to the rain that soaked his clothes. As his eyes fell to the ground, he felt the remnants of his soul shatter to pieces.

The woman lay sprawled across the ground, her arms outstretched towards the cliff upon which they stood. There was no light surrounding her. No pure glow, not even the smallest spark.

Her soul was gone.

The Boar collapsed to his knees. He brought her body to rest on its back, hands crossed above her chest. A final kiss placed on her forehead.

Before the Boar plunged his own claws into his chest.

The Spider would return to reap the rewards of his plot. As low as the mighty Boar might have fallen, the body of a Daiyōkai was always worth devouring.

The little one was washed away by the streams, until his wails caught the attention of a sorrowful boar mother. The sow brought the child over to her burrow, and nursed him to good health.

The Hanyō never worried about the past, neither did he think about the future. He survived day after day, discovering his own strength as he fought off the many demons that crawled over the mountain, looking for a master that had long departed these lands. The Hanyō's existence in itself was nothing but a rumor for the humans to fear.

Perhaps, someday, he would depart on a quest. Perhaps he would seek more power, better status, and a way to show the world just how strong he really was.

And perhaps, someday, he would figure out the meaning behind the odd little trinket that never left his wrist.

[osovereign]

☆ — @arrachnes

❝   no   matter   how   much   you   try   to   rid   yourself   of   it,   ❞ his   language   is   as   a   living   relic   as   he.   long   had   this   yokai   seen   the   rise   and   fall   of   mortal   and   daemon   kingdom.   yet,   this   demon   did   not   get   this   world   worn   by   hastily   drawing   his   blade   or   ability   to   any   that   dared   to   turn   their   nose   at   him,   no.   kratos   had   learned   through   the   years   by   watching,   by   observing   that   most   strife   could   attempted   be   settled   with   matter   of   word   over   prowess. ❝   you'll   always   smell   of   humanity--why   not   embrace   it?   ❞   after   all,   he   had   a   hanyou   child   himself.   how   could   either   race   hope   to   progress   if   even   those   caught   in   the middle   rejected   themselves?

[cryopathiic-a]

[ 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐥 ] + reversed 💜

horror actions prompt || accepting

The sutras often speak of a fountain in the great Heavens. It is raised from stones and sprouts deep from the earth's bowels, pouring infinite life-giving water into the land. In the Fountain of Paradise, the water is fresh, running. In Hell, it grows lifeless, stiff and frigid. Many believe Hell to be riddled with fire. But fire brings life the same as it takes it.

No, if Hell exists, it is more likely frozen over.

Dōma thinks about that as the hoarfrost begins to settle. Particles of debris float gracefully amidst the ravaged room. The silence is blaring, only disturbed by Naraku's rhythmic panting. There's shattered test tubes and furniture shards everywhere, spritzes of bloodspray across the walls from which crystallic vines bloom. Spikes protruding from them keep any aspiring aid at bay. Naraku's troupe of traitors, the younger oni and that woman Muzan-sama so loathes, have been dealt with; the ice encases them beautifully. And even through it, Upper Two can feel their features squirm in futile efforts to form an expression upon witnessing the battle that ensued. A flurry of blows orchestrated by the sizzling of corrosion eating through the frost. It left that lingering hiss like a snake's rattle; just as Naraku's words had left a lingering whisper in the back of Upper Two's mind.

You fulfill me.

You are my chance.

And oh, how he longed to silence it once and for all. To go back to the way things were. All his life, Dōma had longed to experience the shivers of first love and the gut-wrenching heartaches of grief. But as he watched his best friend collect himself from being splattered on the floor, all he felt was a knot at the back of his throat. Naraku's head bobs with a cough and black bile comes out to eat through the floorboards. The ice imprisons a gasp from their passive audience in the back of the room. And Dōma heaves; his shadow casts over the disgraced Kizuki and piercing eyes fix upon Naraku's battered visage with an unyielding glare as the fan's gilding catches a gleam of the room's light.

Each pompous footfall brings him closer to the pungent smell of venomous blood; the explosive blend of ash and death that lingers on those dark tendrils. And he had found himself growing fond of it. Just as he had found himself memorizing the texture of his hair, or the feel of his acid when poured down the throat; Naraku's blood burned like sake down the gullet.

And the more Dōma stared at him, prologing the cruel silence, the more he could not understand why those images were more vivid than ever before now, when they had not seen each other in months.

❝ Don't bother trying to get up. ❞ A cadence that carries the same comfort as a heaven-sent messenger. Dōma's aimless gaze settles on his companion's; through ruffled hair, Naraku looks up at him with eyes like stained glass. ❝ I don't want to hurt you more than I have to. More than you forced me to. ❞

He pauses only when he's hovering directly above the other. And there a thick brow twitches as something plays on Dōma's features; something threatening to form, but not quite. Perhaps it was just his contempt seeping through. What more could it be, when one harbors such a cruel element in their veins?

❝ Heaven and Hell might be man-made concepts. But, as you all know... ❞ Languidly, emotionless eyes traverse over the imprisoned traitors before returning upon the former Kizuki's visage. ❝ — our God is very real. And I am here as proof of his generosity. Muzan-sama is kind. He loves his creations in equal measure; that is why he sent me, Naraku. ❞ The fan is pressed sealed under his chin, tilting it up so they can properly face each other. ❝ To liberate you from your suffering. What else could you hope to find outside of Master's embrace? Face it, Nara. The humans view you as a monster. The second you are no longer of use to them, they will turn on you as well. And as for these two pathetic outcasts you've thought to side with... do you sincerely believe you can live out the rest of your days on the run? Surviving on crumbs, lest you offend a couple of airheaded buffoons that prioritize the pitiful life of a human over their own? Look at you. ❞

Gently, he smacks the other's cheek, shaking his head in repulsion.

❝ It pains me to see you like this. You are but a shell of what you used to be by my side... remember? Remember how much stronger you were, how much better you were. Remember, all the times we— ❞ Pause. Dōma swallows hard as something stirs the tranquility of his gaze; something wrinkles his expression. And he bites his lip. The light casts a dim halo around his tresses; slender fingers tighten around the handle as his weapon is raised; splayed open in its full golden glory.

❝ ... It doesn't matter. I would grant you the mercy of a few last words, but you are only going to use them to worm your way in my head. Master has warned me that this might happen. You have poisoned me. You have tainted me. So, I am really sorry to do this, but I must sever the infected limb. ❞ And there he thought he would hear the swipe of his own fan, held by a hand that looked like his own but felt like someone else's. There he'd thought he would be blinking away a splash of red as a tingle of acidic blood might caress his face; there he'd thought something, some force of faith or whatever, would take him over and land that finalizing blow.

But nothing happened. Dōma's hand remained raised, as if a rope was tied around his wrist and holding it in place. Lavender claws scratched the fan's wing ever so slightly, betraying that his grip was clenching around it. Holding onto the one thing he can rely on when his world is collapsing around him; when all he has known is but a rug pulled under his feet.

❝ What... ❞ A voice that comes darker, raspier than before; deliberately wrapped in darkness to disguise the tremble within it. There's a faint crackling from the ice that encompasses everything around them; and the lower the temperature seems to drop, the more Upper Two's hand begins to shake. To bring the fan down and open Naraku's throat should be an effortless, swift blow; yet it feels like he's pulling on a chain made of lead. And he.... he can't.

He can't do it.

Naraku would be able to detect the exact moment that realization hit; with a twitch of dark brows — and, oh, how Dōma's breath picks up. How his heartbeat comes to a climax. It's a rush; it's a thrill; it's a shiver of fear. His breath hitches; voice drops to a terrified whisper.

❝ — what... what have you done to me? ❞

[sasouken]

arrachnes + tanjiro

"i know miss tamayo asked you to keep an eye on us from time to time. . . but don't you think your presence will scare off other demons?"

[holified]

" Oh, I wonder... For just how long do you intend to shame yourself? You are barely more than a half-living husk, yet you insist on lingering in a world that no longer has any use of you... Why? " — @arrachnes

❝OH, YOU'RE ONE TO talk, Naraku.❞ Her cold grey eyes looked him up and down, disdain written all over her face as her eyes finally rested on his own. A small, sarcastic smirk curled her lips before she spoke in a slightly amused tone –as if she was looking at something pathetic and foolish. ❝You exist because of me, your desire for me is what brought you to life, and that is what bounds you to this world still. You are nothing but a half-demon that should never have existed in the first place. Your very existence is an abomination and an annoyance. Which is why I remain here; since it was for me that you were born, nothing more fitting than for me to take your life, wouldn't you say?❞

[hanyo-inu-yasha]

@arrachnes, plotted thread.

A chill was in the wind on that fine spring morning, making all the clearer each new scent carried with the breeze. Inuyasha sat waiting, as he had for the last two decades, with his back to the bone eating well, and a solemn sigh on his lips. His eyes looked up towards the bright blue sky, while his mind wandered through the ages, wondering if Kagome was seeing the same sky. In his heart, he knew she was alive and well, albeit, far off in a distant time. That was enough to ease his worries, but his heart still refused to move on. 

This melancholic train of thought was interrupted, when Inuyasha caught a particular scent that sent a shiver down his spine. “Naraku!” He spits the name like a curse, all at once getting to his feet and rushing off to find the source of this abhorrent stench. He leaps through treetops with a practiced ease, bending bows and leaving them to sway in his stormy wake. A thousand thoughts rush through his mind, while his heart hammers hard against his ribcage, full to bursting with white hot rage, and fear in equal measures. 

When he spots the dark figure, alone in a grassy clearing, he’s swift to dive in and knock him off his feet with a body-slam, but something feels off. He backs up for the moment, snarling with fangs and claws bared at the ready. His golden eyes gleam with ferocious intent, his pupils narrowed to dangerous slits. “How the hell did you manage to come back?!” he demands with a toothy snarl, not yet seeing the difference between this stranger and his old foe.

[blindsighted]

Reply. @arrachnes

" It's lonely, isn't it? " Sympathetic softness colors the gentle imposition- the steady hand of one attempting to remove a thorn from the lion's paw. There are no malicious machinations hidden behind his impassive, charcoal gaze. He faces down the fierce demonic presence with a calm passivity backed by an ocean of understanding.

[cryopathiic]

'did any of this matter to you?'

angst prompts || no longer accepting

TIME FREEZES WITH THOSE WORDS; platinum locks fall softly back into place mid-bounce and the rime slowly settles around Upper Two like snow mellowing after the blizzard. A thin crystallic sheen glosses over his perplexed gaze as he takes in sight of his opponent; beaten bloody, within an inch of his existence in this sadistically prolonged fight. Naraku gargles a sardonic laugh and Dōma swears he can taste the bitterness in the air around them.

And he can't help himself. The fans lower. A second time he's caught in that man's web — somehow the former Kizuki always has the right words to lure him in. And it's frustrating.

Behind them, the ice children lament the sound of their own crackling as Upper Two's blood art begins to run amock with the oncoming surge of emotion. That flutter in his chest that he has yet to settle with — the one Master keeps insisting is just poison seeping into his system. Kill it, Muzan-sama insists. And he must know something, right? He's a thousand years old, so he must know something.

DON'T ENGAGE WITH HIM. KEEP FIGHTING.

But Dōma's expression only darkens; and stills into a deadpan he so rarely dons. It's not one of his prettier masks, the smiling, kind ones he usually prefers. And once again Muzan's rich cadence becomes a distant echo and Dōma enters that space — the one his former colleague introduced him to. A realm where colors look brighter and sounds ring louder; where life feels more vivid. Just like it had when they first —

❝ Naraku. ❞ He begins calmly, as if they were to start a civil discussion about it. But Dōma can't help the crescendo, no matter how adamantly he drags the words between his teeth.

❝ How ... could you ever ask me that ... after you ruined my life ?! ❞

A step forward taken in tandem with the accusatory finger pointed in his adversary's ravaged face. Venom drips from its skeletal maw and sizzles on the frost-glazed ground. Upper Two's hands motion wildly as he begins to count his woes — urged by a pressure between his lungs that has only been building ever since his companion left. And now it feels like if he doesn't let it out, he might implode!

❝ I... I've lost everything because of you! Master's favor, I—I've lost my appetite, I'm losing my mind day by day and I— ugh! Do you even realize how agonizing that is, Nara? Watching myself go mad in that place, day by the day, when I know I've got a whole eternity ahead of me, and- and that's a long time to be going insane, Naraku! That's a really, really long time! ❞ For once he chooses to ride the wave; throws his hands up in frustration, lets his fingers curl and teeth show and eyes widen in a way that's far from flattering. It only grows worse when a realization hits — in that moment, he forgets all about the blood bond, all about his place and task there, overwhelmed by a thought that he has not dared speak to anyone else; not even himself.

❝ And the worst part of it is I don't think Master is going to kill me. I'm worried that he might— he might let me live like this! ❞

His voice cracks and that alerts him to the reality of their situation.

The shattered creations, the flowers growing on the walls like a parasite enveloping this woman's lab from the inside — the way his nails have dug into his own palms and more lotus blossoms spawn on the ground around him. His hoarfrost is moving on its own accord, spreading Naraku's way — is ... is he longing to be ... near that wretch? To hear something comforting from lips that were made to spew nothing but poison?

No. It can't be. Subconsciously, his hand hovers to feel the bloodstained crown that suddenly feels so heavy on his neck. For a moment, Dōma lingers amidst the frigid chaos, visibly disoriented. Naraku stands there with an expression he can't quite decipher and it feels as though he is the only piece of direction in the room. The only thing he can recognize is the smell of his poison. He squishes his eyes shut.

❝ ... It... I suppose... it doesn't matter. What's done is done now. I realized that I can't change what you have done to me. You infected me when you gave me a piece of your humanity to hold. I suppose I should be thanking you for that experience. ❞ There was a note of sarcasm. Once, he had let the confession slip past his lips while sharing a cup of warm blood with Upper Three in the outback teahouse. 'I wonder what it feels like for them. Naraku? Do you think a demon like me could ever... experience that?' Inadvertedly his memory recreates the scene - the way a tender breeze had stroked through Nara's tendrils and the soft curves of his face as it contorted in an unnatural expression. A smile. So warm and inviting, just like that woman.

The smile of someone who sees you. And not just what they wish to see.

Now he didn't want to let his mind wander to the thought; but he still heard it, reverberated in his head by some voice that was neither Muzan's nor his own. Naraku had listened. He was the only one who had listened and knew of Dōma's most treasured secret; that he longed to feel in the way humans did. He longed to live the lives he had spent so long watching from his pedestal. A God who wished to laugh, to cry, to love and hate like a mortal.

How... utterly disgusting to admit for himself.

He shakes the thoughts out of his head.

❝ But instead, I think I'm just going to kill you. Then Master will be pleased again and this farce can come to an end. And, well, because killing you might make me feel better! ❞

[fell-down-the-well]

PLUCKS one of her little notebooks and pens when she is not aware. Another for his growing collection.

Eh, he can come back for the shards later.

❝Who the heck took my notebook and pens?! This is just like when my math textbook disappeared! Except--that happened at home...

❝Inuyaaashaaa?! DID YOU DO THIS?!❞

Clearly she has no idea who did it~! And who knows if she'd believe it if she did!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

. @arrachnes, @inufangs

[whirling-fangs]

closed starter || @arrachnes

Inosuke kicked at a pebble with enough force to send it flying far from sight. He didn't even feel it land – in fact, he hardly felt anything at all.

Boar eyes cast a dark glare at the man who walked just a few meters behind him. Well, calling him a man was probably not too far from the truth, while not being entirely exact either.

"Why do I have to get stuck with you?! You're messing with my senses! I can't try to pick up on a demon nearby if there's one walking right beside me!"

The weight of the demon's glare felt like a drill through the back of Inosuke's skull. Each time he tried to take a breath, and let his senses spread, that heavy glare brought him back to the most immediate sensations. There was no way he could use his senses to their fullest in these conditions.

"Can't you stop staring at me for a second?!It's like you've never seen a boar before!"

[strebcrarchivess]

[finally the day has come] 🐝🐝🐝

Send 🐝 to randomly throw a fucking beehive at my muse

"WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK!? I DON'T EVEN FUCKING KNOW YOU!!!"

Sometimes you don't need the Saimyōshō to absolutely ruin someone's day! The simple yet effective beehive does wonders!! Rest in piss Streber this is karma for spaying a guy with water this morning.

[inun4ki]

In  the  darkness,  a  familiar  beast  manifested.  Long  tendrils  of  black  hair  spill  over  Kaede's  shoulders  as  the  spider  descends  from  the  shadows,  to  the  tune  of  clacking  spider  limbs.  Naraku's  sharp  claws  sank  into  Kaede's  shoulders  as  he  was  embraced  from  behind.

  "  There  you  are.  And  here  I  thought  you  were  avoiding  me."

  He  whispers  into  Kaede's  ear,  with  sharp  teeth  and  an  even  sharper  eyes.

  "  My  favorite  soul  to  torment."

His first impulse was to smile, having finally earned the attentions of the devil in human skin and spider limbs. Only hints of pain filtered through his nervous system as claws dug into silken fabric and flesh, the threat of danger playing with Kaede's sensibilities in a few more ways than one, hair darker than his own spooling over each of his shoulders. His next instinct was to lean backward against Naraku, coquettishly tilt his head to the side and expose more of his weak points to him - neck, pulse, the slightest bob of his throat, never mind the conflict inside him. Danger, run, safety, relax. That was the thrill of it, however. Never quite knowing if Naraku would sink his claws in deeper and cut through a few veins like a knife through a thin sheet of paper.

Ever so titilated, Kaede tried to maintain an otherwise dignified composure, setting all the time he'd spent...neglecting Naraku aside for the moment in favor of adoring him now. A hand tentatively rose to touch at the ends of dark-violet hair, steadily inching further and further up until the tips of his fingers brushed against cool skin, thumb sweeping over the slope of Naraku's jaw.

"I just had some work that needed doing. Don't tell me you were lonely, Naraku-dono..." As if he hadn't longed to see him, himself. He wouldn't have come if he could take another day without the so-called torment he'd so often been entreated to. It'd been months, it seemed, since he last saw him, the softer sides of him more excited than afeared - used to the monstrous entrances and rough-handling by now.

He hummed softly, wondering if the tightness of Naraku's grip had any true bite behind it. Was he angry? Frustrated? Dismayed? Excited in his own way, perhaps? Naraku was still a mystery to him in most circumstances, but if he had been angry, Kaede suspected he'd have been treated far worse than this. Killed, maybe, he couldn't be sure. Or...abandoned, realistically. But such hadn't been the case, no, not if Naraku had swarmed him, towered over him, gripped him so tightly--

"If this is your way of saying you missed me," he muttered, a certain sweetness to his words as he turned his head just enough to sneak a peek into violet eyes and an unreadable expression. Always so intimidating...! "Then, I missed you all the same."

[fruitanddarkness]

"Are you not worried that I would betray you? The others suspect and fear me. They would dismiss my intentions outright. With good reason. Why are you different?" - [ for kanae, from KnY verse Naraku ]

Demons were such sad creatures. The manifestation of desperation and deprivation at their most dangerous state... ⋆┈┈｡ﾟ❃ུ۪ ❀ུ۪ ❁ུ۪ ❃ུ۪ ❀ུ۪ ﾟ｡┈┈⋆

For all of their displays of power and a shadow of their former human lives. Many had been deformed and fueled by their desire for something greater- often against their will... resulting in a ravenous hunger that could never be sated even if they feasted from an ocean of blood. A husk carrying a soul; left forever wanting that simple human comfort now likely forever out of their reach...

But- for a smaller amount, a chance at the price of becoming a demon was a fair deal. Some who lived in squalor, or escaped a doomed situation, even something as simple as seeking refuge or respite from an emotional burden.. or perhaps, even just for fun, what was their humanity but a simple means to pay the piper at the end of the day. Those demons were often the most dangerous... Kanae could understand that. Wanting the power to change your fate for something better. To live another day. To escape the confines of what humanity, with all of its accompanying structures, oppressions, and guaranteed suffering, had to offer...

The Flower Pillar would pause for a moment. One of the only females in the core, and one of the top three current Hashira to patrol these lands in the dead of night. Her looks well enough to fool anyone that she was anything but a sword-wielding slayer of demons. Lavender hues that sparkled with an almost nieve sense of optimism appeared to try and break down the being before her. Asking an endless array of questions that fine-painted lips would hold back lest the exiled Upper Moon could read her thoughts. What was his life before now? What fate had Naraku escaped to become so powerful as to one point be a devil among demons? What was it that he continued to run from.. or perhaps, what was it their humanity still had yet to fulfill while they bore the brunt of mortality?

⋆┈┈｡ﾟ❃ུ۪ ❀ུ۪ ❁ུ۪ ❃ུ۪ ❀ུ۪ ﾟ｡┈┈⋆

"Well... It's because I believe that as long someone is given a chance, there is hope for a better future."

Lady Kocho's voice was cheerful and sweet like a songbird in spring. Pleasant to all who heard it's almost melodic tone. She began to approach the demon with a fearless sense of calm as she elaborated on her words.

"Your life as a demon is your second chance. I'd say you've already made quite a statement for yourself. But, if you really are as terrible as they say, you would have taken out half of our core by now without much effort."

Through all of her own personal trials and tribulations, Kanae was not a woman to become jaded by the fact many demons had to be disposed of. A hand as equally warm as it was strong would reach out, placing itself casually on Naraku's shoulder with a friendly yet firm pat.

"Although you've certainly made a name for yourself in this life, your humanity is never truly gone. It simply shifts its priorities."

"It's not a very popular opinion among the other slayers at all, in fact, I get scolded for it quite often. But a few do at least understand my conviction, which is far more than I thought I would get."

Her smile remained ever kind; genuine without any hint of deceit or dishonesty.

"That said, you're one of my shining examples of cohabitation between humans and demons being possible! So please try not to let me down ok?~ Now then let me brush your hair, it's hard to get out all of the tangles once it gets that long."

[cryopathiic-a]

💐💐💐💐 [ plot twist, they are made of bones and meticulously shaped & carved into flowers ]

flower prompt if you even care :/ || accepting

The flower festival is a celebration of color. Plucked fresh from the temple's hanging gardens, arrays of bouquets are tied off with red string and decorate the rusty statues guarding shrines. An air of jubilance hangs over the faithful on that day, as they prepare to welcome the oncoming spring.

Winter comes to its fated end; the ice melts into rivers, returning life-giving water back to the earth.

It is with the same generosity that The Lord Founder greets his many faithful in the aftermath of a busy evening. Filled with dance, laughter and rejoicing in love. His wave, soft and airy, matches the impalpable entrance of the midnight moon. And there, under the cover of night, his mask falls sweetly as silk from a maiden's skin and there reveals something few may dare to gaze upon. Because so few blossoms dare bloom in the darkness.

Standing alone in the quiet outback, Dōma's expression had been harshly empty. His eyes reflected a round moon over the ponds and his sternum lay flat, as if he had sucked in a greedy breath and refused to let it go. In the utmost stillness of the night, he was not unlike the demon Kokushibo's statue, hoisted proudly over the waters on a pedestal. Perhaps it was those hollowed carved eyes that urged Upper Two's shoulders into jumping slightly when the familiar scent of poison filled his lungs.

He turns slowly, the smile slipping back on like clockwork. Pale lips part slightly as his vibrant gaze falls on the third moon's offering. Watching Naraku's poised gait closer without a word, the priest's face wears an indecipherable pause — somewhat lost in thought, dreamy or perplexed; the knot between his brows would not confess.

❝ ... You made this for me. ❞ He acknowledges, or eases the admission out of the other anyway. Naraku has trouble with words, at times. When they're most heartfelt, Upper Two has noted. ❝ You should have given it to me before. Mm— I know, I was a little busy mingling and whatnot. But, you shouldn't be shy to approach me, Nara. If any human catches onto what you are, I will say that you're some malevolent spirit that haunts me from time to time. And then— well, you might get some salt spritzed on you but... you'll be fine~ ❞ Dōma laughs. They didn't get to interact as much as he had hoped during the festival. These celebrations were meant to keep the humans happy and healthy, after all — and placid.

❝ Let me see what you've made there. I must admit, I'm not the best at telling flowers apart. ❞ A convenient lie their Master has heard all too many times. ❝ But... ❞ A sharp claw reaches out then, tenderly scraping the marble-like petals before taking them in his arms. ❝ I would say those slightly resemble carnations, to me. ❞

His gaze snaps up and thick lashes no longer protect Naraku from its penetrating glow. At times like these, Dōma looks as if he is gazing directly in the pitch black void that is Upper Three's soul. His eyes do not wonder the darkness in search of something. He doesn't seek to run from it, either. He simply stares at the void, expecting it to blink back, eventually. And it is with that same meticulous perseverance that his tongue trails the edge of one of those petals, never breaking eye contact lest he miss the nuances of his companion's reaction.

❝ -— you know... out of all my subordinates-- ❞ Spoken with such intonation as if he meant for Upper One's statue to hear. And then his cold hand reached out to take the other's, leading him gently into a spin. ❝— you taste the absolute sweetest~ But... now that you gave me flowers, it is mandated that you'll dance with me as well. What else would you be giving me flowers for, huh? ❞

[giseihana]

❝ i don’t want anything to happen to you. ❞ [ as kagewaki, perhaps?? o/ ]

a list of don’t sentence starters. / accepting.

sango has to bite her tongue - bracing her battered body against the sharp pain that explodes throughout her torso. for a moment, she tastes copper in the back of her throat, & the inside of her skull feels like it's being bludgeoned by a hundred mallets. she collects herself in the silence, ignoring the way it falls over them so awkwardly, as though it were ill-fitting or unnatural. 

❝ i’ll be fine, ❞ she insists through grit teeth, pulling harder at the ribbon securing the armor plate against her shin. she is resolute in her refusal to even turn & face him, unwilling to see any gods-cursed pity in his gaze. even if the words are ash on her tongue, sango is more than willing to crawl from her own grave again & again & again to prove her strength. & there is nothing the young lord can say that would sway her.   besides, she couldn’t just sit here, knowing the monster who decimated her village was alive. what would her father think ?