rosemaryblogs
rosemaryblogs
Rose
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Current Fandoms: HSR, Genshin, RE:1999,Alien Stage, Harry Potter, Stranger Things,DSKNY, Heathers, MHA, RWRBPROUD CHAPPELL ROAN STAN ❤️
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rosemaryblogs · 1 year ago
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rosemaryblogs · 1 year ago
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Romance Exerpt
Rereading Romeo and Juliet was not the right idea 😭
One knock on the door. Two. Three.
Annabeth sighs, setting the bread down on the counter and traipsing to the door, unlocking it and pulling it open by its rusty hinges.
“Reginald!” She exclaims, eyes lighting up before lowering her voice, “dear heavens, pray tell, what on earth are you doing here at thi-“
He cuts her off, pulling her into a passionate kiss. Her eyes go wide before fluttering closed, leaning into his warm embrace.
They break apart after a moment, Annabeth pushing him away begrudgingly, looking into his eyes with a conflicted mess of emotions, closing the door.
“Reginald…” she starts worriedly, clutching his hands in hers, no longer able to meet his gaze, “you know we can’t continue to do this- your father forbade you to do this. You can’t risk the Dukedom for me- if we continue to see each other like this, then your father will take you out of the line of succession and give Yulan the Duchy!”
“But Annabeth…” he answers with desperation, lifting her face up to look at him with his hand, “you know I can’t forsake you. I can’t leave you alone- for who, Mirabelle? You know that you’re the only one I love- I would do anything for you.”
“I…” she whispers, tears spilling from her eyes as her jaw trembles, her hands clenching, “Reginald… I know how deep your affections run, but you must put your feelings aside. I am no happier than you, but it is the best, you know this. You must do this for the kingdom, the kingdom of which’s worth is far greater than mine.”
“My dear, there is nothing in this world more worthy than you,” he answers, smiling gently as he wipes the tears from her eyes with his thumb. He holds her by her waist softly, gazing softly into her warm green eyes.
She falters, for a moment, too confused by her muddled emotions- racked with indecision. She wants to be rational, as she always has been- she wants to see the nation prosper, for she couldn’t bear to be the hand that brought its destruction. But in this moment, it seems as if all she could think of were the way his eyes looked at her with such unwavering devotion, the way he held her as if she were worth more than the greatest fortune.
And all at once, she gives into the moment, pulling him towards her by his tie, their chests pressed together, his heartbeat ringing in her eyes, pressing their lips together. Their kiss is messy and rushed, feverish and desperate as if their lips themselves know that this is goodbye.
“The only kingdom I belong to is that of your pure heart- your love is the only deity I chose to pray,” Reginald says quietly, holding her in that beautiful, broken moment, “Annabeth, I love you.”
His voice is shattered and fragile as he holds like she’s something he stands to lose- and for once, she has no choice but to believe his pretty lies.
“I love… this moment,” she says voice shaky, as she backs away, her tears falling freely now, “I only wish I could make it last.”
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rosemaryblogs · 1 year ago
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Elle x Vivienne Short Story
(What if it was Elle that met Vivienne at summer camp?)
A story in which Elle Woods is, in some ways, Elle Woods- but summer camp in the summer of 9th grade changed her forever. Alternatively: what could have been if Elle was the one who met Vivian at summer camp- not Warner.
Elle Woods had it all. She was only going into to 9th grade, starting at a new sorority high school, but she knew that much. Rich parents, popularity, good looks, a ‘cool’ boyfriend, even the best grades in her class. Was it so bad that she still wished she could find someone better for her? Sure, Jack was nice, Jack was great, but asides from their equally high social standing, they really didn’t have much in common. He wasn’t even going to her knew school, and she heard from Sharon that Bridgette made out with him after the school dance. Elle Woods is GLAD to get a break from everything. A new experience- no phones, no wifi, nobody she knows. And a new school! 
•••
Elle sits in her car, texting her ‘friends’ goodbye as she gazes out the window, nervously tapping her foot in anticipation.
“Elle, honey, are you sure you don’t want to turn back?” Her mom asks with a worried gaze, flicking her eyes back to Elle, “you won’t have your phone, you can’t shop, you have to be outdoors, eat… camp food, and sleep with people you don’t know!”
“Of course I want to go Mom!” Elle exclaims defensively, “and don’t say it like that- it sounds wrong!”
“Ok, if that’s what you want, sweetie,” her mom replies with trepidation, “I just want you to know we will fully support you if you don’t want-“
“Would you look at that, we’re here!” Elle’s dad interrupts with bravado, “Camp Marine!”
Elle practically has stars in her eyes. Sure, she’s preppy and spoiled but that doesn’t mean she has anything against the whole camp experience. It’s thrilling!
Hauling her pink bags- many of them- out of their car, Elle dashes to the check in desk, all decked out in pink, looking like Barbie incarnate.
•••
When Elle gets to her room, she begins laying everything out on her bed, decorating her side of the room, humming her favorite love song.
Before long, she hears the door to their room click open and spins around eagerly. There stands a girl with long straight black hair and hazel eyes wearing a simple white colored shirt with a black pleated skirt and a matching black headband. She holds only one simple unadorned grey suitcase in one hand, playing with her thin pearl necklace with the other.
She’s… pretty. Really pretty.
“Hi! I’m Elle, what’s your name?” Elle exclaims, practically toppling the girl over with a jarring hug, “we’re roomates for three weeks! That’s so exciting! Isn’t this exciting?”
The other girl simply gawks at her, looking bemused but not quite as excited, “Vivian Kensington, and I am not, in fact, excited. This whole thing is a waste of time. I should be studying.”
“…oh,” Elle pouts, practically deflating before Vivian’s eyes, “okay. That’s okay. Is there any way I can make it better? I mean, it would kind of suck if you were sad for three weeks.”
“Uh, no,” snarks Vivian, “last time I checked, I literally don’t even know you.”
“Oh.”
Elle goes back to decorating her side of the room while Vivian goes to her side and folds a few pairs of clothes neatly into the provided drawers and puts her suitcase down.
“Is that all you brought?” Elle asks, feeling a bit of sympathy at the depressing looking room set up.
“What’s it to you?” Scoffs Vivian with a glare, “not rich enough for your standards? I’m fine.”
“H-huh?” Yelps Elle, suddenly feeling targeted, “I just was wondering if you wanted an extra pillow or anything. It’ll only be harder if you don’t get a good sleep!”
It’s Vivian’s turn to be surprised, flushing slightly in embarrassment, “O-oh. It’s fine.”
“Well, I’m giving you one anyways!” States Elle indignantly, “no takebacks!”
Vivian, despite her mind yelling at her, actually barks out a laugh at the girls antics before quickly coughing and pretending like she never laughed in the first place, bluntly replying with a curt, “Thank you.”
At this, Elle simply beams at Vivian before continuing to hum.
•••
Vivian really didn’t think Elle would keep talking to her, but she just. Won’t. Stop.
In baking class, “Vivian, I made you cupcakes!”
Or in sports, “Hey, wanna be partners?”
Which quickly became, “Oh my god, Viv, I love your cardigan!”
And, “Viv, you’re literally so smart, how did you do that? I wish I could do that. You’re, like, amazing!”
And the part that Vivian really, really, utterly detested was that she didn’t actually mind. Dare she say she LIKED it. Elle, that is. She was the polar opposite of her in every way. She was bright, bubbly, popular, likable. It was annoying. Because as much as she could stand it, she didn’t really feel annoyed by Elle. She was kind of endearing. And maybe Vivian found her absurdly pretty and nice and overall not what she was expecting.  And shit, she did not just think that. Because Elle is rich. Elle is popular. Elle has a boyfriend. Because Elle is straight. And Vivian, is an idiot.
•••
Elle really didn’t think Vivian would actually talk to her. But she does, gradually.
In baking, “O-oh, I uh, thanks?”
Or in sports, “Sure if you don’t mind. I guess.”
Which agonizlingly slowly became, “Uhm, I er, like your hair today?”
And, “You were the valedictorian of your middle school? Really? That’s really (hot is what she was thinking) cool?”
And the part that Elle really, really, utterly could not understand was why she couldn’t seem to stop talking to Vivian. Why she LIKED Vivian. She definitely wasn’t the type of person Elle would usually talk to- she was introverted, booksmart, and really not interested in being popular- aloof. It was annoying. Because no matter how much she hated it, she didn’t like Viv any less. Because Viv was really pretty, and smart, and sweet. Shoot, Elle was not thinking that. Because Vivian is aloof. Because Vivian isn’t popular. Because Vivian doesn’t like her. Because Elle is straight. But Elle is also, ironically, 4.0 GPA and all, an idiot.
•••
It’s the final night of camp, it’s the dance. Elle is so, SO, frustrated. She’s confused. She’s confused because she���s straight. She has a boyfriend. But does she really like her boyfriend. Elle doesn’t think she likes her boyfriend. And, well, that doesn’t sit well with her. Because she can’t like Vivian. She likes boys. …Right? 
So Elle sits on the steps outside the stairs, her mascara running a little as she looks up at the stars, searching for something, anything.
She feels a hand on her shoulder and flinches upright, turning to see Vivian with a pensive yet not annoyed look on her face.
“You okay?” She asks, feigning indifference, “bad day?”
“…Yeah,” Elle replies glumly wiping away a tear. Vivian doesn’t like that. Elle is supposed to be happy. So despite her better judgement, Vivian extends her hand to Elle.
“Let’s go,” she says, a small smile on her face as the dim moonlight surrounds them.
Elle doesn’t answer but grabs her hand as Vivian leads her through the woods.
“Are we allowed to be here?” Hisses Elle, “aren’t you all for following rules?”
“Shhh,” shushes Vivian dismissively as the two reach the dock leading up to the lake.
“The lake? Really?” Elle laughs, grinning a smile that’s all lopsided and toothy. Vivian finds that strangely very cute.
Vivian leads Elle to the two person canoe and they sit down in it, facing each other, settling into a silent that’s less uncomfortable then one would think.
The two chat for a while, splashing each other with water and looking up at the stars when a sharp gust of wind rocks the canoe, causing Elle to topple out.
Instinctively Vivian reaches out her hand in a panic and oh. Oh. Elle Woods is in her arms, holding her hand, practically clinging to her, and completely drenched. That’s weird.
“O-oh!” Yelps Elle in realization, jumping away from Vivian, flustered, “th-thank you!”
“Oh my god!” Laughs Vivian, a real, true laugh as she leans on Elle’s shoulder.
Elle thinks for a moment before repeating, “Oh my god.”
They both burst into a fit of laughter, leaning on each other for warmth, maybe. Or just because they both want an excuse.
“Your really pretty,” Elle says, “your eyes, they’re like little stars, you know?”
And no, NO, Vivian did not in fact know that. She blushes, real hard, looking at Elle quickly before burying her face in her hands in embarrassment.
“Oh my god, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean, I mean, I guess-“ Elle stutters, “Viv is it weird that I want to kiss you.”
“Yes!” Yelps Vivian, practically overheating from shock and embarrassment, “I mean, me too, though.”
“But I like boys?” Elle asks like it’s a question, “isn’t that, I don’t know-weird?”
“Elle your bi,” whispers Vivian in realization, “I, for one, am very much a lesbian, but, you know, you can like both. So your bisexual. It’s not weird. I mean, not incredibly socially accepted, no, but it’s definitely not weird.
“Oh,” Elle says, pausing before asking, “so can I kiss you?”
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rosemaryblogs · 1 year ago
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Chaotic Muzan x Reader I wrote a while back
Candle Hearts: Psychopath x Sociopath
| Who the hell are you? |
| Your worst nightmare |
| I don’t sleep |
| Do you dream? |
| Of bloodshed. Do I scare you? |
| Not slightly |
| Yet you can save me? |
| You tell me |
| Who are you really? |
| Ayaka Amamiya |
| I’m- |
| I know who you are |
| Not that well |
| I’ll be the judge of that, darling |
Begin.
My name is Ayaka Amamiya, 27 years old and obsessed with anime. Like really obsessed. Slightly psychotic at that, and a genius to top it off. I’ve made 17 therapists quit their jobs this past year, big surprise, it’s only February. I’m considered the most beautiful girl in my school, supposedly the most beautiful in Japan, but I don’t care for petty social rankings. I tire of the world, I want to escape. Leave the confines of 2023 reality and escape somewhere far away where life’s more interesting. Every night I close my eyes and pray I’ll be taken far away. 
My eyes flutter open. It’s dark out. The moon glimmers in the sky and the stars shimmer. Where…? It feels too real to be a dream. I feel a cold presence behind me and I turn around with a calculating glare. He has red eyes and black hair, a gold embroidered black suit and a black rimmed hat. Muzan Kibutsuji.
“It appears I have easy prey tonight,” chides the demon condescendingly with a sickening smile, ready to kill me but enjoying my plight, “are you afraid yet?”
I simply look at him nonchalantly and say, “no.”
“Why don’t you fear me little girl? Are you not afraid of death?” He asks with a toying voice, messing with his prey even though he’ll kill me all the same.
“I expect death. We all die,” I say tauntingly, looking him in the eyes with an unwavering gaze, “even you, Kibutsuji.”
“Who are you?” Hisses Muzan, his pupils slanting viciously, “do you think yourself above me? How do you know me?” 
“I am nothing compared to you,” I say calmly, “of course you could kill me, but you don’t. Why is that Kibutsuji? Could it be that you fear me?”
“I don’t fear anyone,” Muzan says in frustration, “stop evading my questions.”
“My name is Ayaka Amamiya,” I say courteously, bowing my head. My long black hair waves in the wind, and I hold down my red spider lilies that lace my hair. My ornate spider Lily patterned kimono flutters in the wind and I look back up to him with a cold gaze, “and I’m useful to you. I wouldn’t stop you if you wished to kill me, but that would be suicidal. I know how you die. I know the whole chess board. You only know your side.”
“Don’t push your luck,” Muzan yells, digging his clawed hand into my shoulder as blood trickles from the wound, “bow down if you wish to serve me and fall if you wish to die.” I look to him unfazed, and his eyebrow twitches slightly at how unaffected I am. I don’t so much as wince. I kneel to the ground and bow, a light smirk playing at my lips.
“So you’ve chosen servitude,” Muzan tells me with a victorious grin, “then you shall serve me as a demon, Ayaka.”
It’s my turn to look to him with a smirk, “Survival instinct. I choose the option where I’d live. I’d rather maintain my humanity.”
“Why you!” Yells Muzan, clearly enraged by my disrespect. He grabs me by my hair and glares at me with rage in his eyes. His nails dig into my scalp, but I simply smile patiently at him, “I’ll kill you.”
“Go ahead,” I say, trying to hide my smirk, but I fumble and start laughing. Muzan looks furious, because he can’t kill me, and he knows I know it. My shoulder’s still bleeding, and my head is throbbing, but I know I’ve won. He looks pissed, but it’s not as if he’s lost much. He’s gained an alley, like it or not.
“Fine,” Muzan grunts, “have it your way, Ayaka.”
“Oh, that’s no reward,” I say, “I would’ve had it my way regardless. Keep lying to yourself Kibutsuji. Don’t flatter yourself too much.” I turn to leave, picking up my large embroidered floral drawstring bag off the bag, dusting dirt off it. Before I can leave, Muzan pulls me backwards.
“Slayers,” he hisses to me, “a hashira. Don’t get involved with the wrong people.” I brush his hand off of me, glaring at him with my wide amber colored eyes. I smile and purse my full red lips into a tight smile.
“I’ll be fine,” I say in frustration. He looks at me and turns away. He looks flustered, but he won’t admit that to himself. I simply let out a laugh and run off to the slayer, “wait for me here.” I run through the trees in the dark forest, making my way to the Hashira. Kanae. Kanae Kocho. Interesting, I suppose she’s not dead yet.
“Help!” I whimper loudly, knowing she’ll aid me, “a demon attacked me! I- I think I might die!”
“Oh my! You poor soul!” Kanae cries out, coming to my aid, “your shoulder’s bleeding terribly!” I have quite a few issues. One is bringing daggers in my bag. They’re small, but they’re daggers. I grab one out quicker than Kanae can react and stab her through the chest. Her eyes look sad yet graceful, elegant through their pain. I resent people like her. Fools who fall for anything out of some false altruistic belief that everyone is good. I drag her pierced body through the woods with no respect nor consideration, pulling her forcefully over the rough gravel and dirt. I pull her to the clearing Muzan was waiting in and lay down her body.
“Happy birthday,” I say dryly, “I hope this isn’t too much association for you? Murder must make people oh so close.”
Muzan hesitates but ultimately says, “Thank you, Amamiya.”
“No, no,” I say waving my hands, “that just won’t do. Keep calling me Ayaka. Her name was Kanae Kocho by the way. 24 years old, same as me. She was the flower hashira. Doma would’ve killed her anyways, so don’t thank me.”
“I’ll thank you if I want to,” Muzan says, embracing me awkwardly. I stutter, and flush bright red, “you work for me remember?”
“Y-yeah, yeah,” I stutter, “whatever.”
“It’s refreshing to have someone who treats me like any other person,” starts Muzan, “no respect or formality, but no hatred like slayers. You’re different.”
“I know,” I scoff with a laugh, “I could say the same about you. Most people are weak and follow people, but you- you’re a visionary. And to hell with those who disagree.”
“Oh?” Asks Muzan, caulking his head to side, “than what are you? A weak follower, or a visionary?”
“I like to think myself a visionary, but I’m weak,” I reply honestly.
“You just stabbed a hashira,” Muzan says if if he’s speaking to an idiot, “you need someone to redefine weak for you.”
“She was defenseless, and an altruistic and optimistic piece of work at that,” I say in annoyance, people like that are easy to kill.
“Who are you really?” Asks Muzan, “what human chooses to kill other humans, has knowledge of the demon lord, sides with said demon lord, chooses to stay human, doesn’t fear death, and seems to know everything?”
“I do, I suppose,” I state blatantly, “I may have visions for the future, but I’m no wise prophet. I just know things. From a past life.”
“So reincarnation is real? That’s reassuring I suppose,” Muzan jests, “not that it matters.”
“Yes and no,” I say, “sure Im in another world, but there’s nothing about me that’s changed. Hell, I still have my bag on me. And I didn’t even die. It’s less reincarnation and more of a baseless anomaly.”
“That’s an interesting way of putting it,” remarks Muzan, “I’ll keep that in mind, Ayaka. Say, we best be off to the infinity castle. I’m sure you know the place.”
“I do,” I say. Muzan snaps his fingers, and suddenly the forest warps into the sliding doors of the infinity fortress. In Muzan’s room. No demons may enter, even in this enormous labyrinth. 
“There is in fact one bed Kibutsuji,” I say calmly, trying to hold myself together, “I beg your pardon, but why is there only one bed?” Muzan simply sighs.
“I don’t sleep, it’s yours,” he says, waving his hand. I give a nod of my head to show my thanks and lie down in it. I’m honestly an insomniac myself, but I’m tired so I might as well. The sheets are red satin and the room gives an austere and ornate feel. I stare at the ceiling and the lights go off, save for a dim candle that’s lit on a table.
“What are you doing?” I ask Muzan, shuffling out of bed with the blanket still wrapped around me, looking over his shoulder.
“I’m researching,” he replies, jotting down notes on the blue spider lily. I slide onto the bench beside him, giving him some of my blanket. He doesn’t say anything, and neither do I. I lean my head on his shoulder and look at his notes.
“That note, it’s wrong,” I say, pointing to a line about when the blue spider lily blooms, “it can bloom 2-3 days a year, not 1-2. And the duration is short but undefined, so don’t give a time frame.”
“Thanks,” Muzan says, a bit irked that he didn’t know that, “…Ayaka.” I giggle lightly, and I close my eyes. I’m still leaning on him, but I suddenly feel tired. I’m an insomniac because I’m scared of the dark, I’m always thinking about what could happen in my sleep. Thinking someone might come and kill me. Not that they would, but I can’t help being constantly scared. Somehow, lying on the shoulder of the murderous demon king, I feel safe enough to sleep.
In the morning, I blink open my eyes. I’m greeted by Muzan looking at me. He laughs slightly, and hands me a cup of green tea.
“I hope I didn’t wake you,” he says genuinely, not in the manipulative way he speaks to other people, “I made tea.”
“Thank you,” I answer, taking the cup of tea, “where are you going?”
“I have to go turn some people into demons,” he says with a sigh, “it’s tiring. Dealing with people and their petty tragedies and emotions.”
“I see,” I say, waving goodbye, “when do you suppose you’ll be back?”
“Around 5 pm,” he says, “I’ll bring you food.” I nod my head to show gratitude, and he’s gone. My heart’s beating faster than normal. What happened to me? I’ve never felt emotion towards people. I just find them to be pests. So why? I flip onto the bed and bury my face into the red blankets. Seriously, something’s wrong with me. 
It’s 5 pm. Muzan’s not back yet. I’m staring at the ceiling, and growing increasingly bored of waiting. I jump off the bed, folding the sheets neatly before I slide on my crimson red geta over my white socks. I walk to the door on the bamboo floors, leaving the room and walking out into the infinity fortress. It’s massive. I find myself walking through the elaborate maze of pathways, until I find a bridge that I can sit on. I put my feet over the edge and swing them, looking down at the abyss below me. It’s so peaceful. Suddenly, a hear a low growl from behind me, and I swing my head around to look behind me. Akaza.
“You,” he says, gritting his teeth, “you’re human. Are you a slayer?” I simply look at him with a smile, and he looks angry. He doesn’t kill women, it’s part of his character. So I’m safe.
“Yes, I am human,” I reply with an honest gaze, “but a slayer, not so much. I do enjoy slaying though.” I’m referring to slaying humans, but same difference.
“Doma,” hisses Akaza, “a human girl has snuck into the infinity fortress. Kill her for me, would you? That’s not my forte.” I forgot about Doma, that he communicated with Akaza that is. That was my mistake.
“My, Akaza, how did a human sneak into the infinity fortress?” Asks Doma, seemingly appearing out of nowhere. I gulp, and a shiver goes down my spine. I’m a sociopath, sure, but Doma is a downright psychopath, “oh my! She’s quite beautiful. I’ve never seen such a pretty woman in my whole life. I’ll make her death especially painful.” There’s nothing I can do. I’m too weak. Not even Shinobu’s poison worked, I’m no match for upper moon 2. He sends a dagger of ice towards me, but I feel frozen in place. This is where I die, I suppose. Out of nowhere, Muzan embraces me, protecting me from Doma and Akaza. The ice stabs him, but he’s unaffected. He glares at Doma, enraged.
“Thank you,” I say with a smile that quickly turns to a smirk, “took you long enough.” I clasp his hand, and I know he feels it trembling. Despite my demeanor, I was terrified.
“Master?” Asks Akaza, shook, “why do you appear before us on behalf of this human girl?” The demons know Muzan as someone heartless and fearsome. They respect him and fear him, but he’s never been one to care for anyone. He wouldn’t even come to Upper Moon 1’s aid. Muzan pulls me closer to his side.
“You won’t try hurting her again, do you understand?” He says definitively, practically glaring into Doma’s soul.
“Y-yes Master,” Doma murmurs fearfully, “but why do you care for her? She’s human.”
“I love her,” he says honestly, looking Doma straight in the eyes. Doma starts to laugh, until he realizes Muzan is serious. He looks somewhere between gaping and choking. I suppose if I were in his position, I’d be confused too. I flush bright red and bat him with my hand, flustered. Sure, I got the idea earlier, and yes it was reciprocated, but neither of us really said anything.
“Sh-shut up!” I yelp, clearly embarrassed. The other two demons look at me in shock, questioning how I have the audacity to insult the demon lord himself, when he’d kill anyone else in a second. They then look to Muzan, expecting him to kill me.
“Look, I’m sorry I was late, Ayaka,” Muzan says with kindness in his voice, “I brought you katsu.” I snatch it out of his hand and grab his hand with the other, dragging him off to his room. Akaza and Doma look so shocked that they might pass out as I, an average if not exceptionally beautiful, weak, human girl ridicules and drags off the demon lord. I guess life’s confusing for everyone.
We arrive at Muzan’s room, and I sit down on the bed and start eating the katsu. My face is still bright red, and I avert his gaze. He sits down next to me and puts a comforting arm around me. I huff, but I don’t try to stop him. 
It’s 8 pm. My heart’s still beating, and I set down the remaining katsu on the desk. I look at him, and for a moment we stare into each other’s eyes. His eyes sparkle like rubies. There’s something warm like a hearth about the way the red softens when he smiles, illuminated only by the flickering candles on the desk. We sit there for a moment, hearts conflicted. I’ve never cared about anyone. Sociopaths don’t tend to associate themselves with people or feel emotions towards anyone. I guess he’s my exception. I can hear my heart in my ears, and I lean forward, resting my head on his chest, listening to his heart beat. Muzan has been described time and time again as a heartless and cruel psychopath. Maybe he just didn’t meet the right people. 
Muzan pulls my face up to look at his, and we both lean into each other’s embrace, letting ourselves fall into a kiss. The candles twinkle, illuminating our faces, but aside from that it’s dark. I clasp his face and cry as we kiss. He only embraces me tighter. Why have I been living my whole life alone? Why have we been so lonely our whole lives? And we didn’t even realize it, too blinded by our fickle rage and power. To hell with conquering the world and solitude. We can do that too. But right here and now, I know only this one embrace, nothing more, nothing less.
“Ayaka, can you help me with something?” Asks Muzan, brushing a bit of hair out of my eye.
“Ah, yes, of course,” I reply with a smile, “what is it, Muzan?” We’re on a mutual first name basis now.
“I need you to play the role of my wife in Asakusa, in order to push away suspicion,” he says as it it’s an ordinary task, “would that be alright with you?” My face flushes a deep hue of red, even though I remember this from the story. But if it’s us.. it’s complicated. It’s not even completely fake if it’s us.
“Oh?” I ask teasingly, “not using Rei I see. And to answer your follow up question, no we are certainly not getting a child for this mission!” It’s Muzan’s turn to blush.
“I wasn’t going to ask you about children!” Yells Muzan, clearly taken aback, “and I don’t even know anyone named Rei!” I laugh to myself, but I don’t say anything more.
“Alright, I’ll do it,” I tell Muzan with a grin, “but I need to get ready first.” I put up my hair in the traditional style of Asakusa, a tight but elaborate bun. I stick a hair ornament through my hair for good measure and take out all the flowers as to not stand out. To finish it off, I put on a kimono that looks very similar to Tamayo’s.
“Ok, you can look again,” I singsong, twirling around, “what do you think?”
“You look oddly familiar,” Muzan says, trying to place the similarity, “why do I feel like I’ve seen this before?”
“It’s an inspired look,” I say, cracking a grin, “of Tamayo. The one who’ll kill you.”
“What?” Muzan says in fear, “Tamayo, that monster will kill me?” His fist clenches, and he digs his nails into his own hand, causing blood to flow from his wound.
“It’s fine, Muzan,” I reassure, putting my hands around his, “don’t send Susumaru and Yahaba, that will only make things worse.”
“You have an uncanny knowledge of future events, did you know that?” Muzan asks dryly, “I’m bringing Susumaru and Yahaba, like it or not. They can help you if it becomes necessary.”
“I try,” I quip in response with a smile, “we’d best be off now, Muzan.”
“I’ll teleport us to the train station, we’ll meet Susumaru and Yahaba there,” Muzan answers, “try to be as normal as possible.” He snaps his fingers, and suddenly we’re in a crowded train station, past the check in line.
“Oh, we made it just in time!” I exclaim, “the train leaves in one minute!” The two of us get onto the train and make our way to the VIP compartment. Susumaru and Yahaba are already sitting next to each other on one end of the table and there’s another booth across from them.
“Greetings, Susumaru, Yahaba,” Muzan says with a faked bow, “this is my wife, Ayaka Amamiya.”
“Oh, what a pleasure to meet you, Amamiya,” Susumaru greets with a bow of her head as Yahaba does the same. The interaction is so staged I can feel my skin crawl. Muzan puts a reassuring hand on my shoulder, that still has scars from his hand, and gives me a small smile.
“The pleasure is all mine,” I say with a courteous bow, “you must be Susumaru and Yahaba! Tsukihiko has told me so many wonderful things about you!” I’ve always been a good actress. And of course I know Muzan’s alias and all other information about this world. At some point, he simply stopped giving me details since he knew I’d know anyways.
“Oh, Ayaka, dear, let’s have seat,” Muzan says with a smile, “the train’s about to leave the station to Asakusa.” I flush slightly at his words, but I try to hide it. Sure we’re acting, but the emotions are real, at least some of them. He puts his arm around me and pulls me closer to him, and I let myself lie on his shoulder like the first time we met.
“Oh, Tsukihiko,” I say sitting upright again, “I made you your favorite bento for the ride! I hope you enjoy it.” I hand him a box with what looks like an ordinary bento. The thing is, the meat is cooked human flesh, the rice is chopped bits of human eye, you get the idea. Susumaru and Yahaba looked disgusted by this human food, and shocked when their master accepts it with a smile.
“Thank you so much, dear,” Muzan says, opening the box, “it’s delicious. Say, Susumaru, Yahaba, Ayaka made some for you as well! You should try it.” I hand Susumaru and Yahaba their boxes, and me and Muzan both barely manage to stifle our laughter. They got real human food. They suspiciously open their boxes, and immediately gag when they take their first bites.
“Uh- this is so good, Ayaka,” mumbles Yahaba, “can we go outside for a moment?”
“Of course!” I exclaim, “feel free to do whatever you want!” They walk out of the room and shut the door. After all, the VIP cabin is two separate rooms. 
“Ayaka,” Muzan says, pushing me against the back of the booth, until our faces are just inches apart, “you’re quite good at acting. It’s refreshing, watching you act like this.” He pushes a bit of hair behind my ear, and I go beet red. What I failed to notice was Susumaru and Yahaba had quickly disposed of my food and just opened the door. They didn’t move, they were too shocked by the scene before them. They didn’t have context, but all they saw was Muzan pushing me against the booth. At first they thought he was just acting. Of course he would be.
“Th-this isn’t the time or place for this!” I yelp as he embraces me, “Ts-Tsukihiko what are you doing?” Muzan doesn’t respond, but rather presses his lips against mine affectionately. Susumaru and Yahaba gawk at this show of affection. There was no way. He was acting. Only acting. That’s why I was still calling him Tsukihiko.
“Why are you still calling me Tsukihiko?” Asks Muzan toyingly, “you don’t need to act, Ayaka.”
“M-Muzan have you forgotten where we are? Don’t drop your act, not ever,” I ridicule, “what would your subordinates think? Maintain your image. Your work, your life comes first. Stop caring so much! If you want to live you can’t be weak, you need to push me aside!” Susumaru and Yahaba feel faint. This human woman knows who he is, yet she’s talking back to him. Telling him what to do. What’s happening?
“Ayaka,” Muzan whispers, not quietly enough, “if it were you or being the demon king, I would always choose you, time and time again.”
“Then don’t!” I say, “At this rate Tamayo will get the upper hand.. and.. and she’ll-“
“What’s going on?” Asks Susumaru, her face stuck in a confused expression, “master, what’s going on?”
“See?” I say mockingly to Muzan, “never drop your act. It’s the most basic rule. Look, Susumaru, Yahaba, tell nobody. You don’t need to care what I say, but for your master’s sake, keep this strictly confidential. I’ll slit your throat in your sleep if you don’t. You,” I say pointing to Susumaru as she lets out a meek squeak, “you’re the temari demon. Your brother, Yahaba, he’s the card demon. I know everything about you. Watch your words around me. I’m dropping any formalities. You, you’re nothing. Human or not, you’re below me.”
“Y-yes, Amamiya,” Susumaru barely chokes out as she looks me in the eyes, “I will be more mindful from now on.” I clap my hands twice happily and look outside at the bustling city.
“Look, we’re here, Muzan!” I exclaim, “isn’t it beautiful?” Muzan nods his head and clutches my hand as we exit the train.
“I thought she was nice,” sighs Yahaba, “she’s terrifying for being human. She acts almost exactly like Muzan.”
“She scares me more,” Susumaru replies, “Muzan’s the most powerful being alive, his attitude is understandable. How could such an average human be like that?”
“Muzan, we should get something to eat!” I say, excited by the beautiful city, “what should we get?”
“Maybe ramen?” Asks Muzan with genuine consideration, “does that sound good to you?”
“I’d be up to a tavern,” I reply, “I could use beer.”
“A tavern it is,” Muzan says with a sigh, “why would you even ask?” The two of us search for a local tavern and find a bar nearby. We find a seat and sit down at a couples seat.
“What would you like to order?” Asks the waiter, “we have everything on the menu and we also have the nightly special. Tonight’s is the 8oz vodka for 870,000 yen.” What’s up with these prices? 870,000 yen for a glass of vodka?
“What do you want, dear,” asks Muzan, “order anything.” I forgot he had a lot of money. I suppose you can take a lot of wallets with a job like his.
“I’ll take two glasses of the special please,” I tell the waiter, “oh my! You have the D’Amalfi Limoncello Supreme! That’s.. oh my. 4,400,000,000 yen? Oh, never mind that, I’ll have a glass of that as well.”
“I didn’t know you were a drinker, Ayaka,” laughs Muzan lightheartedly, “I wouldn’t have expected that. I’ll have a glass of D’Amalfi as well.”
“P-pardon?” Asks the waiter, stuttering, “I-well-your total is 8,801,740,000 yen. What an impressive total. That’s the most anyone’s spent all year.. no. Ever. Thank you for your patronage.” The waiter rushes to get us our drinks and hands them to us, thanking us again. I’ve actually never drunk before, in all 27 years of my life. The reason I chose a bar was since Tanjiro would be too young to enter, so he couldn’t bother us. Or so I thought.
“This is actually pretty good!” I say. I feel a bit dizzy and I lean on him. Muzan looks at me worriedly and gives me a glass of water.
“I thought you could hold your alcohol well since you ordered so much..” Muzan sighs in frustration, “drink the water, you’ll feel better.” I groggily drink the water, and slowly come to my senses.
“Hahah” I laugh, flailing my hands in the air, “the world’s spinning!” Maybe I wasn’t coming to my senses.
“Uh,” Muzan calls to the waiter, “you can keep the rest of the drinks, we’re leaving.” He throws.. well let’s just say more money than he had to, on the table and walks off. The waiter looks like he was in the presence of god, being offered so much money, and most of the drinks to top it off. Muzan pulls me outside and has me lean on him.
“Hey, are you alright?” Muzan asks me, supporting me, “you look like you might pass out.”
“I am perfectly fine, thank you,” I say batting his hand off, “the water sunk in. I feel fine now. Promise.”
“Muzan Kibutsuji!” Yells a boy. Tanjiro Kamado, the protagonist. Of course I’d know this. Muzan knows as well, minus the protagonist part. He grips Muzan’s shoulder and glares at him. It’s time to act. I remember this scene.
“Tsukihiko, do you know this boy?” I ask innocently, seeming every bit an innocent pedestrian, “he looks scary.”
“No darling, I’ve never met him before,” Muzan responds, playing up the facade, “how odd.”
“N-no way,” mutters Tanjiro, “you’re pretending to be human? I’m certain it was you that killed my family!”
“Honey, I’m scared,” I say, pretending to cower, “this boy is really scaring me. You wouldn’t kill anyone! And what does he mean, pretending to be human?”
“You’re lying to this poor woman!” Tanjiro yells, “how could you be so cruel?”
“Let’s go,” Muzan says, pulling me off into the crowd, “he must be crazy.”
“Muzan Kibutsuji!” Yells Tanjiro, “I won’t rest until you lie in your grave! I will find you!”
“Don’t turn that man into a demon,” I whisper in Muzan’s ear, “you wouldn’t want to cause a scene.” I pull him into an alley, and we both take a deep breath of relief to finally be alone. We run back to the train station, laughing like two criminals who just got away with the greatest crime. We board the train, just like last time. The VIP compartment. But something’s off.
“Where are Susumaru and Yahaba?” I ask curiously, puzzled about their absence, “I thought they would return with us, no?”
“I killed them,” he responds nonchalantly, “is that not what you wanted?”
“God, I love you,” I say, falling onto him again, “I knew there was a reason we work so well.”
We wake up together, Muzan and I. It’s been three months. Aside from Doma and Akaza, nobody knows about me. I choose not to make myself known, it’s easier that way. Surprisingly, the story’s been progressing as expected, and I haven’t intervened much. Yesterday, Rui died fighting Giyuu. That means today.. today is the day Muzan will take on another form and purge all the lower moons, aside from Enmu that is.
“Muzan, where’d you go?” I ask, patting around in the bed, searching for him, “you were just here, weren’t you?”
“I have some business to attend to,” replies a feminine voice from the desk. I look over to see Muzan’s female version putting on gold earrings. If I’m the most beautiful woman in Japan, he’s easily in second place.
“Don’t look at me like that,” snarks Muzan, “I know, I don’t look like myself. You probably think I’m ugly in my female form.”
“Quite the contrary,” I say, sitting next to him do do my eyeliner, “I’m bisexual.”
“You’re what?” Asks Muzan in confusion. I forgot that the whole LGBTQ thing didn’t exactly exist 11,000 years ago.
“I’m attracted to men and women,” I answer, “as in romantically attracted.”
“Oh?” Asks Muzan, and I know I’ve piqued his interest, “so you like me like this?” I flush at his question. He’s gorgeous, there’s no denying it.
“Yeah,” I mumble, looking away.
“Tell me that again,” says Muzan, pushing my chin up to face him, “repeat that.”
“Y-yeah I like you!” I shout, “idiot..” Muzan simply laughs and leaves the room, grinning. Little does he know, I’m following him. I traipse through the bamboo paths, close behind him. I’m dressed in an ornate red kimono with my hair down. Muzan told me it looked best on me. There’s someone I want to save today. Mukago, lower four. She may have been a coward, but she was loyal, and a far sweeter and more tolerable character than the other rush and foolish lower moons. That and I used to have a crush on her. I don’t really feel anything towards her anymore, but I’d like to be her friend. I’ve never experienced friendship. Sociopath’s are that way. Muzan walks faster, so I run to follow him.
“Nakime!” Shouts Muzan, “bring me the lower moons!” With that, all six lower moons appear on the tatami mat before him.
“Who are you?” Ask lower 6. What a fool. Muzan slices off his head faster than he can finish his question.
“M-master,” lower three barely manages to squeak out, “w-what are you doing?” Fool.
“How dare you question me?” Shouts Muzan, enraged, “Rui has fallen. The lower moons are growing weak. I’m dismantling the lower ranks.” The remaining three tremble before him, their fear palpable and their eyes afraid. No, only two of them. Lower two and four. Lower one simply grins like the Cheshire Cat, a frightening and sadistic grin. Lower two tries to run away, but Muzan drags him back and crushes his skull. Next is Mukago.
“Master,” she cowers, barely bringing herself to speak, “are you going to kill us as well?”
“Silence!” He shouts, “your impudence is so frustrating. I’ll kill-“ he’s about to kill her but I step out of the shadows and stand in front of her.
“Don’t do it,” I tell him, glaring straight into his eyes, “she might be a coward, but she’s useful.” Mukago looks up at me with hopeful eyes, red and sparkling.
“Oh my, who ever is this woman?” Asks Enmu in a sickly drawl, “she appears human.”
“Ayaka,” Muzan sighs, about to reason with her.
“Don’t you ‘Ayaka’ me!” I shout with a huff, “I’m not falling for that. I’m telling you not to kill her. Give me that one thing.”
“I gave you 8,801,740,000 yen of beer that you couldn’t even finish,” Muzan replies dryly, looking at me in amusement, “or did that not count?”
“That was different,” I sigh in exasperation, “you offered. It’s not like I told you to buy me the most expensive Tequila.”
“Oh really?” Muzan answers, caulking his head, “was it not you who suggested a tavern instead of just getting ramen?” I look away, because I know he’s right.
“Fine, I won’t kill her,” Muzan says finally, “you owe me, Ayaka.”
“I still owe you for the beer,” I reply coldly, averting his gaze again, “or did that not count?” He raises his eyebrow at how I mocked what he said, but simply sighs. 
“Just take Mukago and leave,” Muzan says after a moment of contemplation, “I have unfinished business.”
“I thought you’d never ask,” I reply, smirking, “let’s go.” I pull Mukago out of the room with me, grinning happily.
“Why did you save me?” Asks Mukago fearfully, “I’m a coward.”
“Because I think you’re a nice person,” Ayaka laughs, smiling at Mukago, “and you deserve a chance to live without the pressure and responsibility of being a lower moon.”
“Th-thank you,” whispers Mukago, “who are you? You’re very pretty.”
“My name is Ayaka Amamiya,” I reply with a light smile, “I’m Muzan’s wife.”
“R-really?” Asks Mukago in shock, “I’m sorry I haven’t showed you enough respect!”
“It’s fine, Mukago,” I say, “I don’t deserve your respect.”
“Muzan,” I say, tapping his shoulder with a pouty face, “I’d like to go somewhere. Alone.”
“Oh?” Asks Muzan, turning to face me, “where? What’s with the new style?”
“The entertainment district,” I say, “and no, you’re not coming with me. I’ll be fine.”
“That’s not the type of place a girl like you should go, Ayaka,” Muzan reprimands, “where would you even stay?”
“I plan to work at the Kyogoku house, and keep tabs on Tokito,” I answer, “I won’t be gone more than two weeks.”
“What if you need help?” Muzan asks, irked, “how would you contact me?”
“Here,” I say, handing him something from my bag, “it’s an Apple tracker. From the future. Look, that’s beside the point. It’ll show you my location, it works without Wi-Fi. If your tracker flashes a an SOS signal, I need help. That’s worst case scenario.”
“Ayaka,” Muzan starts, “I know you. You wouldn’t do something like this for no reason. There are too many coincidences. Clearly you chose house Kyogoku for a reason.”
I sigh, “Nothing gets past you does it? I need to go to the entertainment district to save Upper Moon 6, both of them. They’ll be killed by slayers, and I plan to help them. I know you’ll stop by around the peak of my mission, so I’ll see you then. Send me off, would you?”
“Be careful,” Muzan says, pulling me into a hug, “Daki can be dangerous, especially to a human.”
“I know what I’m doing, trust me,” I say, brushing off his hug. He looks a bit hurt but simply laughs, snapping his fingers again.
A bit dazed, I blink open my eyes. It’s dark out, and the lanterns and bustling streets of the red lights district fills the area with a liveliness that brightens the scene. I’m wearing a crimson red kimono and red eyeshadow and lipstick. I went for a natural makeup look aside from that, one that accents my beauty. I put my long black hair up in the traditional style, adorned with various gold hair ornaments. 
I walk towards house Kyougoku, and many people turn to look at me, whispering about how beautiful I am.
“Excuse me miss,” a man says, stopping me, “are you free?” What a nuisance.
“I’m afraid not sir,” I say with a polite bow of my head, “apologies.” The man looks annoyed, but he reeks of alcohol. I’ll have to get used to the horrible ways of this place, I’ll be living here for some time. The oirans, the young underprivileged children, the disgusting men. This is the red lights district, I suppose. I walk in my elaborate red geta, scraping through the dusty dirt ground through the bustling walkways. I finally come across the Kyougoku house, and I knock on the door.
“What?” Yells the house elder, Sumi.
“I’m here to work at this house,” I respond through the screen door, “would that be alright?”
“We don’t need more hopeless new recruits,” Sumi replies in frustration, “we’ve had far too many to train lately. More ugly women won’t make more people come to house Kyogoku. How old are you girl? If you’re young enough, you can do chores.”
“I’m 27,” I reply, “I’d like to work in a high position, not as a chore girl. Someone who could work at the level of Oiran Warabahime. Appear publicly, have power in the household.”
“Girl, you’re aiming too high,” Sumi guffaws, “only Warabahime is attractive enough to appear on behalf of our house, only the most gorgeous are chosen as oirans. Let me get a look at you so you can leave quickly, I don’t have time for runts who won’t help our publicity.” She swings open the screen door with a glare, and I smile politely.
“Nice to meet you,” I say, “my name is Ayaka Amamiya. I suppose I have to leave now, I’m sorry I don’t look fit for the job.”
“N-no, let me get a better look at you, girl,” the woman calls, “my, why you’re quite the beauty. Haven’t had anyone looking that beautiful in house Kyogoku, well, ever. No, I’ve never seen anyone as pretty as you in my whole life. You’d give all the Oirans a run for their money. Girl, you work here starting today. We can have two Oirans at house Kyogoku. Come in, come in.”
Somewhere further within house Kyougoku, Daki scrapes her long red nails into the wood of the chair she sits upon. She twirls a strand of her white hair, a glare resting on her face.
“Who does that bastard think she is?” Snarls Daki, “Warabahime is the only one worthy of oiran. I only respect people with true beauty. All the women here are just food. I’ll teach her a lesson.”
I wake up groggily, pulling myself out of bed. I reach around clumsily in bed, and I find myself tumbling out of bed.
“Owww,” I mumble, tossing the sheets back onto the bed. I get up of the ground and trudge over to the mirror. Demon’s can go without sleep, but I’m human, and barely fit in three last night. I yawn, but manage to grab some makeup. My hair’s a mess and my eyes have bags under them. I put on everything I can find until I make myself look more pulled together. Satisfied, I slide on my kimono and hair ornaments, getting into my geta. I walk outside, albeit begrudgingly, and walk to get a cup of green tea.
On my way to get tea, I bump into someone suddenly, nearly toppling over.
“Watch where you’re going,” snaps a woman, slapping me across the face, “you wretched excuse for a human.” I glare at her, and my eyebrow twitches slightly at the disrespect. She looks at me, and something in her eyes changes.
“I’m sorry,” I say, lowering my head, “I should’ve been more aware of my surroundings.” I bite my lip to refrain from lashing out.
“You better be,” Daki snarks, “you’re off the hook for now, but conduct yourself accordingly from now on.”
“I will,” I respond, “my name is Ayaka Amamiya. You must be Warabahime. I’m sorry we had to meet this way.” Daki tsks, but let’s it slide. Maybe she feels bad for slapping such a beautiful face. That or she’s planning my murder.
A knock comes on the door, and I open it. I’m greeted by a yellow haired boy disguised as a girl. Zenitsu Agatsuma. Behind him stands a man with a large build, disguised and no longer wearing his uniform.
“What is it that you need from house Kyougoku?” I ask politely, “we don’t often get such young girls visiting.”
“This is Zenko,” Uzui introduces, “I was hoping to sell her to house Kyougoku. She can work here and do chores.”
“Alright,” I say with a light smile, “here, take 10,000 yen. Is that good with you?”
“Yes, that works,” Uzui responds, taking the money, “she’s in your care.” He walks off, but sends one more glance at me. It’s somewhere between regret and longing. Maybe he thinks I’m going to die. Crazy bastard.
“Zenko,” I say, looking to the boy, “you can speak to house elder Sumi, she’ll tell you what to do. I’ll be off, I have some things to attend to.”
“A-alright,” stutters Zenitsu, “I will.” He looks a bit red in the face. I guess I can have that effect on people. I sigh after he walks away. It’s so tiring, working here. I don’t understand how Daki’s dealt with this for centuries. Tyranny and oppression, I suppose.
“Eyahhh!” As if on cue, I hear the voice of a young girl scream from another room down the hallway scream in pain. I run down the hallway to see what the commotion is about. I see a young girl with brown hair and black eyes being pulled by her hair. She being held up, and it looks like her hair might be torn from her scalp. Daki looks enraged as she tugs at her hair, making her yelp again.
“How dare you touch my hair ornament you lowly rat!” Screams Daki angrily, “what on Earth is wrong with you?”
“Stop!” I hear Zenitsu yell, “she’s just a young girl! How can you be so cruel?” Zenitsu reaches his hand out to help her, but I slap his hand away.
“Show more respect,” I tell him condescendingly, “don’t step in where it’s not your place. Clearly this girl acted out of line, so Oiran Warabahime has every right to punish her.” Daki grins, and tosses the girl to the ground, kicking her. The girl shrieks, and Zenitsu winces as he watches the scene unfold. 
A member of house Kyougoku rushes to take the girl off. She was saved in the show, but now her body is covered in bruises and has a gash from where her arm hit a cabinet. Her eyes look lifeless and her hair is messy. I feel no guilt when I look at her mangled body. I don’t feel anything.
“What the hell?” Asks Zenitsu, looking at me like I’ve betrayed him, “I thought you were a good person!” I slap him and grab him by his chin, making him look at me.
“Don’t test my patience,” I hiss, “get out.” He runs off like a coward, and I let out a laugh.
“Thank you for the assistance,” Daki mutters as she brushes by me, “not that I needed it.” I guess that’s her way of showing gratitude. Or that’s what I thought. She was really wondering how a human could be as cruel as her. I was growing on her, not that much though.
I walk to my room with a blank expression, exchanging meaningless pleasantries with the women who walk by me. Tonight is the night Muzan will visit house Kyougoku. And the night ‘Zenko’ will report back to Uzui. I need to save Daki and her brother, before it’s too late. I turn and walk to the secret room in the corridor, trying to keep my footsteps quiet as I approach the place I hear voices coming from.
“Hello, Daki,” I hear Muzan greet. Odd, he uses far less fake affection than he should’ve in the show.
“My lord!” Exclaims Daki, getting onto her knees and bowing before him.
“I see you’ve devoured a multitude of humans,” Muzan chides, “you’ve become far more powerful than I anticipated. You should be proud.” I barely hold in a laugh. He’s not even believable, yet it’s like Daki would fall for anything.
“Y-yes sir!” Daki says, pressing her face to the ground, “I understand.”
“But you shouldn’t let your guard down,” adds Muzan with a warning in his tone, “no one compares to your strength, Daki. You’ve killed seven hashira. Mark my words, from here you’re going to become even more powerful. A ruthless killer. You are an extraordinary demon.”
“Thank you so much,” Daki says with a humble bow, “master.” I’m still leaning against the wall next to the door when Daki walks out of the room, changed into her human form and wearing her Oiran attire. She snaps her head to look at me.
“What are you doing here?” She hisses, drawing back, “how much did you hear?”
“I’m here to see someone,” I say, bowing my head, “I heard everything, Daki.”
“You don’t mean you’re here to see-,” I walk past her and into the room, “what do you think you’re-“
“Greetings,” I say with a smile, “it’s been a while, two weeks, was it not?” I don’t care that Daki’s outside, most likely watching us.
“I was worried about you,” Muzan says, cupping my face, “I’ve missed you.” I embrace him, and lay in his arms for what seems too short a time. I don’t have time for this. I have something to do.
“Muzan, I’m sorry,” I say, looking at him, “we don’t have time for this right now.”
He sighs, but nods his head in understanding, “I understand.”
“Daki!” I yell, “can you come in for a moment?” Daki walks into the room, and she looks scared. Her eyes are shaking and her palms are sweating. She looks terrified.
“Daki,” I say, “I don’t have time to explain. Zenko, and two others working at other houses, Sumiko and Inoko, are demon slayers. A hashira is here as well, the sound hashira, Tengen Uzui. You know his wives are here, they’re most likely tied up below ground. Sumi, Makio, and Hinatsura. Zenitsu, or Zenko, will save them. The seven will manage to kill you and Gyutaru. I don’t want to allow that to happen.”
“I-“ Daki stutters, “how do you know that?”
“Again,” I sigh, “I don’t have time to explain right now. I should at least introduce myself properly. My name is Ayaka Kibutsuji, and yes I’m human. Here,” I say, handing her my satchel, “it has 30 knives in it, they’re all coated in poison that would kill a human, excluding the hilt. I have ten hidden under my kimono as well, so I’ll be fine. The poison won’t affect demons, especially not ones as strong as you, there’s no wisteria. On the other hand, it would be deadly to someone like me. I wish you luck. I’ll enter the battle if it becomes necessary, but I’d rather watch.” I laugh slightly, and to Daki, as a human, I probably sound crazy. I should.
“I will also join if necessary,” adds Muzan, holding my hand, “but only after Ayaka.” I smile slightly, and turn back to Daki.
“He’s there,” I say, “go.” Daki nods her head, and scurries off into the wall, turning into her ribbons and falling deeper below the house.
“What do you expect us to do now?” Asks Muzan cautiously, “do you truly intend to watch her die despite your words of affirmation?”
“Wait,” I say, “you’ll see.” Muzan laughs, and looks at me with a look that tells me he should’ve expected that. 
The time ticks by, and nothing happens. I look out the window, and I see a flash of color on the ground. Sun breathing. 
“Did she kill Uzui’s wives?” I asks Muzan with anticipation, “it would be beneficial if she did.”
“Yes,” Muzan says racking his memories, “I believe she did. And the yellow boy, I think his name was Zenitsu.” I smirk, my grin reaching across my whole face. Four down. And just like that, they’re down to four.
“That saves Kaigaku as well,” I murmur, contemplating all the outcomes, “nice.”
“Who?” Asks Muzan, slightly confused, “I don’t know anyone named Kaigaku.”
“Nevermind,” I say, “I’m not sure he’ll even be relevant if you don’t need to go searching for a new upper 6. I need to go.” Muzan looks a bit frustrated, but I know he’ll come down as well if it becomes necessary.
I sprint across the roof tops, jumping down when I see Nezuko and Daki fighting. She’s not herself. Tanjiro looks wounded, but he watches as well.
“Hello again,” I say, landing next to Tanjiro, “I met you a while ago. You’re Tanjiro Kamado, correct?” I extend my hand to him as form of greeting, “I’m Ayaka Kibutsuji.”
“You!” He shouts, startled, “you’re the woman from last time! The one who was with Muzan Kibutsuji!”
“Oh, you mean Tsukihiko!” I exclaim, and then start laughing, “yes, yes, Muzan Kibutsuji. I’m messing with you.” He takes out his sword and points it at my neck.
“Do you know who that man is?” He asks me, “you’re human, are you not?”
“I understand who that man is, yes,” I say quietly, “but he’s not really a bad person. He cares about me. And yes, I am, in fact, human.”
Tanjiro grits his teeth and appears sad, “He doesn’t care for anyone. Much less a human. You’re just an alibi for him.” His sword presses into my neck slightly, and I wince.
“Can you really bring yourself to kill a misguided human?” I ask him, “is that truly in your moral code?” He looks a bit pained, but pushes the sword a quarter inch deeper. A bit of blood trickles out, and I feel light headed.
“What are you doing?” Shouts Muzan, hitting sword away, “don’t just stand there and let him kill you.”
“Well aren’t you getting emotional,” I laugh, “he wasn’t going to kill me. He was simply threatening me. He’s the type who would try, but only fail. You know that, don’t you?”
“I can’t help but be worried, Ayaka,” Muzan murmurs, “you can’t help dancing with death, can you?”
“You’ve tried to kill me yourself,” I answer, honestly, “did you forget? People tend to want to kill me.”
Tanjiro takes a step forward to attack Muzan, but I grab a dagger from my kimono and throw it at him, piercing his heart. Muzan raises an eyebrow and looks to me.
“What?” I say, “I was captain of the archery club at my old college. And the chess club.. and the fencing club.. oh, never mind that.”
“Duck!” Yells Muzan. I turn to look behind me. Daki is sent flying by Nezuko, and her body skids across the ground. She looks angry, and just when she’s about to get up, Nezuko kicks her head off. I wince, but I don’t do anything. I don’t have any power against demons. All I can do is root for Daki despite the set outcome.
“Need some help?” Shouts Tengen as he jumps to the ground. He scans the dusty streets, and his eyes land on Tanjiro’s dead body. His eyes look so sad, devoid of their usual flamboyance. Next, his eyes land on the bodies of his three wives and Zenitsu. Five dead. Three to go.
I step onto the battlefield, looking at how far Daki’s fallen. With Tengen and Nezuko against her and already this wounded, she’ll lose. 
“Halt,” I tell Tengen, stepping in his path, “you do not have the jurisdiction to interfere with the matters of the Oiran of house Kyougoku.”
“Ah, you’re the other Oiran, are you not?” Asks Tengen, still angry but trying to keep a poker face, “Amamiya, correct? Oiran Warabahime is a demon. Whatever you may be mistaking this for, she has no right to settle this on her own. Let me pass, it’s for the better of all us humans.”
“No,” I say, glaring at him, “I repeat, you may not pass. Whatever you may be mistaking me for, I am not your alley. Human I may be, but for others I care not.”
“What are you trying to tell me?” Asks Tengen in frustration, “you’re human, yet you treat others like this? I’m certain you’re human. Demons are manipulative, don’t side with them.”
“Then are you telling me I’m a demon?” I ask with a taunting smirk, “I do enjoy manipulating people, quite a bit actually. You know, I don’t get what you see in me.”
“Someone mislead,” Tengen answers with sad eyes, “just let me kill the demon.” I throw a poisoned dagger at him, but I know it won’t kill him. He has a high poison tolerance. It hits his arm, and he winces.
“So once your wives die you move onto the next attractive woman you can find?” I ask with a cold laugh, “how shallow. I’m taken.”
“You have no right to speak about them!” Tengen shouts in what could only be described as pure rage, “you don’t know what love is!”
“I’m done messing with him,��� I laugh, “you can come out now, darling.” I grin down at him, giving him an expression of sadness, feigning sympathy.
“Who are you talking to?” Asks Tengen in annoyance, “there’s nobody here.” 
“Behind you,” says Muzan, slitting Tengen’s throat, “Ubuyashiki only creates more fools.”
“Muzan-“ mutters Tengen, “Kibutsuji!” He gasps for air, choking on blood and his own flesh as he bleeds out on the ground.
“What I pity,” I say, “is that a pathetic mess like you had three wives. The world’s sure messed up.” I walk up to his body and I stomp on Tengen’s bones, cracking them one by one. It’s always good to ensure that the dead won’t come crawling back.
“Muzan,” I say, “can you dispose of Nezuko Kamado? I’ll deal with Inosuke Hashibira.”
“Alright,” Muzan scoffs, “you had this all planned out, didn’t you?” I shrug and dart off to where I see Inosuke Hashibira descending from a building. I quickly unsheath a dagger, readying it.
“Inosuke!” I call, “can you come here? I want to help you, upper moon 6 is killing everyone!” Inosuke looks confused, clearly not recognizing me. Nonetheless, he cautiously walks over to me.
“Look!” I shout, “Muzan Kibutsuji!” He snaps his head around and stares at Muzan as he rips apart Nezuko’s body viciously. In the small moment Inosuke is looking away, I drive the dagger into his back, twisting it within him for good measure. He hacks up blood and falls to the ground, his eyes rolling back into his head. 8 down. None to go.
“Ayaka,” Muzan chides from his seat on the bed as he embraces me, “I’m not going to be around for a few weeks, I’m so sorry, and I know I’ve been busy, but it’s important.”
I sigh, arching my eyes into a frustrated glare and folding my arms, making a pouting face with a huff.
“What’s so important, Muzan?” I hiss in annoyance, “I feel like you’re drifting further and further apart. I’m fed up with this, you’re hardly around, I can’t deal with it.”
“Ayaka,” murmurs Muzan sadly, “give me three weeks, maybe four. I need to get some things in order with the uppermoons, and I need to visit some demons to kill off the week, and increase my numbers.”
I storm out of the room, slamming the door behind me. The layers of the infinity fortress turn and weave, winding until I reach the exit.
I snap my fingers once, and the doors open, sending me falling onto the dusty ground of Asakusa. I don’t really know what compelled me to come here when I was sad, there was just something peaceful about blending into the bustling and consuming crowds. Something anonymous. Something nostalgic.
My feat lead me forward as if I’m in a trance, leading me in the direction of the bar I’d went to with Muzan. I never was great with directions.
Somehow, I find myself in a back alley without realizing it, and I’m startled back to my sentences when I hear the sickening crack of bones and a tearing of flesh. I glance up, and am met with a pair of green kanji embroidered eyes staring at me.
“You,” whispers Daki from her crouched position on the ground, ripping of another bite of flesh, “what are you doing here?”
“I don’t know,” I say, scuffing up a bit of dirt, “I could ask you the same, Daki.”
“I’m here on business,” Daki snaps, “what, did Muzan send you here? God, it’s like life hates me, damn it. You here to gloat? You know, I really thought he liked me. He was just playing me. You’re so damn lucky. What the hell do you have that I don’t? I did everything to make him love me, and you just waltz in out of nowhere like you own the whole world. You’re- you’re so sickeningly human, but you’re cruel and you’re everything he wanted me to be. Why couldn’t he have loved me?”
A single tear slides out of my eye. He doesn’t love me, I really thought he did, but I’m just a pawn to him. I wipe the tear from my face, putting on a poker face. I won’t be weak. I won’t be ignored. He can’t expect me to ignore his absence in my life, can he? Two can play this game, Muzan.
“You really want to know what I have that you don’t,” I say condescendingly, walking towards Daki and tilting her chin up with my fingertips, “how brave, yet how pitiful.”
Daki shivers as I wipe the blood from her lips with a cold smile, and I see her eyes turn downwards in fear and adoration. How easy, truly. And they call themselves Upper moons.
“You don’t need him,” I whisper in her ear, “there are plenty of other fish in the sea.”
I drop my hand and walk off with a grin and wave, leaving her face flushed and her cherry red lips quivering. I know she wants more of me, but isn’t have my appeal the mystery and deception? What can I say, every villain loves a good play girl who knows how to break their heart. They get the love of their life, I get a valuable asset- it’s a win win. You don’t need strength to gain power, sometimes all you need is a few sweet talking skills and good looks.
I walk off into the crowds of Asakusa with an ornate crimson umbrella above me and a Sakura hair clip pinned to the side of my ebony black hair, looking out at the warm nightlights in the city. It’s so jarringly peaceful, living an average human life for a day and getting away from Muzan.
“Help!” I hear a woman scream, “help, please, someone!”
“Quiet, bitch!” I hear the gruff voice of a drunken man yell back, “the hell are you yapping about?”
I watch the elderly man grab her by her hair, as she pulls her cloak tighter around her body. This isn’t the Entertainment District, there are clear laws about what is right, and although I may not be quite the law abiding citizen myself, even I’ve had too much.
I walk over to the woman to aide her, my footsteps growing faster every step I take.
“Excuse me sir, just what do you think you’re doing to this poor woman?” I ask with a fake smile, and angry tone to my voice, “do you suppose you’ve heard of consent before? Get lose or I’ll get the cops, do you hear me?”
“Damn wench,” growls the man, walking away into the streets, “women these days, so hard to deal with.”
I make a tch noise in disgust, grimacing at the lingering odor of one too many jugs of beer.
“Miss,” I say, extending my hand to the quivering woman with the cloak over her face, “are you alright? He didn’t try anything yet, right?”
“No, no I’m fine, thank you,” says the woman in a calming and soothing voice, a familiar voice that I can’t quite place, “however can I repay you?”
“Oh, no, no, it’s quite alright!” I exclaim, waving my hands earnestly, “there’s no need to reward someone merely for stopping someone who stepped out of their jurisdiction!”
“Ah, well I’m grateful nonetheless,” the woman says with a bow, pulling her hood off and giving me a half smile.
“Tamayo?” I murmur despite my better judgment, taking in her breathtaking purple eyes and black hair.
“I’m sorry, do I know you?” Asks Tamayo cautiously, now clutching the nape of her kimono, “I don’t believe we’ve met.”
“Ah, no, it’s nothing,” I say, brushing off her suspicion, “I just remembered something a friend of mine told me, nothing more, nothing less. Don’t pay me any mind.”
“There you are,” I hear Muzan’s familiar voice from behind me, “I was looking for you everywhere, Ayaka. I finished my business earlier than expected so I’d wanted to make it up to you by showing u-“
Muzan cuts himself off when he realizes who I’m talking to. Tamayo’s eyes widen in shock and they look at each other for a moment in silence.
“Oh!” I exclaim in an innocent voice, “Tsukihiko, this is Tamayo, I was just helping her out, there was this very frightening man harassing her so I thought I’d ought to step in.”
“Miss, who is this?” Asks Tamayo warily, “Tsukihiko, correct?”
“Yes! Oh, I never gave my name,” I sigh quietly, “my name is Ayaka Amamiya, this is my husband, Tsukihiko Amamiya- he just returned from an important business trip for his legal firm! Can you believe he has such an important job?”
“O-oh, yes, how very intriguing!” Laughs Tamayo awkwardly, avoiding eye contact with Muzan, “well, I suppose you two should be on your way, I wouldn’t want to keep you waiting.”
“Oh, yes, well it was very nice meeting you, Tamayo-san,” I say with a light smile, taking her hands in mine before running off behind Muzan, “I’ll see you soon, if fate allows!”
“Tsukihiko, should we go to a dango shop?” I ask in an airy voice, “oh, or we could go for ramen!”
Tamayo watches sadly from behind us and murmurs, “I do hope she’s safe. I can’t believe the amount of kind women he’s gone through, I’ll make sure to free her soon.”
“Muzan,” I say quietly, “I’m sorry, I misjudged the situation, I thought you had grown tired of me and were ditching me, I didn’t realize you actually wanted to come back, forgive me, please, give me another chance!”
“Ayaka,” Muzan laughs wryly, “why would you apologize? I know I haven’t been treating you well, if anyone should apologize, it’s me. I promised to prioritize you over work, and I forgot all about us.”
I gulp and take a deep breath nervously, “Well about that,” I whisper, looking away from him, “I kind of sort of slightly may have marginally encroached on what could be perceived as a potential instance of somewhat possibly getting somewhere in the realm of maybe cheating.”
For a second, there is silence, and Muzan looks at me with a deadpan expression, trying to figure out whether I’m joking or not. When he realizes I was actually serious, he slams me against the brick exterior wall of the tavern, making me flush a bright shade of red.
“Go on, apologize,” he says, glaring at me with crazed and affectionate eyes, “go on and beg for my forgiveness Ayaka.”
“I-I’m sorry, master,” I whimper, getting onto my knees and bowing before him, in attempt at sarcasm, “please forgive me for being so foolish.”
Muzan’s eyes flash a predatory red, digging his nails into the side of my neck like he did the first time we met.
“I didn’t know you could act anything but cold and powerful,” smirks Muzan, “so you can play a different part, hm? Go on, continue.”
This bitch, I think with an unamused grimace, he really went there. I guess this is what I get for flirting with Daki.
“Lord Muzan,” I say, looking up at him with watery eyes, “please, spare me! I still, I still love you, please!”
Muzan pushes me against the wall, pushing his lips against mine, making my heart pound in my ears as his hand grips firmly around my waist.
God, I love this psychotic power freak, don’t I? What the hell is wrong with me?
No, I’m getting too caught in the moment. The date, it’s all wrong. There was Mount Natagumo and the infinity train, but I didn’t bother to get involved in those. Then I joined in on the Entertainment District to help Daki. And then the Swordsmith village- that’s the piece of time that I just missed. That could only mean that the next major arc is the final battle. How could I be so stupid?
“Ayaka,” Muzan mumbles sadly, “I need to go. I swear I’ll be back by sunrise tomorrow. This is very, very important.”
No, no, no, no. This can’t be happening.
“Muzan!” I yell as he fades away, “Muzan just what do you think you’re doing? Not now! I know what this is, you can’t! Never! Muzan, I love you!”
His eyes turn downwards in sadness as his whole body fades out of existence. I need to move fast. I’ve been letting fate play out too much, I need to start taking it into my own hands.
My feet grow faster and faster, rapidly running across the dusty streets. Running towards the demon slayer headquarters, the Ubuyashiki mansion. I may just be a human, but I have to try. It’s not a matter of opinion. I’m going to save him, even if it costs my life.
I stand in a moonlit clearing, and I can make out Muzan and Tamayo’s figures against the dark sky. Tamayo’s fist protrudes through Muzan’s back as he grips her hand so violently it begins to bleed. This is all wrong. The hashira will arrive in but one minute.
“Tsukihiko!” I yell, “what are you doing? W-what is this? I-I don’t understand!”
“Ayaka-san,” Tamayo murmurs in a sad and stoic tone, “this must be hard for you to understand, but your husband isn’t Tsukihiko- his name is Muzan Kibutsuji, better known as the demon king. This is in your best interest, I’m trying to free you.”
“Fuck this,” I snap, causing Tamayo’s eyes to widen and Muzan to smirk, “fuck off, would you? I tried to be nice, for Christ’s sake, this is how you repay me? By inserting your creepy ass aging potion, humanizing potion, weakening potion, and shit into my husband?”
Muzan trembles slightly, having only now realize what happened, while Tamayo looks shocked and betrayed.
“You,” Tamayo whispers, “you knew didn’t you? You were just pretending to be like the rest of his wives, clueless and innocent.”
“Well, I really did hope to be innocent, Tamayo-san,” I sigh in disappointment, “but yes, I knew. You know, he hardly has a fighting chance even if you didn’t intend to inflict Yoriichi’s scars upon him?”
“What?” Growls Muzan, “what did you do, Tamayo?”
Tamayo smiles a sickening grin, her dull eyes somewhat piercing.
“You,” I whisper in a barely audible voice, “you didn’t kill them, did you? Kagaya’s children and Amane. You spared them. Why?”
Tamayo looks caught off guard, and looks to him like he’s grown another head. Could he actually show mercy at times?
“Because I didn’t want to be the person I was, Ayaka,” Muzan whispers sadly, “I wanted to achieve my goal, but I didn’t intend to hurt anyone who wasn’t stopping me. That’s what you taught me, Ayaka. Whether or not you knew it, you showed me how to be a better version of myself, thank you for everything.”
“You say that like you plan to die,” snarks Tamayo coldly, “do you mean to attempt mercy when you know it’s your last chance? How pitiful.”
“I am,” says Muzan quietly, “pitiful, weak, reliant- I’m all those things. It’s time I face the music, no? I’ll rest easy as long as Ayaka is safe.”
“No!” I yell as the slayers arrive to kill him, “you can’t do this! Please, stay with me!”
Tamayo clenches my hand, motioning for me to stay, and I look at her with watering eyes.
“I think he may have changed,” Tamayo murmurs sadly, “I finally realize that.”
“He hides it well,” I say with a dry laugh, “believe me, sometimes I don’t realize it myself.”
There’s silence for a moment as I wince at the noise of clashing blades before I say, “Can’t we do something, anything?”
“Ayaka, dear,” Tamayo reasons, “I don’t think anyone can stop him, if death is his wish, it’s hard to imagine preventing him from facing it.”
I look at Tamayo in frustration before breaking free of her grip and running off into the battlefield. She doesn’t stop me this time, she just looks on sadly, she knows I can’t win, but she knows I must try, if only for myself.
I run towards Muzan’s mangled body, and he looks so dead, but he doesn’t even try to regenerate.
A slayer sends a fatal blow at him, one that would truly finish the job. Before I can think, I’m standing in front of him.
The pain is searing. I gasp for air as the blade slices through my chest. It’s like my whole body’s on fire. I hear Tamayo gasp, and I feel Muzan’s hands clutch my body.
“Ayaka,” he whispers, “why couldn’t you just let me die? Why, why do you have to sacrifice yourself?”
The slayers look at me in confusion, but all I can make out are blurs of color and red eyes above me. I feel a tear fall onto my face as I feel my vision go in and out and my breathing slow. None of the slayers move, they just look at us. They’re too afraid, too confused to say a word.
I feel a clawed finger push itself into my neck, and I feel a sudden surge of power coursing through my veins.
I jolt upright with a gasp as Muzan supports my frail frame. I open my eyes slowly. They’re a deep crimson red, not the pale brown they used the be. My nails feel longer as well, but I look very similar to myself.
“Ayaka,” Muzan says calmly, “kill me.”
“No, I can’t do that Muzan!” I yell with tears streaming down my face, “I love you!”
The slayers look at me pityingly, but of course still wish to put Muzan in his grave. Someone hands me a sword and I look at it, blue, red, black, and yellow with a hexagonal hilt. 
“Thank you Tomioka-san,” I say with a pained smile, causing him to flinch, “I appreciate it.”
I take step forward towards Muzan, with my blade angled towards him. I embrace him tightly with my blade digging into his neck, but he doesn’t so much as waver.
“I love you Ayaka,” he tells me, “but even I must atone for my sins. It is but my duty in life.”
His body disintegrates slowly, and I clutch his hands until a there’s nothing left for me to cling to. Tears fall freely from my face as I fall to the ground in tears. At least he’s at peace.
“Ayaka,” Tamayo speaks from behind me, “it’s over. Lean on me please. You’re a demon now, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” I say, “but at the same time, no. He- he didn’t curse me or do anything to me. All he did was imbue me with the power to live, changing my eyes but little else.”
The slayers look at me, but decide to lay down their swords. I’m not worth fighting. I still am weak, too weak to defend the person I loved the most. How pitiful.
Epilogue.
I sit on the living room sofa of my small apartment in Shibuya, eating Tonkatsu and watching the news.
An advertisement comes on for the current leading tech company, supposedly run my a famous 25 year old prodigy.
The CEO comes on, and he looks exactly like Muzan, black hair, red eyes, even his suit is just as garish as always.
I hear my cellphone ring and I pick it up once I realized it was Tamayo’s number on the screen.
“What do you need, Tamayo?” I ask her with a sigh, “if you want to rant about your stock vests again, ask Yushiro, I’m sure he’d find it oh so entertaining.”
“This is not a joke, Ayaka!” Tamayo yells in exasperation, “this Taki Ogawa guy, you know CEO of R3D just betrayed our partnership and completely tricked me into losing all my stocks, god that bastard!”
“Uh, yes Tamayo, tragic,” I say, distracted by Taki Ogawa’s name on my screen, “that was very informative, uhm I’ll call you back!”
“Hey, I was talking!” Shouts Tamayo as I hang up, “rude ass bi-“
“Hello, is this Taki Ogawa?” I ask after calling his supposed number in anticipation.
“Yes, and who the hell are you?” I hear a snarky voice reply, “it seems I have easy prey tonight. Are you afraid yet?”
“Muzan?” I whisper, “Kibutsuji Muzan?”
“The one and only,” Muzan laughs over the phone, “how’ve you been?”
~The End~
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rosemaryblogs · 1 year ago
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Short Psychological Piece
The Girl in the Mirror
I forgot who I was- halfway at least.
I dunked my face in cold water, looking at myself in the stained bathroom mirror. The little droplets got stuck in my eyelashes, stinging my eyes as they dripped down my face and mixed with powder and mascara.
It’s like I’m trying to solve a puzzle with only half the pieces and the wrong reference photo.
There’s blood on my face, the same crimson blood that stains my hands red and snakes over the ratty beige carpet. The same blood on the knife on the countertop. The same blood dripping from the body in the corner of the room.
Everything’s hazy- it’s like I’ve lived this night twice yet never at all.
I find myself walking towards the limp body, my feet compelled against my will. I look at the body, crumpled and bleeding- I feel no anger nor fear. I did this. All logical signs say I did, but at the same time- it’s like her eyes are my own. Lifeless and brown, a sharp contrast to the very much alive electric blue of mine- yet too familiar. As if it were her eyes looking back at me everyday in the mirror.
I scream, though I don’t know why- I don’t know if I’m horrified or insane. I can’t decide if I’m the one with her bony hands around the girl’s neck or the one who’s having the air strangled out of her no longer pumping lungs. Everything’s hazy.
Time passes- though I can’t tell how much. There’s tears in my eyes, falling to the ground soundlessly. My vision’s all blurry and I rock myself back and forth, my hands still gripped around the neck like a lifeline. Because they are my hands. My bloodstained hands, wrapped around her neck.
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rosemaryblogs · 1 year ago
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Todorki and Dabi Angst Exerpt
Dabi is going to fucking kill little Shoto Todoroki. He should’ve finished the job when he was 11, not waited for him to get stronger. So there he was, smoking a charred cigar with raspy breathing as he threw darts at a photograph of his brother and father. How dare that fucking masterpiece take everything from him. Why’d he get to be treated differently? It wasn’t fucking fair.
Little Shoto Todoroki is going to fucking die. His father beat him bad, just because he couldn’t win his damn match against his own friend, Midoriya. He beat him till his body shook, covered in bruises and blisters, until he was laying there on the ground vomiting and in seething agony. He’d much prefer death over the hell he’s living in. Fuyumi and Natsuo weren’t even home, so he did what he could and stumbled out of his door, clasping his arm to his opposite shoulder, his body trembling and quaking with fear. He could barely walk, better yet see. His vision was blurry and his head aches, but something is driving him to step forward, to get the hell away from his father, even if it kills him. Which quite frankly he wouldn’t mind. No, no that’s a lie. It’s not that he actually wants to die, he just knows it’s inevitable. He’ll either die with his his father or die on his own, and the latter was far more inviting.
Before Shoto realized it, he found himself standing in a dark alleyway, glad to find a peaceful place to die, away from his father. That is, until he heard the thwack of a dart landing on a target board and mustered an ounce of focus on his eyes to make out the figure before him. He paled when he saw the figure before him, feeling queasy. None other than Dabi himself stood with his back to him, throwing darts at two dartboards, one of himself, and one of his father. Yeah, that didn’t bode well.
But he was going to die one way or another, so to hell with it if it was going to be by a villain’s hands. Better than his father, he supposed, if only marginally. His body was weak after all, and he could barely bring himself to breath, but whether he died by Dabi’s vengeful flames or from his father’s scars, there was one last thing he had to do. So unbeknownst to the villain before him, he picked up a dart and threw it straight at Endeavor’s face, mustering the last of his strength to take a single, fleeting, wobbly shot at the hero.
Dabi’s head whipped around almost instantly, and his hand heated up with blue flame as he sensed the intruder who’d just thrown a dart promptly at his fathers face. Who the fuck would be here? Must be another damned guy Shigaraki wanted him to recruit. Another fucking thug he had to kill. Oh. Why the hell was Todoroki fucking Shoto standing in an alleyway behind him? Either he was damn lucky or about to fucking die. So he held out his hand to attack the hero with his flames, but to his surprise, his brother didn’t try to stop him.
And that’s when he realized it. His brother was covered in scars and bruises, his eyes looked unfocused and his skin was pale. He looked so fragile, like he might pass out any second. Those weren’t the injuries or the expression of someone who’d been through a fight. Those were scars of abuse, ones he had a few too many run ins with in his past. Dare he say it, he looked like him. How he used to be beat anyways. There was no fucking way Endeavor did that to his masterpiece. But even then, Shoto’s burns looked even worse than his own when he was his age. He was snapped out of his thoughts by the hero collapsing on the ground, his body a mangled and bloodied mess, his gasps raspy and forced, trembling like a fish out of water. And that is when Touya Todoroki knew he fucked up.
•••
Dabi’s seen some shit, done some pretty fucking stupid things in his life. But few were on par with what he just fucking did, and broadcasted, on live, fucking, television. He just ‘cremated’ his younger brother on live TV. I mean, he knew his flames physically couldn’t burn Shoto since his internally stored ice would combat it, but same difference, the public wouldn’t know. Now, everyone thinks he killed his own damned brother. Fucking great.
“Shit,” hisses Dabi, tossing his cigar to the ground and burning the darts and photos so nobody would know. He darts towards his brother, crouching beside him and hauling the younger boy over his shoulders, wincing as he realizes how limp and cold his body is. He walks out of the alley, a mask and pair of obscure glasses adorning his face and an oversized hoodie pulled partially over his face, covering his arm scarring.
He walks to his apartment, grateful for the dark lighting in the alleys he passes through, with no streetlights to illuminate them. When he reaches his door, he turns the rusting bronze doorknob and heaves Shoto’s body through the flaking red door as he dusts off his boots on the doorstep. He walks across the creaking floorboards and takes off his black combat boots before stepping onto the poorly maintained and molding brown carpet. Laying Shoto down on the pealing tan sofa gently, he props his head up on pillow and walks to the kitchen.
Dabi rustles through the highest cabinet in his kitchen, the one filled with all his meds and cigarettes. Sorting through the mess of pill bottles, he finds an antiseptic wipe, numbing cream, a needle with surgical thread, bandages, cotton for padding, pain meds, and surgical tape. He grabbed the items in the crook of his elbow and reached into the freezer to get a pack of ice for Shoto’s wounds. He doubted he could use his quirk in this state. The lights in his rundown apartment had gone out years ago, so all he hade to illuminate the dark was his phone and an old flashlight he found in a dumpster like all the other shit in his apartment. The whole place was cluttered and decrepit, but he hardly cared. Kept him alive and away from his father, and frankly that was plenty enough for him.
He pulls up an old barstool he dragged in from the LOV and sits down on it next to Shoto, leaning down to begin stitching up his wounds. He threads the needle carefully and begins sewing up the burns and gashes riddling his brothers body, being careful to avoid prodding the gashes and infecting them. He winces at the amount of blood, bruising, scarring, and cuts covering Shoto’s body, but he made sure to keep his hands steady as he patched up his brother.
After Dabi finished stitching Shoto up, he applied surgical tape over each and every one of them, tightly wrapping bandages over the tape and around the boy’s arms, neck, legs, and torso, stuffing them with cotton and wiping the excess blood of with antiseptic wipes. He then opened the orange pill bottle of pain meds he snagged off of a drunk store clerk at the local drugstore a few nights ago, shaking out six after glancing at the required amount- doubling it since he knew the kid would be okay, after all he usually takes five times the required and hardly feels pain anymore.
Just as he’s about to feed Shoto the pills, the kid jolts upright in a cold sweat and looks around the dark and ominous room he’s lying in. His eyes narrow distrustfully as they adjust to the barely lit room. He turns to look and Dabi, eyes widening fearfully when he sees the needle and pills in his hands. He quickly raises his right arm defensively, a bit of ice beginning to trickle over his forearm as he gritted his teeth and flared at Dabi.
“What did you do to me!” Hisses the kid angrily, “where am I? Put the needle down if you don’t want a fight!”
“Jesus kid,” sighs Dabi in exasperation, “lie down, you’re going to end up killing yourself. Your in my apartment, and I didn’t fucking do a thing. All I did was stitch up your cuts, you got beat up pretty bad, you know that?”
Shoto takes a moment to warily glance down at his bleeding and fragile state, noticing all the carefully wrapped and stitched wounds. It all comes back to him. His father beating him half to death and passing out in the alleyway. He caulks his head to the side and looks at Dabi in confusion, as if trying to squeeze out his ulterior motives just by glaring at him. He lowers his arm slightly and scrutinizes the room around him more carefully, noticing all the bloody antiseptic wipes lying on the floor and all the medical supplies on the floor beside him. Squinting at the pill bottle, he manages to see the pain meds label, having half expected the pills to be some sort of quick acting poison. More than that, however, he finds the slightest bit of worry and relief in Dabi’s otherwise angry angled cerulean eyes, his own eyes widening in slight surprise.
When Shoto moves his arm to push himself up, he’s hit by a harsh wave of nausea of pain, and he blanches, clasping his hand to his chest. 
“Kid, take the meds, they’re not poisoned or any of that murderous shit that I do,” snarks Dabi, his voice tinged with a familiar concern that Shoto can’t quite place, “take as many as you need, won’t kill ya.”
“Thanks,” Shoto replies warily, taking a small hand full of pills and swallowing them. Shoto can tell that the villain tries hiding it, but when he takes the meds some of the tension in Dabi’s face and posture relaxes slightly, although Shoto has no clue what could have driven him to care. After all, his bastard father was the one Dabi wanted to kill more than anything else. 
“‘Course,” says Dabi in response, picking at one of the metal staples on his eye, a stress habit, causing a trickle of blood to drop out of what should’ve been something resembling ghost tear ducts. Shoto stifles a grimace at the thin stream of blood and the now very evidently real staples.
The pain meds are fast acting on their own, but paired with an overdose, being covered in wounds, and his general fatigue and mental stress, Shoto begins to drift of to sleep. He was far too tired to ask Dabi what he was hoping to gain from doing this. Frankly, the man saved him when he was practically had a leg in his grave, so he supposed he could wait to ask. 
Dabi thought Shoto was asleep. Bad mistake. He gave a real, genuine, kind smile at the ‘sleeping’ boy and brushed some of the hair out of his face.
“I’m so sorry Sho,” he whispers, resting his head on his clasped hands, “I’m so sorry I didn’t see what the old man was doing to you. I was too blinded by jealousy to look out for my own brother, and I’m a fucking idiot.  … Love you Sho.”
Dabi heard his phone ring, and he stood up to go pick it up, taking the meds with him.
He felt a hand clasp the ratty black sleeve of his jacket as he turned to go, and he cursed under his breath.
“T-Touya-nii?” Came a whisper from behind him as he grabbed the phone on the table, seeing Shigaraki’s number, “don’t leave me.”
“Dabi,” hissed Dabi on the other end of the phone, “I got a gig for you tonight. Got some potential recruits I need you to burn, some old geezers in Yokohama claiming to be ex Yakuza members, not that Chisaki would ever admit association. Probably just some fake assholes to cremate. You can do that, yes?”
Dabi’s breath hitches as he glanced back at Shoto who, despite the quiet tears falling down his face, keeps a death grip on his sleeve, his eyes pleading him to stay. Dabi knows he has some explaining to do.
“N-not today, Tomura,” stutters Dabi, “I have something to deal with.”
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rosemaryblogs · 1 year ago
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Excerpt From a Genshin OC Fic I’ve Been Working On
Chapter 10: Mortal Experiences
Lilith lazes around in her room, twirling a lock of her long silver white hair around her dainty finger, drumming her heels against the floor. It’s been 3 days since she’d arrived back in Snezhnaya alongside Ei and Yae, and she quickly found herself full of boredom in the snowy, lifeless nation.
She wished to do more than sit on a throne, poised as a goddess above mortals. She wanted to experience what it really meant to live. She’d spent far too long hidden away from the public eye, building a reputation that brought about fear and terror without even meaning too.
Making a quick decision, Lilith jolted upwards, jumping off of her throne and striding confidently across the extensive room, pulling open the brass coated door. She began to make her way through the halls of the manor, observing just how much it had turned from a palace to a fortress in her time away. She dragged her hand along the a window sill, her typically unreadable face saddening, a forlorn look crossing her face at the absence of the camellia flowers she used to plant annually. Everything was so dreary and utterly cold, devoid of energy and comfort. As she continued to walk, she saw no others in the mansion, no maids or children or soldiers, just utter and complete desolation and silence.
Lilith made it to the entry way and grabbed a long ivory colored fur coat, pulling it over her shoulders. She traded her heel for black fur lined combat boots and pulled on warm mittens and a traditional hat, buttoning up her coat with delicate motions.
Bracing herself, Lilith pushed through the massive oak doors at the manor’s entrance, the cold hitting her like a sheet of ice, blowing snow all around her.
Lilith began to track towards a nearby city, one further distanced from the capitol of Snezhnaya, being a smaller almost town like assortment of ramshackle buildings on the outskirts of her manor.
The snow continued to blow, more gentle and flurried than it had been earlier as Lilith walked, clinging to her coat and hair. The path she walked upon was lifeless, much like the rest of what she’d seen of her abysmal nation, with even the trees hanging limply, as if weeping at the sorrows that they’d certainly been witness to. Lilith couldn’t help but wince, thinking of the ruin she’d allowed to befall her homeland.
As she walked further and further into the barren thicket of trees, she began to see the faintest glow of orange tinged light in the distance, a sign of Yezhevika Province, the small industrial city ahead. There were little oil lit lamps hung on the trees near the city’s entrance, and weathered and rusting metal signs were staked in the ground in welcome to travelers from abroad, though they were rendered illegible from years of abrasive wind and snow.
Lilith gingerly opened the brittle looking metal gates that served as a marking of Yezhevika, stepping into the city’s walls, the whole town being surrounded by tall gray brick turrets and spires, similar to Mondsdadt. Unlike the city of freedom, however, there was no lively energy, and what was left of the city walls had been chipped away at by weathering and wars. The whole city seemed like a plea for help, a tragic place left in a utterly horrific state. The shops and stores were partially boarded up, and some windows appeared broken from the near state of anarchy Lilith had allowed to befall Snezhnaya.
Amidst the snowy city, Lilith caught sight of a limp form, curled up in the snow. She walked over to the form, rolling it up off the ground. The sight she saw made her blanch, her gut plummeting with guilt and remorse. The girl- because it was a girl, a person, no inanimate mass- her face was covered in mud and soot, and her clothes were mere rags, tattered and worn. Her chocolate brown eyes fluttered open, her features tired and hopeless. Lilith understood Alyona’s words from the boat to Inazuma now, the way the girl seemed to hate her, Lilith at least, with a burning passion, detesting her for the state of the slums. It was at that moment Lilith vowed to do better for her people, to collaborate with other nations and work to make peace across nations and within her own, because clearly, war aside, her nation was suffering. The nation she was responsible for and would gladly devote her life too.
“Can you speak?” She asked the girl gently, brushing the snow and gunk off of her pale features.
“Y-yes,” The young girl murmured in response, “b-barely.”
“What is your name, child?” She prompted, her voice full of warmth and sympathy, “I wish to help you. What is it you desire?”
“My n-name,” The girl stutters, teeth chattering, “It’s Anzhela Sokolov. I-I suppose I would like to j-join the Fatui one day- to fight for our nation… w-were I not so weak. To provide for m-my brother Andrei.”
And no, Lilith thought with deep concern, that was not what she had been expecting.
“Then you have yourself a deal, little Anzhela Sokolov,” Chided Lilith warmly, placing a vision, cold as ice in the girl’s shivering and calloused palms, “da blagoslovyat tebya arkony, moye ditya. May the arcons bless you.”
____
“Child, where are you?” Calls Lilith from the hall, finding no trace of the little girl anywhere in the mansion, “child?”
“You call?” Replies an amused voice from behind her, causing her to jump.
Lilith spins around to face the intruder, putting a dagger constructed of ice to his neck, only making him grin more.
Lilith’s blade falls to her side as she recognizes the intruder- made hard to miss by his bright orange hair, “Ajax.”
“Yup! No need to stare, I know I’m-“ Lilith cuts him off, leveling him with an unamused glare, not having time for the child- CHILDE’s antics.
“Where is she, Ajax?” Snarls Lilith, her patience dwindling.
“Woah- simmer down, girlie!” He laughs playfully, putting his hands up in mock surrender, his tone darkening, “the real question is what are you doing here, Hyacinth? I thought you were supposed to be in Inazuma with the rest of the troops.”
Lilith can only shake her head in frustration, grimacing at her foolish subordinate. She needs to find Anzhela- there’s no saying what the harbinger could have done to the poor little girl. So, in a last ditch attempt- Lilith asks the one question she knew Ajax couldn’t refuse.
“What say you to a duel, Ajax? If I win, then you must tell me what you’ve done to the child,” Lilith replies calmly, her once prickly demeanor glazing over into an unreadable facade.
“Really?” He exclaims, face lighting up with elation, eyes glinting with excitement, “Let us fight then!”
He must not be right in the head.
No sooner than Lilith assumes proper fighting stance, curtsying with respect she most certainly doesn’t feel, Ajax is already sending blows in her direction.
The two exchange a flurry of blows and attacks- Lilith entertaining their duel for a while as to not crush the prideful harbinger’s fragile ego. Despite Lilith’s attempts to be a courteous opponent, she has never been someone known to wait.
Swiftly, Lilith disarms Ajax, her ice forged dagger once again pressed up against his neck. 
Rather than fighting back or denying his loss, Ajax breaks into a mad grin, eyes feverish and alive. He reaches his hand up shakily, grasping onto the blade with desperation, etching it into his own skin, drawing a thin trail of blood, like a crimson river over his pale skin.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Lilith chides, glowering up at the man, her expression equally irate and exhausted, “are all the Tsaritsa’s followers now incompetent fools?”
Ajax shakes himself out of whatever haze he was in, returning to his usual demeanor.
“Apologies, Hyacinth- I was merely caught of guard by your prowess. Had I known you to be so capable I would’ve rather liked to have a longer conversation with you when we met before your departure to Inazuma,” he replies, choosing to ignore her barbed comments.
Lilith can only sigh, crushing the blade in her palm into a thousand crystalline shards of ice at her feet.
“Enough of these pleasantries, Ajax- take me to the child,” she demands, jabbing an accusatory finger at his chest to which he only laughs, a giddy sort of expression briefly gracing his boyish features.
“Alright, alright, geez,” he replies teasingly, beckoning for her to follow him as he walks down the corridors of the quiet mansion. They come upon the kitchen door, and he opens it quietly, smiling.
There, to Lilith’s utmost surprise, is young Anzhela Sokolov sitting at the counter, a warm homemade bowl of stew sitting before her, her cheeks flushed from the warmth. Lilith had barely managed to get Anzhela out of her room in the days following her arrival at the mansion- and the girl scarcely bore such a comforted expression. Lilith turned her eyes to look up at Ajax, looking upon him in a new light. Perhaps the Tsaritsa’s army was full not of violent fools but children still mourning the loss of the life they were denied- children with nowhere to turn but the snowy manor for salvation.
Chapter 12
Lilith sets her teacup down on the weathered oak table gingerly, glancing between Ajax and Anzhela uncertainly, unsure of what to do with this unforeseen predicament.
“Ajax,” she murmurs, tone wavering, “I apologize for my… hasty accusations. I was out of line, I offer you my sincerest apologies.”
Lilith nods her head to the man in respect, albeit begrudgingly, eyes too devoid of remorse to meet his- so different from her own. While her eyes were calloused and jaded, like a desolate wasteland- his eyes were so alive, as warm and deep as the ocean itself- so deep she almost feared that even she, with all her godly prowess, would get swept away amidst those beautiful tides.
“No need to be so apologetic,” teased Ajax, oblivious to Lilith’s inner turmoil, “it was I who chose to withhold information simply due to my desire to fight. You’re surprisingly skilled, Hyacinth- I’d love to… cross blades again.”
He smirks, shooting her a winning grin as he runs his hand through his messy orange hair- and Lilith can’t help the urge to slap the egotistical harbinger’s stupidly attractive face- surely, that’s the only thought that crossed her mind.
“Perhaps I’ll take you up on that offer- at a later date of course,” Lilith replies calmly, taking another sip of her tea. A Liyuean mix, she thinks- a gift from one of those uppity women from her mother’s little circle of the elite Snezhnayan nouveau rich.
Ajax shoots her an almost childish grin in response, glancing down at little Anzhela when he feels her tug on his sleeve.
“Hm?” He inquires, his tone softening significantly as he smiles at the young girl, surprising Lilith once again, “what is it?”
“Uhm…” she murmurs meekly, holding her warm cup of tea in her bruised hands, “why do you call the nice lady Hyacinth?”
Ajax looks genuinely confused for a moment, his confident demeanor slipping as he looks to Lilith in honest befuddlement.
Lilith averts her eyes again, sensing the probing gaze of Ajax on her.
“We’ll discuss this later,” Lilith says finally, her tone ice cold, “I’m sure you’re needed elsewhere, Ajax- I’m perfectly capable of protecting Anzhela myself- you need not worry so. The Tsaritsa will be needing an audience with you shortly, and Rosalyn’s as well- you’d best clean yourself up. Neither of the women have been known to be lenient with appearances.”
“How did you-“ mutters Ajax, clearly struggling to put together the pieces of the puzzle that is Hyacinth Arulia together, “ah, right- later. Of course, of course- I forgot.”
Lilith rolls her eyes, though a bit of fondness manages to sneak through her irritated expression. Ajax is an anomaly, to put it lightly. It is not often that Lilith has met such a warm person with such a horrid reputation, though she supposes it isn’t often that she meets anyone at all.
Lilith watches as Ajax pulls on a thick coat over his gray suit, lazily draping a maroon scarf around his neck- smirking when he notices Lilith’s gaze.
“Well- let’s meet again, Arulia,” he says- a promise, she realizes- not empty words. An anomaly- truly, he is.
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rosemaryblogs · 1 year ago
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Muzan Kibutsuji Character Study
Short story based off a Muzan time travel AU fic that I wrote a while back- might be a bit confusing :,)
Tomioka Giyuu was scared. He would be too late. Sightings of a powerful demon had been reported, and there were so many innocent families in this village. He was going to be late again. He was always late.
As he was running up through the snowy peaks he sees blood covering the snow. So. Much. Blood. He truly was too late again. Just like with Sabito and Tsutako. He’s always too late. But he still must avenge those who have been slaughtered.
And there he saw a demon with short black hair and plum red eyes dressed in a gold trimmed suit, holding a katana to his own neck. Cutting his head off over and over again, only for it to regenerate before it could even disappear. He was crying, Giyuu realizes. He was trying to kill himself. But why it wasn’t working confused him. A demon should be dead after having their neck cut with a nichirin blade. Maybe this demon felt guilt for killing an innocent family. Or maybe he was simply insane.
Cautiously, Giyuu approached the demon who was sitting on an Eastern facing cliff, staring out at the dim sky.
“What are you doing?” Asks Giyuu warily, pointing his blade at the demon.
“Waiting for the Sun to rise,” the demon comments with a small smile, “or trying to die before then. I am still as much of a coward as ever, wanting to die painlessly. It’s pathetic, is it not?”
Giyuu’s eyebrows raise at how composed the demon seems. Not just does he have incredible regeneration but the ability to speak freely and eloquently as well. Strange. He doesn’t respond.
“Would you like to try?” The demon asks with a hopeful smile, gesturing to Giyuu’s blade, “to kill me, I mean.”
“Is it likely I’ll succeed?” Giyuu asks in defeat, fist clenched around the hilt of his katana to which the demon only laughs ruefully.
“No.”
“I expected that much,” Giyuu says with a grim expression, “why is it you want to die? Because you slaughtered an innocent family tonight?”
“Huh?” The demon asks, quirking his head to the side, “oh, you’re referring to the blood. That’s all my own.”
Giyuu pales. Even for a demon, that much blood means he’s tried to slice his neck at least 100 times. Even if he has an uncanny ability to regenerate, there’s no way he can’t feel the pain.
“How long until sunrise now?” The demon asks calmly, his red eyes gazing off into the sky, “it shouldn’t be long now.”
“No, not long at all,” Giyuu replies coldly, “you never answered my question, demon.”
“Oh, I suppose I didn’t,” he chuckles wryly, “there are many reasons. Not that you’d believe them. You see, somehow, I found myself in the past. Once, before this time, I did slaughter the family on this mountain. I slaughtered all the hashira, save for you and the one who was riddled with scars. All the slayers, all the demons, dead. Every death my doing. You know, I came to terms with my actions and stepped into the sunlight on my second loop. I thought that would give me closure. I thought I could give the slayers hope by sending the one who killed me back in time so she could kill me before all of this happened. But I suppose that wasn’t enough to appease the gods for my sins. So I stand here to face the sunlight as many times as it takes.”
Giyuu ponders his words for a moment, taking in the demon’s outlandish claims.
“I did not know demon’s believed in a higher power,” Giyuu settles on, choosing not to address the death’s the demon had spoke of.
“I did not, once,” the demon concludes quietly, “but sometimes it takes coming face to face with that you cannot accept in order to comprehend it.”
“I see.”
There is silence until Giyuu speaks up, turning to face the demon.
“What is your name, demon? You speak of events that have not occurred as if they are all your fault,” Giyuu speaks in contemplation, “that is a heavy belief to carry with you. I find you intriguing.”
“You would no longer wish to speak with me if you knew who I was, Tomioka Giyuu,” replies the demon sadly.
Giyuu flinches, shocked that this demon actually knows who he is, regaining his composure.
“You do not know that,” decides Giyuu, fixing the demon with a calculated gaze, “besides, you will die anyways.”
“That is true,” the demon murmurs with a twinge of something almost resembling guilt in his voice, “my name is Kibutsuji Muzan.”
Giyuu’s face remains calm, having been expecting this answer,
“You do not appear surprised,” notes Muzan simply, “what gave you the impression?”
“Your regeneration, appearance, and the deaths you claimed you caused,” Giyuu answers resolutely with a voice masking all the unanswered questions he still has.
“Yes, that makes sense.”
There is silence once again, home only to the sounds of the rustling fir trees, the crunch of snow, and the birds flitting in between trees.
“Why are you like this?” Giyuu asks finally, “why are you a demon who leads so cruelly and harmfully?”
“I was once sick,” Muzan says, causing Giyuu to flinch in surprise, “I was only 18 and I’d never been able to go outside- I was dying. I coughed up blood constantly, I could hardly move nor breath. My life was miserable. But my family was wealthy so they got me a doctor. He experimented on me, a mad scientist of sorts. So when I was on the brink of death, I killed him- as a human- in a fit of rage. And I took his damned unfinished medicine. I ended up the way I am now. I killed my family, everyone who worked in that estate. I was starving and high on power. I didn’t know what I was doing.”
Giyuu says nothing, face unwavering despite the storm raging in his mind. He masks his emotions so easily.
“I don’t know how to explain the way I lead,” continues Muzan solemnly, “the simplest way to explain it is simply that I am a coward. I fear what I don’t understand, I shun it, I hate it, I purge it. I could not understand love. So I cut it out of my mind, of my life. And I killed all those that displayed that sickly affection and emotion. I destroyed them. I suppose the time at which I came to terms with the monster I had become was when I first felt love. For the woman who sent me to grave. I cannot say whether or not it was unrequited, but even if she forgave me, I could not bring myself to chase after someone I’d hurt so badly. Maybe in another life I will see her again.”
Giyuu is at a loss for words. This monster is far more conscious than he would’ve thought. He supposed that much time to yourself would have that effect.
“If it helps, I do not view you as a monster, Kibutsuji Muzan.”
“You know, we aren’t that different, you and I.”
And with those words Muzan spreads his arms out to great the sun and fades to ashes until nothing off him remains. And with him, every other demon disappears from existence, leaving Giyuu to stare at the place where the man once sat and mull over his words. Maybe they were more true than he’d like to think. Maybe he should heed the words of the one who once ruined his life.
—-
“Hey, hey Tomioka-san, I’m talking to you!” Shinobu complains, poking him in the side, “you know, it’s not very nice to ignore people. Hey Tomioka-sa-“
“Ah, apologies Kocho, I was thinking about something, I didn’t mean to be rude,” Giyuu comments absentmindedly, “I was wondering, would you ever want to go out to eat somewhere?”
-Fin-
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rosemaryblogs · 1 year ago
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Excerpt From an Original Story I’ve Been Writing <3
Katya stumbled out of the taxi, slamming the door closed and causing the rickety thing to wobble. She ignored the irate hollering of the old trout, feverishly wiping her tears from her eyes to no avail, staining her white gloves black with her cheap mascara. She clutched her purse tightly, the Bruyére clutch Edith had given her on her 23rd birthday- though she quickly brushed any thought of the daft playwright aside. There was no use dwelling on what was out of her control.
Her heels clack on the cobblestone as she makes her way down the alleyway- away from the taxi. A torrent of rain begins to engulf her, drowning out her inner turmoil with the rapidly quickening ring of water on rock.
When Katya flings open the mottled oak door, she’s greeted with the bustling din of the bar and the smell of scotch and beer. The lights were dim yet warm, and the place was crowded despite its drab exterior. It reminded her of the pubs back in Murmansk, she decided, a welcome change compared to the upscale cantine’s in the wealthier parts of Paris.
“You sitting down or not?” Calls out a husky voice from behind the counter, snapping Katya out of her haze.
“What?” She murmurs in confusion, pausing before nodding her head lightly, “Oh, yes, of course- my apologies, sir.”
“No bother!” He laughs, cracking a grin as she sits down on a worn leather stool, passing a Bière Brune to the man beside her. He glances at her, noting her disheveled state, coffee brown hair matted from the rain, makeup running and patchy.
Katya glares at him, sighing before pulling out 20 francs and slapping them on the table, causing the peotssxrcple beside her to scoot further away from her.
He raises an eyebrow with drollery, amused by her impassioned disposition, sliding the coins back towards her with a lopsided smile.
“Your drinks are on me- what can I get you?” He inquires playfully, a a hand through his  dirty blonde hair.
“I don’t need your pity, you lowlife,” hisses Katya through gritted teeth, fixing him with an irritated scowl, “Just pass me a scotch, on the rocks.”
“Easy, doll,” He chides, still grinning stupidly as he turns to grab her scotch, “what’re you doing ‘round these parts anyways? You’re Angela Vissnau, right?”
“What gave it away?” She murmurs weakly, slouching, leaning her face on the heel of her hand as she watches him pour ice in her drink.
“You still didn’t answer my question,” He replies, though he sounds more jesting than annoyed. He slides her the scotch, looking at her expectedly, eyes twinkling with curiosity.
“Bad day,” she snaps bluntly, snatching the glass and downing it in one gulp, slamming it on the table and shooting him a wolfish grin, “Another. You’re paying, anyways.”
“Alright, alright,” He smirks- though he doesn’t push the subject any further, moving to make her another scotch, “you’re feisty for a model, Angela.”
She raises a warning brow at him, rolling her eyes, “Tell me something I don’t know.”
Katya pauses, taking the second drink from him and downing it once again, humming to herself, before shooting him a passive glance,  “I didn’t catch your name.” 
“Didn’t throw it,” He murmurs, yelping when she throws an ice cube at him, “Jeez, you’re not like the magazines make you out to be, doll. I’m Brent, by the way- Brent Cerne.”
“Lowlife,” she mutters again, though there’s no fire behind her words, dabbing at her mascara with a wrinkled napkin.
He smiles at her, softer this time, and she can’t help but notice his dimples, the gentle way his eyes crinkle at their edges. She must not be thinking straight- it’s got to be the beer. There’s no way she’d let her mind drift there sober.
Brent interrupts her thoughts once again, reaching his hand to take her empty glass. 
Katya flinches away from his reach, shaking as she curls into herself, startling Brent as he tries to make sure she’s alright.
“Angela-“ He starts, trying to help, even though he has no clue how, “Are you-“
“Get away from me!” She yells, eyes wide with sheer terror, before going blank, her hands dropping from in front of her face to rest at her side, realizing where she is.
It was all in her head. Every time… She buries her head in her hands, her breathing shaky.
“I do something wrong?” Brent asks worriedly, his voice tentative- uncertain.
“No, no- it’s nothing,” Katya assures, still trembling, “It’s nothing. I must be delusional.”
He looks like he wants to say something, but decides he shouldn’t force her to say anything more.
They fall into an uncomfortable quiet, and Brent resumes making other people’s drinks, glancing at Katya and the growing pile of empty glasses in front of her every once in a while with concern.
Finally, getting tired of the silence as other customers begin to leave, Brent walks back over to Katya, “It’s getting late. D’you have a way to get home?”
“Home…” Katya whispers ruefully, tears pricking her eyes, “I must say… I don’t quite know where that would be anymore.”
“Oh,” He replies plainly, unsure what to do with her, “Well, bar closes in 5 minutes- you sure there’s nowhere you can go? Weren’t you with that upstart bourgeoise guy… what was his name again?”
“Mylan?” She supplies, tilting her head to the side, swinging her empty glass side to side between two perfectly manicured fingers, “Definitely not.”
“Oh,” He says again, pausing, caught of guard, “…you could stay here? If you have nowhere to go. I mean- there’s a guest room, I live in the loft alone anyways. Not sure it’s up to your standards though, doll.”
“Would you stop calling me that?” She grimaces, trying to push her memories of Andreí out of her head, “…and fine. Thank you, I suppose.”
“No problem,” He answers awkwardly, walking out from behind the counter to the door.
Brent flips the sign to say ‘we’re closed’, locking the door. He grabs a broom and dustpan from the corner of the bar, beginning to sweep up the debris from the day, glancing at Katya again, utterly befuddled by her entire existence. In no world should one of the most famous socialites in Paris be disheveled, drunk, and on the verge of tears at his pub in the middle of nowhere. That just wasn’t how things worked.
After he finishes cleaning up the bar, as well as he can, at the very least, he waltzes back behind the counter, leaning on it with exuberant theatrical flair that he most certainly does not feel at the moment.
“Alright, Angela, how should we do this?” He starts, stacking her glasses and putting them in the sink to wash later, “It’s late, I’m sure you’re tired.”
“Whatever,” She grumbles, standing up, picking up her clutch and pulling her fur coat tighter around her shoulders, “I’m not that tired.”
Brent sighs, gesturing for her to follow him, “Come on, you can’t very well expect me to allow you to sleep on the floor- you’ve got to move at some point, you’re drunk.”
She glares at him, but follows him up the creaking old stairs, her face contorting into a repulsed expression at the decrepit stairwell, though she makes no comment on the state of the loft. Only a few years earlier, her living conditions weren’t so different, after all. Her mind flashes back to her cottage in Apatity for the third time in the night, and she stumbles slightly.
“You alright?” Brent asks, assuming Katya’s merely drunk.
“Fine,” she barks angrily, kicking at the birch  floorboards of the loft haphazardly.
He opens his mouth to argue, stopping himself again, deciding it pointless to try to fight with a drunk.
“Well, here you are,” he says sarcastically, gesturing to a small cot, barren save for a frayed burgundy blanket and a lumpy pillow with what Katya swears in mildew on it.
“Thanks,” she replies, with a polite nod of her head, her lips pursed not from the bed but rather the memories it brings up.
“I’ll… be around, if you need anything,” Brent assures nervously, turning to sleep at the other end of the cramped loft, slightly more furnished than her half- though not by much.
Katya nod her head again, settling onto the bed. She takes off her coat, folding it up neatly and setting it on the windowsill, looking out at the rain through the dense layers of cobwebs and dust. It’s peaceful, almost. Too peaceful.
She allows her eyes to close, listening to the light patter of rain, taking her back to her old life, back before everything went down. She lets her thoughts drift to the old coastal town, the simple provincial life. The thought makes her want to smile, cry, and scream all at once- but she finds that with time, it become more muddled that painful. 
Her eyes flutter open, and she wonders how much time has passed since she drifted off into her own world. Her eyes flit to Brent, hunched over on the other cot, face buried in a novel.
Katya sets down her clutch on the off kilter nightstand, walking over to Brent, glancing at the cover of the book he’s reading, going unnoticed.
“You read Bunin?” She asks suddenly, causing Brent to jump, snapping his head up to look at her.
“Oh, yes, you know his works?” Probes Brent with interest, scrutinizing her with a newfound fascination, “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”
“I’d have to be a fool not to have read his works,” Katya answers with a roll of her glittering blue eyes, more comfortable now- in her element- sitting down beside him, “The Gentleman From San Francisco is a favorite of mine. A truly introspective piece.”
“Interesting for someone in your circles to speak so highly of a novel that disproves the faith you place in wealth,” he says, not judgemental, yet not kind.
“I suppose,” she answers plainly, though her lips quirk upwards, “you’ve read it then?”
“Yes,” he concedes, setting down his copy of Dark Avenues and turning to face her, “I didn’t take you for the scholarly type.”
“I’m surprised you’d take me for anything, seeing as we’ve only just met,” Katya laughs wryly, looking into his warm brown eyes, observing how soft they look in the candlelight.
“Well, you’re the one who called me a lowlife after taking one glance at me,” he replies.
“Hm,” She murmurs, allowing for a comfortable silence before changing the subject, “Have you read any Pushkin?” In the back of her mind, she wonders if Edith knew Boris Godunov- she’s sure she would have.
“Certainly,” Replies Brent, grinning now as they find common ground, “Personally, though a bit out of character for my tastes, The Queen of Spades was beautifully written.”
“I agree!” Exclaims Katya, her cold mask cracking as she smiles a true smile, her expression melting into a gentler thing, soft yet agonized.
“Ah- have you read Pasternak? You seem like the type to like Doctor Zhivago,” Brent chimes in, moving ever so slightly closer to Katya- though she catches the motion.
“Oh… I haven’t,” she pauses, her tone a bit off as she bites her lip nervously, her mind still foggy from all the alcohol, “I would have…”
He tilts his head to the side, a bit put off by her sudden change in tone.
“It’s… never mind,” she mutters, shaking her head, “Ignore me.”
She lets her head drift onto his shoulder as he blows out the candle, drifting into darkness as sleep finally overtakes her.
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