ineverfailcorp

[thewintersoldierdisaster]

Another concept: not just him turning it around to eat you out , but fucking you while he’s wearing it and wearing a chain

ohhh yes 🥵

this is the mood and what i’ll be thinking about for the foreseeable future, thank you very much!!!

[tanjhero-a]

Shattered Pieces (Tanjirou x OC)

A/N: Commissioned fic once again for darling @knyheadcanons-imagines​ :)) Thank u so much for your constant love and support  💕

It’s a beautiful day today. 

Even more beautiful, Tanjirou finds himself daydreaming, with Hayami tending to the garden at the Butterfly Estate. She simply radiates and shines just as bright as the sun; the flowers she waters help frame her like a gorgeous picture. If there was ever a way to save a single moment in time, for him to hold it in his hand so he can look at it and remember it forever- he’d easily find a way to create that with Nezuko. And then… And then maybe this moment, too. 

Soft violet eyes meet his own, and Tanjirou barely registers it until Hayami’s pretty pink lips form a smile, directed toward him, and suddenly Tanjirou feels like bursting. 

It’s also comedic how red he gets, but he tries to ignore it as he (eagerly) waves her way. She waves back, and to Tanjirou’s surprise, she sets her watering can down next to the flowers. 

And walks his way. 

Now would be a good time to tone down his blush, Tanjirou thinks. So she doesn’t notice- yes, that would be good.

Too bad it’s not going anywhere anytime soon. 

“It’s good to see you, Tanjirou!” Hayami smiles again- and how can someone be so pretty so effortlessly? 

“Good!” Tanjirou squeaks, and then clears his throat- “good to see you, too! I didn’t know you were coming to the estate!” 

It’s totally embarrassing how he stumbled in his speech like that- but like the friend that Hayami is, she doesn’t acknowledge it and instead nods her head. He almost breaks down when she doesn't warn him before she pulls him into a hug, his arms stiffly and awkwardly hovering around her before he manages to kick himself into gear and hug her back. But again, if Hayami notices his default, she doesn't mention it as she pulls away. “Yeah! I’m meeting up with Kanao. We’re going on a mission tomorrow. Are you here for similar reasons?” 

Her head tilts as she asks the question- it would have made him blush harder because of how cute it is, but unfortunately, Tanjirou is already at max-capacity with blushing. 

“A-ah, no, actually. For once,” he laughs, nervously raising a hand to awkwardly scratch the back of his neck as he takes a small step back. Just enough so he isn't so close- so he can breathe a little easier. “Nezuko and I are taking a bit of a break. We’re trying to help Shinobu, too. She’s been tracking some of Muzan’s movements, so she asked for our help.” 

Hayami’s eyes light up in surprise. “Oh, really? That’s good, then! The closer we can get, the better. I hope it leads somewhere!” 

“Thank you!” He feels a rush of determination at her wish of good luck- and he responds in kind. “Good luck on your mission, too!” 

A kind, simple exchange. Hayami smiles and thanks Tanjirou, and then she goes back to watering the flowers. Tanjirou leaves for his duties as well, heart beating a bit faster than before, but it always feels nice to talk with a friend. 

The rest of the day goes swimmingly, but it feels like it’s a bit brighter now that Tanjirou knows Hayami is at the estate. He feels a bit foolish for going out of his way to find her several times throughout the day, but she always lights up when he comes around, so perhaps it’s not that foolish. When the night comes, she visits his room, visiting with Nezuko and wishing her a good night along with Tanjirou. He quickly wishes her the same, and he definitely doesn’t watch her as she leaves, walking off to her own room. 

And no one can understand Nezuko anyway, so he definitely didn’t do that, and he definitely didn’t have hearts in his eyes, either. And, most importantly, he definitely didn’t go to bed smiling just from thinking of how cute Nezuko and Hayami looked together when they talked tonight. 

——

Tanjirou wakes up with a gasp, heart thundering in his chest as cold sweat falls from his temple. 

It wasn’t often that Tanjirou had night terrors, but when they hit- they hit hard. But he’s- he takes a deep breath, inhaling and exhaling shakily as his fists find the covers and twists the material between his fingers. He’s fine, he’s fine… 

But then a flash of his dream hits him, kicks him in the gut- it was just a gruesome image of blood, blood, blood covering platinum hair and violet eyes. 

Tanjirou shivers, and before he knows it, he’s on his feet. 

Isn’t this weird? Isn’t this childish? He remembers all of the times that his siblings came to his side at night, crying and shaking from a nightmare- he remembers rubbing their back, holding them close, lulling them back to sleep with him under thin sheets. He’s always been that- the big brother, the pillar of stability and rationalization. 

So Tanjirou hesitates when he finds himself in that same place, that same scenario- but this time, he’s the child, twiddling his thumbs outside of the door and wondering if he should really go through with this. 

It was just a dream. 

But what an awful dream it was.

“Hayami?” His voice comes out quietly, but it’s somehow still so loud compared to the thick silence of the night. Tanjirou winces, already regretting doing this, but unfortunately, the sliding door opens before he can run back to his room. 

It’s Hayami on the other side, of course, properly dressed for bed and looking a little bleary-eyed, her hair more messy and tangled than it usually was during the day. He must have woken her up. 

“I- I’m sorry, Hayami, you should go back to bed,” Tanjirou quickly whispers, but she merely shakes her head and rubs her eyes. 

“No, it’s okay,” she whispers, too. It comes naturally because of how dark it is, how late it is. “Do you need anything? Everything okay?” 

Tanjirou shuffles in his spot, his lips already pulling awkwardly on his face. He’s a terrible liar, really- he’s even worse when it’s Hayami. “It’s nothing big,” Tanjirou shakes his head lightly, looking at the floorboards. “I’m just worried.” 

She doesn’t reply right away. When she does, it’s not with words- but an invitation as she slides the door open a little more, moving to the side as she looks at him kindly. Tanjirou doesn’t say anything either but eagerly takes her offer, slipping inside her dark room before he can convince himself not to, Hayami sliding the door shut behind him. She walks back to her mat, folding her legs underneath her as she sits down on the blankets and Tanjirou awkwardly moves to sit beside her; as she watches him, she laughs through her nose. 

“No need to be so tense, Tanjirou,” She reassures him quietly. “Relax.”

“Right,” he does as she says with a sigh, pulling his lips together and lacing his hands in his lap. When he looks up, she’s looking at him expectantly, still wearing that kind smile. He melts. “I had a bad dream,” he admits quietly, “about your mission. I dreamed you got really hurt, and I just… I really don’t want anything bad to happen to you, Hayami,” his brows crease on his forehead as he speaks. 

“Tanjirou,” Hayami softly sighs, and one of her hands reaches forward to place atop his on his lap. He flusters at the touch, blushing anxiously- and he’s thankful for the dark cover of night that hopefully hides his hot cheeks from her. “There is no need to worry. I’m alright,” she squeezes his hands, “and I will be after the mission, too. I’ll be back, and I will be fine. I promise.” 

“Thank you,” he whispers meekly. “I know, it’s still just…”

“You can’t help it. I get the same way,” she hums. “Do you want to stay here for the night? I will probably be up early in the morning, but you’re more than welcome to stay.” 

“Oh- I- I couldn’t-“

“Please. If it helps, I want you to stay,” Hayami reassures him swiftly, and Tanjirou hesitates. He looks at her sliding door, then back at her- and…

His head sinks between his shoulders shamefully. “Thank you, Hayami.” 

“Come here,” The girl tugs on his hands, urging him closer, and he looks at her curiously as she helps him lay on the mattress. Soon enough, before he realizes what’s happening, his head is in her lap and her fingers are running through his hair. 

Huh.

He’s pretty sure he’s blushing again- or he never stopped. Either way, if the moon cast her gaze on him now, she would reveal his wild beating heart and love-struck gaze, so he prays that he will stay blanketed in the darkness. No words are exchanged as Hayami begins to hum, her hands still coursing through his strands so soothingly that he feels his eyes getting heavy from the motion. Eventually, the hum becomes a soft, quiet song- lyrics hanging in the air that he can’t really grasp because of his muddled mind. 

Before he realizes it, he falls asleep like that. Safe in her hands and her watchful gaze, he sleeps, and no more dreams haunt him that night. The only thing he pictures is a field of lavender that sways from the wind and a soft song that rings beautifully in the air.

——

Of course, when Tanjirou wakes, Hayami is gone. She said she’d be leaving early, and surprisingly, Tanjirou slept heavily enough that he didn’t stir even once throughout the rest of the night. It’s still morning, but it’s getting late- so he tries not to fluster too much from the idea of sleeping in Hayami’s bed as he rushes back to his room and gets ready for the new day. 

Despite Hayami’s reassurances and the facts that he knew- which is that Hayami is more than strong and capable, she’s smart, too- Tanjirou couldn’t help but fumble around as he helped Shinobu today. It probably didn’t help that he was still replaying last night over and over in his mind- not only the dream, but the way Hayami sang, and the way she looked so beautiful with the moon shining behind her. And remembering how lovely, wonderful, beautiful she is… it creates more awkward fumbling and an anxious spike in his chest. He was worried. Something about his dream last night struck a chord deep in him and no matter how much he tried to push his anxieties to the side, the funk wouldn’t leave. 

Because what if something did happen? What if she really did get hurt, all the while as Tanjirou was separating herbs for medicine? At least it’s useful, he thinks, because if she really did get hurt, Tanjirou knew first hand that they had more than enough supplies to take care of her, no matter what. 

But even that still made his gut twist with fear. Because what if it wasn’t enough? What if, what if, what if? 

What if Kanao walks into the estate alone? 

That’s ridiculous, of course! Such a thing wouldn’t happen. Definitely not. Tanjirou eventually had to slam his head hard against a wall, almost creating a crack in it (the wall, unfortunately, as his head was still as thick as a stone and wasn’t splitting anytime soon) to shock himself out of his bad thoughts. He has things to do! 

So Tanjirou buries his nose in his work, moving viciously and making the nurses make worried comments, but that’s fine. He’s fine! And so is Hayami! Yes, yes. Everything is fine. 

And yet. 

There’s something inside Tanjirou that shatters when he sees Kanao come through the Butterfly Estate gates, a limp body in her arms; the body covered in dark stains of blood and familiar blonde hair that covers their face, messily tangled and equally as dirty. He’s not exactly sure what shatters- a part of him, deep inside and hidden somewhere that’s locked away, and maybe it’s a part of him that’s been left abandoned and unassessed because of how undesirable and ugly it is. Maybe it was a part of him built up from seeing so, so many people die, seeing his family’s corpses, seeing things he shouldn’t have seen over and over again, grotesque and gut-wrenching- and seeing her, too. Seeing her just like that, just like all the other skeletons in his closet. It’s- it’s… 

Something vicious and primal comes clawing up his throat, his heart, his head. Let me out, let me out, let me out, it begs. It wants to throw him into a frenzy, it wants to throw him into disarray, and it wants to destroy him. 

And Tanjirou swallows that beast down, as hard as he can as he leads Kanao quickly to the private rooms in the estate. He keeps swallowing it down- because he has to. Even when his heart drops when he sees Hayami’s face; when he sees the slashes in her torso, the gash on her forehead. Even then, he clenches his fist, and that’s it. His blunt fingernails somehow manage to make indents and make his palms bleed, but that’s the worst of his damage. The physical damage, of course.

He can’t speak for the emotional damage yet. 

Tanjirou is also keenly aware that he can’t do anything. He can’t help heal her, he doesn’t know how that works. The best he can do is protect her, but that opportunity has passed. Now there is nothing. 

As the nurses rush in and out of the room, carrying out baskets of bloody towels and carrying in more and more gauze and supplies, he finds that the best thing he can do for himself is walk away. He walks to his room, and once he’s sure that it’s dark enough, he unlatches Nezuko’s box. Tanjirou was mildly expecting her to be asleep, so he’s a bit surprised to see her sakura eyes staring up at him. 

He takes his shite luck wholeheartedly though, and he holds her tight. It doesn’t matter if Nezuko doesn’t hold him back, because he just needs something to ground him. 

She does, though- one hand reaching up to hold his head against her shoulder, the other one rubbing his back. Tanjirou gasps, tenses, and finally, the beast in him comes out. It scratches his throat viciously as it does, causing him to cry out, and it bursts through his eyes and makes him sob. 

Maybe he holds Nezuko too tight, and maybe he cries and sobs too loud. 

But for now, in the safety of her arms, that’s okay. 

So he lets that beast come out, as ugly and undesirable as it may be. 

——

It’s hours later that Tanjirou finally feels well enough to go outside his room, and when he does, a little nurse immediately comes to his side and gives him the good news. 

Hayami is fine, of course. It definitely looked scary, but she would heal and be back in the field soon enough. No lasting damage, no risks of infection. 

The best outcome. 

That was only mildly true, Tanjirou thinks, because the best outcome would be the one where she returned to the estate happy and unharmed. But- besides that- this was surely the best outcome. He thanks the little girl earnestly for the news, and he quickly makes his way to her room where she rests peacefully. 

He comes in and out as the day continues. He still has a job he has to do, after all, but Tanjirou always comes back to her room when he can. It’s only a day later when she wakes. 

When her eyes blink open, violet irises murky and slightly faded from exhaustion and confusion- it feels like Tanjirou is finally allowed to breathe again. 

There’s an impulse he feels to jump and wrap Hayami in his arms, and his arms flinch from that impulse, but he stops. Freezes. That probably wouldn’t be a good idea- he’d probably hurt her even more if he squeezed her like he wants to, just so he can feel her heartbeat, make sure she’s really alive. 

She is alive. Her eyes are open, they’re swimming with morality, shining as they look at him, and she smiles. 

He’s still frozen. 

“Tanjirou,” Hayami sighs, one of her hands reaching forward and placing atop his shaking ones on his lap. “I worried you again, didn’t I?” Her face falls a bit, the smile on her face becoming strained as she coughs and her eyebrows knit together. “I’m sorry.” 

“No,” Tanjirou finally swallows, willing himself to speak as his hand wraps around hers, holding it tight and securely. “Don’t be sorry, it’s not your fault that you got hurt. I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” he apologizes quickly. It bursts out of him because the words have been repeating in his head over and over since he first saw her in Kanao’s arms. 

Hayami merely huffs, squeezing his hand back as she gives him a knowing look. 

“Why would you be? You were supposed to be here, not with me. There’s no reason for you to be sorry, either.” 

His mouth opens and closes dumbly. Tanjirou wasn’t sure what to say to that- his brows furrow on his forehead as he squints. And then, reluctantly, he sighs and bites his lip. 

“Then neither of us should be sorry,” he says and Hayami smiles. 

“That sounds fair.”

A silence wafts through, then- it’s not unfriendly or bad, but Tanjirou still itches to say something else. And he’s also vividly aware of the fact that he’s still holding her hand, but he doesn’t really want to let go. “I’m really happy that you’re safe,” he says and winces. That’s not what he really wanted to say.

Hayami doesn’t seem to notice- she smiles and nods. 

“I know you’re hurt, but…” Unknowingly, Tanjirou’s eyes grow big and soft, almost pleading as he looks her way. Unknowingly, it makes Hayami’s heart skip a beat as he asks, “would it be alright if I hugged you?” 

“Of course, Tanjirou!” Hayami replies instantly, her smile growing already, and unknowingly, that makes Tanjirou’s own heart skip, too. She shuffles around on her pillows, using her free hand to help prop herself up on the pillows- and then Tanjirou is already surrounding her, arms holding but not suffocating as they cradle her body gently and securely. Tanjirou exhales a shaky sigh as he hugs her, her own hands coming to slowly wrap around him. 

“I’m really glad you’re safe,” he says again, against her skin, and she hums. Her hands move up and down his back, her eyes shut as she relaxes against him. 

He’s warm. Warm and safe, so unlike the cold feeling of demons, of war and survival. Tanjirou is a welcome contradiction of the world they are surrounded in, Hayami thinks.

“Thank you, Tanjirou.” She says earnestly and honestly, pressing her forehead against his collarbone with a sigh. 

And then she winces when she tries to move her arms again, and Tanjirou bursts to life. 

“Right! I need to get the nurses- and I need to tell Shinobu you’re up! And Kanao, too. She doesn’t show it, but she was really worried.” He paces around the room quickly and Hayami giggles as she watches him. The sound makes him freeze, looking at her with wide eyes. 

His lips form a smile as his eyes soften. “I’ll be right back,” he promises, and then he leaves the room in a flash. 

Alone in her room, Hayami laughs again, leaning against her pillows with a flustered grin despite all the gashes and slashes on her body that urge her to do anything but. The hummingbird pace of her heart simply disagrees with the burning and throbbing.

——

It was agreed, or perhaps the word is forced that Tanjirou became one of Hayami’s main caretakers as she healed in the estate. 

It was ridiculous, of course, because Tanjirou really didn’t know the first thing about nursing other than the things he knew from being an older brother in a big family. But it was agreed (forced) nonetheless, as long as another nurse was by his side in case he did something wrong. 

But he was careful. Always careful, always thoughtful. He always checked in with the nurse before he gave Hayami her medicine, and always asked if he was doing it correctly when he helped rewrap her bandages. 

Hayami was honestly flattered by how determined he was to help care for her. Flattered, and maybe a bit embarrassed. Having Tanjirou constantly at her side was nice, of course, but she felt odd for looking so weak in his eyes. 

So when Tanjirou focuses on making her herbal tea one day and accidentally trips as he moves forward one day, the tea porcelain falling to the floor and shattering in a million pieces, Hayami supposes that maybe something in her breaks, too. Some sort of subconscious decision that she doesn't have the resolve to hang onto anymore.

“Tanjirou!” She gasps, sifting upright in her bed. Thankfully, he didn’t fall along with the tea. “Are you okay?” 

“Oh!” He laughs a bit shyly. When Hayami starts to remove her cover, his head snaps up and he quickly waves his hands as he reassures her. “No, don’t get up! You could step in it! I’ll clean it, don’t worry!” 

Hayami isn't sure how she feels when he turns his back to her to clean up the mess. “Are you sure?” She hums with disbelief, frowning a bit as she strains to look at the mess. 

“Of course- ah!”

The porcelain is surprisingly sharp, and Tanjirou winces with a small grunt as the shard he picks up digs into his skin and cuts, droplets of blood already running down his digit. He sighs, looking it over- it’s not that deep, but it still stings. 

“Tanjirou!” 

He freezes again. Oops.

“Did you cut yourself?” Hayami asks, concern and something mildly-accusatory in her tone as she desperately tries to look around him from her spot in bed. He looks at her over his shoulder, smiling reassuringly- 

“It’s just a small cut-“ 

“Come here.” 

He’s sort of surprised by how stern she sounds. “Wh- it’s no big deal, really! It barely even hurts-“ 

“Tanjirou,” her lips pull, and his stomach swirls as he sighs and stands, leaving the (surprisingly sharp) porcelain shards on the floor as he heads to her side. Hayami reaches for the medical box by her bedside- the medical box used for her needs, plenty of gauze and adhesives so she has plenty of supplies in case she needs it if one of the nurses isn't around to help. Tanjirou immediately shakes his head as he watches her rifle through it. 

“That’s yours, Hayami!”

“I don’t care, you cut yourself. It could get infected!” Her hands reach toward him, grabbing and pulling him toward her bed. “Come on, Tanjirou. You know these things are important.” She only settles when he finally sits down beside her, and she grabs a cotton pad, dabbing it in alcohol and then grabbing his hand as she begins to clean the cut. 

He barely reacts at the sting. “It’s just a small cut, it’s fine…” He tries again, but she merely shakes her head as she focuses on cleaning the blood. 

“It’s still important.”

Hayami dutifully cleans the cut, and no words are shared as she quickly wraps it in a bandage. The amount of care she put into it wasn’t needed- not at all- and Hayami realized that, of course. 

Her lips pull again as she holds Tanjirou’s calloused hand in her own. 

“Be careful, Tanjirou. You don’t… you don’t have to work so hard to help me. I’m fine, too.” She meets his gaze with a soft exhale. “I promise.” 

“You almost weren’t-“

“But I am,” she urges, her eyebrows furrowing tensely. “I am, Tanjirou.”

There's a cutting silence that drags heavily between the two of them. Tanjirou doesn't meet her eye anymore, his eyes heavily focused on the bed sheets instead. As the silence continues, Hayami swallows as she eventually breaks it, her thumb running across Tanjirou's palm. "I appreciate everything you're doing for me. It makes me so happy that you care," she whispers. "But you act as if I'm dying. And I need you to know that I'm not. I'm getting better, you know."

She knows that he knows. He's been by her side all this time- it would be impossible or extremely ignorant to be blind to her progress. And Hayami knows that Tanjirou isn't ignorant. 

"You're right," Tanjirou sighs. His body moves again, coming to life as he squeezes her fingers gently. "I got so scared before, and I let that take over me. I know you're capable of doing things by yourself, but I just..." 

It feels strangely similar, this moment. A sense of deja vu washes over him, and he realizes- this moment is not at all unlike when he came to her before, worried at the mere concept of her getting hurt from a dream he had. 

"I'm sorry, Hayami," he frowns as he meets those beautiful violet eyes again. "I'll try to be less intense." 

"You're fine, honestly," her head tilts as she gently smiles at him, "it's been irritating me, too. Not being able to get better fast enough. And I don't want to get frustrated at you for helping me." 

Tanjirou nods. "That makes sense." And then his eyes drift back to the mess of tea, and he hums, his expression wincing again. "We should clean it before it sticks on the floorboards."

Despite the negative outcome of what he said- because Shinobu would surely be furious if the tea sank into the floor- Hayami beams at Tanjirou. "We should!" She agrees, and eagerly she stands with him, helping pick up the pieces with careful, loving hands. 

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Colors, ch.23: Gray

(A Spicyhoney ‘The Village’ AU)

The story so far:

1. Crimson | 2. Yellow | 3. Blue | 4. Blush | 5. Sallow | 6. Russet | 7. Spice 

8. Whiteout | 9. Sable | 10. Blue on Black | 11. Midnight | 12. Ebony Falling 

13. Golden | 14. Magenta | 15. Marigold | 16. Coquelicot | 17. Daffodil | 

18. Verdigris | 19. Honey | 20. Scarlet | 21. Alstroemeria | 22. Onyx

~~*~~

Read ‘Gray’ on AO3

or

Read More Here!

~~*~~

Rus woke once again far too early in the morning to discover a pup sitting close by, this time peering curiously around their makeshift curtain. Rus groaned softly. There was a certain ache in his skull, surely a leftover of Britta’s pipe weed, and that coupled with the memory of his shameful antics of the day before made Rus regret his disregard of his brother’s advice about smoking.

Every sin brings its punishment with it was a fond proverb at prayer meetings and whatever doubts Rus possessed about the Elders and their preaching, that one at least certainly held the flavor of truth.

Aching head or no, guests were guests, and Rus started to rise, struggling to force his sleepy thoughts in the direction of preparing breakfast.

Only for Edge’s arms to tighten around him, holding him closely in a tangle of bony limbs as he mumbled out, “Don’t go.”

As though Rus had much choice with Edge clinging to him like a summer vine. Rus subsided and whispered, “Banquo is awake.”

Behind him, Edge stirred, rising up on one elbow and whatever look Edge gave Banquo, the boy shrank back and hastily fled. Of course it was frightfully rude but Rus was forced to stifle a giggle. He rolled onto his back, looking up into his husband’s scowling face. “good morning.”

“Good morning.” Edge’s scowl became tenderness of such sweetness it nearly cramped in Rus’s soul. He ducked his head, kissing Rus with matching care, and Rus sighed softly, tipped his head up into that gentleness, allowing it for far too long before he drew away.

“enough,” Rus scolded teasingly. “we have guests!” But his good hosting intentions trembled on the verge of disappearing as Edge’s mouth found the sensitive joint of jaw, his tongue laving over it with shivery skill.

His breath was tantalizingly warm against damp bone as Edge murmured, “Let them sleep in. They’ll be leaving after morning meal.”

Oh. That deflated some of Rus’s morning cheer, dampening his rising desire. Having the Dogs here was a joy, their kindness and gaiety more than welcome. But of course they couldn’t stay long, they had their own home to attend to, trap lines to walk, and already they’d stayed for a longer and much better visit than any of his neighbors in the village ever offered, even those that lived a mere stroll away.

Some of his dismay must have been obvious, for Edge’s pulled back, gazing down with softened eye lights. He leaned down to kiss Rus again, light, damp touches against his mouth and sprinkling his face. Rus allowed the scattering of affection to chase away his melancholy. Surely they’d return again this winter for another visit and perhaps when they did, Rus could have a gift for Britta from the lovely yarn she’d given him, a thank you for the present and her unending kindness both. A shawl, perhaps, or a headscarf. Something light that she could wear indoors to keep away any wisps of the winter chill and reminder of their friendship.

Yes, that was what he would do. Rus cast a wary glance at the door even as Edge’s warm mouth ventured lower, noting that no furry paws were showing beneath the curtain, nor was a nosy snout poking around the side. They were as alone as they could be and only then did Rus allow Edge to deepen the kiss, his own hands beginning to wander.

Married or not, it was a horrifically shameful indulgence with guests in their home; his brother would be mortified at Rus’s manners. Keeping beneath the covers was a feeble concession, at the very least they wouldn’t be giving Banquo an unintentional anatomy lesson if he proved bold enough to return. By the end, Rus was hiding his blushes and his cries both in his desperate hands, though skeletal hands proved a feeble guard for either.

By the time Rus was on his somewhat wobbly feet, hastily washed and satisfaction still glowing in the depths of his soul, Britta was already in the kitchen. From her sly look, she was guessing quite fairly at what kept him and the cup of slippery elm tea she offered was further proof.

His cheek bones burning with a blush, Rus took the cup and held it up in a sort of rueful toast before downing the cringingly bland contents. Britta only laughed and stirred the bubbling pot on the cooking stone.

Porridge, he saw, though not the same recipe Edge taught him. To his still-amateur gaze, there seemed to be dried fruit bobbling along with the grain in the boiling pot. He took a closer look, curiously, and Britta offered helpfully, “Edge says you prefer the sweet?”

“i do,” Rus admitted. “though your food is always very good.”

“This is good, too!” She ladled out steaming bowlful and poured healthy drizzle of honey overtop before handing it to Rus, urging him to sit on the cushioned mat against the wall.

The porridge was a deep brown color and smelled deliciously nutty and heavenly sweet. He scooped up a spoonful, blowing on it to cool it and tasted it gingerly, then with eager bites. Merely ‘good’ did not suffice as a descriptor, it was delicious, the thick porridge cutting the heavy sweetness of the golden honey perfectly. The taste was so reminiscent of his prayer day breakfasts with Blue that tears rose, refusing to be swallowed back. Rus could only brush them away impatiently with his sleeve while Britta looked on in alarm.

“Are you all right, Rus?” Her sweet, motherly concern only sped the falling tears.

“yes,” Rus said thickly, even as he sniffled. “yes, only foolish. i am missing my brother.”

“Not so foolish,” Britta said gently. She ladled out a bowl of her own with only the lightest touch of honey before sitting next to Rus, offering no words of comfort but instead the warmth of her furry body leaning companionably against him and for that Rus was grateful.

By the time Edge came to the kitchen, his tears were done and dried. Some sign must have lingered, for Edge hesitated before taking the bowl that Britta held out to to him, his concern obvious. Likely he assumed Rus was upset their guests were leaving and Rus did not dissuade him from the notion. Now was not the time to have a conversation about visiting his brother, not with their visitors close to leaving.

But there was going to be one and that right soon.

After everyone ate and the few dishes were washed, it was time. Despite getting his mask yesterday, Rus couldn’t be surprised that he wasn’t offered a chance to see them home as Edge obviously intended to do. Edge would be an intimidating presence whether they came across a winter-hungry bear or something much worse, while Rus would only be someone else who needed protecting.

He did join them in the front room as they dressed in their outer clothes, layers upon layers to protect from the snow and ice. When Banquo handed Rus a stone, Rus stared at in confusion. It was smooth and round, a river stone nearly the size of his palm. The boy held up a matching one encouragingly, and as Rus watched, Banquo focused on it intently, his dark eyes narrowed in concentration. A glow lit quickly within it that was near the same as their cooking stone, and the boy hissed at the heat, hastily dropping the stone into a pocket.

“oh, how clever,” Rus murmured. “like the flatirons blue used to warm for our beds at night.” Another pulse of misery throbbed in his soul. All his thoughts seemed to lead back to his brother this day. Rus shook the thought away, focusing his intent on the stone in his hand. The red glow took longer to fill his and when it did, Rus yelped, tossing the stone hastily from hand to hand as Banquo giggled. The boy plucked it from the air and tucked it into his other pocket, giving it an exaggerated pat.

“don’t burn yourself,” Rus cautioned, only partly teasing.

“Safe,” Banquo told him reassuringly. The others were waiting, their bony masks resting atop their heads and ready to be pulled down.

Rus blinked away another rush of tears as Britta pulled him in for a fierce hug, one that he returned with equal ferocity. She drew away, cupping his cheek bone in a gentle, gloved hand. “We will come back to visit again soon, Rus.”

“Soon!” Banquo barked in happy agreement. Rus reached out to ruffle his ears, stepping away from Britta. For Mathon, Rus offered a shy nod. The tall Dog clasped his hands and bowed over them, smiling warmly. They all turned to the entryway, ready to brave the cold weather.

“I will return,” Edge promised. He started to draw down his mask, only hesitating as Rus gasped aloud, remembering.

“wait!” Rus dashed back to their room, digging for his knitting. He pulled out the long scarf he’d only just finished and ran back, holding it out in front of him like an offering.

“here,” Rus panted. “i made this for you.”

He thrust the scarf unceremoniously at Edge. He took it, running his gloved fingers down the soft length, inspecting it while Rus tried not to cringe. It was not his best work, hardly appropriate as a first gift to his husband. But it was made with his own two hands and watching as Edge carefully wound it around his cervical vertebrae filled him with tremulous warmth. Even if none of those who lived in the woods would see Rus’s mark on it as they did with gloves, at least he would know Edge was marked as his.

Rus reached out to fuss with the scarf, tucking the ends in to keep any nasty chilliness away, and he squeaked in surprise as Edge swooped down and kissed him thoroughly, uncaring of their tittering audience.

A last, lingering kiss, and Edge turned on his heel, leading the Dogs out. Rus crept a few steps out the door, hissing at the cold snow on his bare bony feet as he shaded his eye lights with one hand against the sunshine glittering off the snow, watching them go. All too soon they were out of sight and Rus hastily went back into the safer warmth of the cave.

Rus was hardly past the threshold before he sighed to himself with renewed melancholy, already missing his new friends. It was childish foolishness, really, back in the village he spent most of the winter alone with visitors few and far between and only his brother to keep him company, and there was a thought he should have let alone. Tears were already verging, held back by stubbornness alone as Rus considered what to do with his day.

If past experience taught him anything, it was that Edge would likely be gone until near suppertime, leaving him on his own without a thing to do. He could clean, Rus supposed, that was a never-ending task even when one lived in a cave, or he could start a stew from their stores of dried meat to simmer on the back of the cooking stone until Edge returned to-night.

Or…there were still plenty of books in that crate. Even if there were no others like that outrageous first one, surely there would be something entertaining. That was, if he weren’t too cowardly to seek it out through the darkness.

Rus raised his chin determinedly and called up a flame in his hand, letting it lead the way as he marched towards the back caves.

His courage wavered as the starry field overhead faded. The caves here were so terribly cold and without rugs underfoot, his footsteps echoed hauntingly. Those blank, unknown faces looking out at him from the faded paintings on the walls made him hunch over his small flame, unwilling to investigate them further without Edge comfortingly at his side.

It was a relief when the crate came into view. Rus went to it cautiously, mindful of Edge’s admonishment that magic flame still burned. He held the light up far and away from the crate’s contents as he lifted the lid, pawing gingerly with his free hand through the plentiful novels for a new book to read.

There were so many, a staggering wealth of knowledge even if more of them were similar to the scandalous novel he’d first chosen. The titles were worn off the covers of most of them, leaving only a clutter of occasional letters that offered no clue to their contents.

No doubt he could have simply picked a book at random to entertain himself until Edge returned, yet it was difficult not to indulge his curiosity. Rus stacked books on the inner sides of the crate, delving ever deeper and close to the very bottom was something quite different. It was still a book of sorts, but one heavily swollen with documents tucked into the pages until it was near to bursting at its seams.

This was a family journal, Rus realized unpleasantly, from someone in the village. Near every family kept one, save for the unlucky few who weren’t able to save theirs from a house fire or some other catastrophe and even they quickly started afresh. It was often filled with birth announcements, prayer cards, handwritten notes from town meetings or gatherings. Their own, his and Blue’s, sat in a prominent place in their front room and there were letters from their parents concealed in the pages, pictures of them and of dear, sweet Azzy sketched in Blue’s fine hand, along with the announcements of their deaths written in the same hand, asking for prayers towards their souls to guide them into the Angel’s loving embrace.

There was no family name embossed on the cover and Rus reeled back as he abruptly realized he was inspecting it far too closely with a flame-filled hand. He swallowed hard, sourness rising at the back of his mouth. Where could such a thing have come from? No one would carelessly misplace such a treasured thing. Could this have been taken from someone after they were…they were…

No.

No, even if such a thing happened, Edge couldn’t have been the one to commit such a horrendous act, he refused to believe it even as Rus forcefully pushed the memory of Edge fighting with Banquo out of his memory, and that was when he hadn’t been fighting to hurt the boy. Because it was simply impossible and that was that. To even imagine that Edge might…might have harmed a villager and taken these books along with their family journal like a person might claim a handful of prize ribbons at the Midsummer fair was a betrayal of his trust in his husband.

Surely there was a reasonable excuse for Edge to have this journal, even if Rus couldn’t quite think of what it might be. He would simply have to ask Edge when he returned, yes, that was what he would do. He’d listen to Edge’s explanation and laugh at his own silliness, that he could even consider that Edge might…that he might…

Rus set the journal firmly aside and delved into the trunk again. But his curiosity was shriveled, lost, and he only chose a couple random books. He gathered them all close and headed hastily back out into the warmth of the light. The shivering darkness had crawled up his spine enough this day.

He left his trophies in the parlor, puttering about in the kitchen for luncheon and tea to sit with. Then he decided he wanted an extra blanket to keep warm before he settled in to read. He warmed the stone beneath the draped table, tucking his legs beneath it and drew the other blanket around his shoulders.

Cozy warm, his plate of treats sitting invitingly nearby and his tea still wisping steam, Rus was ready to let his imagination take him away on whatever adventure his new book held.

The first novel he’d chosen seemed quite interesting, yet his gaze strayed back to the journal. At the papers tucked between the pages, one poking out to show a sentence Rus could almost read, something about the autumn harvest needing, but it ended there and the rest was concealed within the book.

He should wait for Edge to explore that, who knew what things it contained, he should—

Rus made a helpless sign to preserve one’s soul from sin, and carefully picked up the journal. The cover was badly worn, showing the barest hints of gold leaf, and the corners bent in such a way that spoke of much traveling rather than sitting out reverently in a parlor. Gingerly, Rus turned to the first page.

At first, he could hardly puzzle out a word; the writing was so extravagantly curled and scrolled that any pedagogue at Rus’s schoolhouse would have given a firm rap of a ruler against the knuckles of anyone who dared write in such arrogant flourish.

A bit of squinting and he was able to see it was a marriage announcement, though the family name was not one he knew. It was difficult to read through the fripperies, either Fell or Sell, but neither was a linage that he knew.

The corner of another page peeked out from beneath the announcement and Rus carefully drew it out a scrap of brittle vellum on which there was a fragile sketch of a couple, a young man with a skeletal face, his eye lights penciled to be gazing lovingly at the beauty of the woman next to him, her own skull covered in a light veil, a crown of delicately wrought bridal flowers set atop it.

“What are you doing?”

Rus gasped at suddenness of the sharp words, the sketch falling from his hands to the floor. He picked it back up, tucking it with hasty care back beneath the announcement before turning towards the doorway to find Edge standing there, still in his long crimson cloak and his sockets narrowed as he took in the journal laid out before Rus.

“i was—” Rus began weakly. He caught himself and switched languages, admitting softly, “i found this in the crate. i am sorry, i didn’t—” His meager language skills failed him, faltering away, and Rus was forced to finish in village speak, “i didn’t mean to pry, i was only curious.”

Edge only stared at him, his stony expression as cold as the skull he wore out in the woods. Except for his eye lights, they burned in his sockets like coals, deep and fiery. Forbidden crimson, like the hellfire the Elders spoke of in the prayer meetings.

Not since the first day they’d met had Edge looked so dreadfully unforgiving and a trill of fright ran spidery fingers up Rus’s spine.

tbc