Private & Selective Low Activity rp Multi-Muse Blog. Penned by Ziggy.
Rules / Bios // Memes // Kikyo HCs // Kagura HCs // Bankotsu HCs // Open Starters
Mains: @whirling-fangs // @fallesto // @solxr-flare // @towerkept // @shcrdcdlifc // @daemoniism (+ across all blogs) // @palesin // @sunsblaze // @eldinwind
Just so you know, this is a canon divergent blog for these muses. I have multi verses written out these muses so we can talk about them for plotting
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Kanae’s expression softened at the mention of Kaede, as though the name alone painted a familiar picture. She nodded lightly, listening without interruption, the way someone does when they understand exhaustion more than they speak of it.
“I see…” she said at last, her voice calm and unhurried. “A hospital at dawn sounds like a place that never truly sleeps. It must make this kind of brightness feel… almost unfamiliar.” Her gaze drifted briefly to Kikyo’s face — not intrusive, just attentive — as if taking in what wasn’t being said aloud. The slight heaviness, the quiet discipline, the kind of tiredness that didn’t come from one night alone.
At Kikyo’s agreement, Kanae’s smile returned, a little warmer. “Of course. You’re not intruding at all. If anything, you’ve arrived at a rather lively time… so a quieter place might be kinder.”
She shifted her hold on the flowers, then gestured gently toward a path that curved away from the main courtyard, where the noise softened beneath the trees. “There’s a small garden behind the science building,” she offered. “It isn’t as crowded, and the wind passes through there more gently. The flowers there are… less spoken of, but they listen well, if that makes sense.”
A faint, almost playful brightness touched her expression at Kikyo’s observation. “And thank you,” Kanae added softly. “I do care for them. They don’t ask for much in return, so I try to make sure they’re never neglected.”
She began to walk at an easy pace, matching Kikyo’s likely fatigue rather than expecting haste. “Kaede must be very fond of you,” she said after a moment, her tone light but sincere. “It isn’t easy to persuade someone from a hospital bed of routine.”
Kikyo followed half a step behind her at first, her pace measured more by habit than intention. The path Kanae had chosen curved away from the festival noise with surprising ease, as though the grounds themselves understood the need for silence. Beneath the canopy of trees, the sharp brightness of laughter faded into something distant and softened, carried away by the wind along with the scent of incense and sweet festival food. The quiet settled around them naturally. Kikyo found herself strangely aware of the sound of the flowers brushing against Kanae’s sleeves when she walked.
At the mention of Kaede, her expression eased by a fraction. “She worries excessively,” Kikyo replied, though the faintness near her eyes suggested affection rather than criticism. “Ever since we were young, she has disliked seeing me overwork myself.” Her gaze lowered briefly to the stone path beneath their feet. “Unfortunately, she inherited our mother’s stubbornness. Once she decides something, resistance becomes inefficient.” The admission carried the driest trace of humor. A breeze moved through the trees overhead, stirring the hanging wisteria vines near the edge of the path. Kikyo noticed the ease with which students greeted her in passing, small waves, quiet smiles, subtle bows of recognition. “You seem well-loved here,” Kikyo observed quietly after a moment.
Ahead, the garden emerged gradually behind the science building, tucked away from the heart of the festival. The sounds of celebration dulled into a distant murmur behind the trees. Smaller flower beds lined the narrow stone walkway, which had forget-me-nots, white lilies, early blooming hydrangeas as their petals shifted gently beneath the afternoon wind. A wooden bench rested beneath a maple tree whose leaves cast trembling shadows across the ground.
Kikyo slowed slightly upon entering, as the stillness there felt different from exhaustion. Her shoulders loosened before she consciously realized it. “This is peaceful,” she admitted softly. As someone who spent most days surrounded by fluorescent lights and antiseptic air, the garden almost felt unreal. There were no urgent footsteps, no voices calling for charts or medication, and no monitors crying out into sleepless dawns. Only a gentle breeze and flowers. After a brief pause, Kikyo spoke again, her voice lower now against the hush of the garden. “You understand how to care for exhausted things.”
He was being lectured, right away by her, as he glanced down and snapped his fingers as he was handed a bottle of water, the plastic crinkling under his grip. The condensation dripped onto his sleeve, not water from a puddle this time, but Fiji fucking Water at ¥500 a bottle. His throat constricted at the irony. He took a measured sip, watching Kikyo over the rim as her sister vibrated beside her like a hummingbird on meth. The water tasted like chlorine and regret.
“Hm.”
The stylist reappeared, wielding a powder puff like a shield. He waved her off with a jerk of his chin, swallowing another mouthful as she managed to touch up his face, seeing as it had been pointed out by her, that he was not .. looking his best, as he drank again. It hit his stomach like a stone. "You're right.” He admitted, too low for the entourage to hear. His tongue dragged over his bottom lip, catching a stray drop. "But I won't pass out. So you don’t have to worry about working tonight." Not tonight. Not when the stadium lights would bleach his sins into something dazzling.
“You are excited, good. It is going to be a good show.”
As his smile twitched wider as little sisters’ knees wobbled, it was an almost Pavlovian reaction to his presence. He'd seen it a thousand times: the choked gasps, the trembling fingers clutching merch, the wide-eyed devotion that bordered on religious fervor. But there was something deliciously raw about this girl's reaction, like she'd stepped into a shrine and found the god himself slouched against his own altar.
Her sister's clinical detachment only sharpened the contrast. He handed the bottle to his staff without looking, fingers brushing against empty air until someone snatched it from him. The stylist was back, quickly as she dabbed at his forehead with a tissue before he could blink, her movements quick and practiced like she was mopping up a spill rather than touching a person. He ignored her, focusing instead on the way Kaede’s hands shook as she fumbled with her phone camera. The screen reflected his face back at him, smooth, flawless, a mask he’d worn so long it almost felt real.
"Closer, come on, let’s do this." He commanded, not unkindly, and watched the girl nearly combust as he slung an arm around her shoulders. He saw her breath hitch audibly, her entire frame going rigid beneath his touch. The scent of her strawberry-scented shampoo was cloying, too sweet, too young. Kikyo stood stiffly beside them, arms crossed, her expression unreadable.
The contrast was almost comical, one sister melting into a puddle of adoration, the other radiating disapproval like a human firewall. The photographer’s flash went off, bleaching the moment into something sterile and staged. More snaps taken, as many as possible. The flashbulbs died as the photographer stepped back, signaling the end of the session. He dropped his arm from around Kaede’s shoulders like shedding an unwanted coat. He watched them both with detached amusement, his publicist already herding them toward the exit.
The older sister’s eyes lingered on him for a beat too long, clinical and assessing, As he watched them both, rubbing his eyes, he could, he would .. he shall make it through the entire show tonight.
"Enjoy the show." He said, the words slipping out smooth as scripted dialogue. His voice carried just enough warmth to sound genuine, a practiced balance between dismissive and charming. He didn't wait for a response, already turning away as his entourage closed ranks around him like a living curtain.
The last thing he saw was Kikyo's unimpressed blink and Kaede's tear-streaked face crumpling with realization that this was it, their moment was over before she could even process it. As he had a show to put on.
Kikyo watched him disappear beneath the swarm of handlers and stylists without changing expression, though the noise left behind lingered in the corridor long after he vanished. The artificial brightness of backstage lighting painted everyone in pale fluorescence, flattening faces into masks and smiles into obligations. Around her, staff hurried in synchronized chaos with clipboards, headsets, makeup kits, and bottled water moving like blood through veins. The entire backstage area felt less like preparation for music and more like the frantic stabilization of a patient moments before surgery.
Beside her, Kaede finally exhaled and then immediately grabbed Kikyo’s sleeve hard enough to wrinkle the fabric. “Sister,” she hissed in a voice strained with tears and disbelief, “You diagnosed him.” Kikyo blinked once. “I did not diagnose him.” “You told him he was tachycardic!” “He is tachycardic.” Kaede stared at her like she had personally insulted the gods. “You can’t just tell celebrities they’re medically unstable!” Kikyo’s gaze drifted toward the hallway he had disappeared down. “Someone should.”
Kaede let out a wounded noise and buried her face into her hands again, mumbling incoherently about ruined first impressions and destiny and how no other fan in the history of concerts had ever warned an idol about electrolyte imbalance during a meet-and-greet. Kikyo tuned out most of it automatically, her attention instead catching on the subtle remnants left in his wake. The discarded bottle of water still sat half-finished atop a rolling equipment case. One of the makeup artists was whispering anxiously to another stylist near the curtains and farther down the hall, she could hear someone vomiting quietly into a sink.
Kaede was still spiraling. “Do you think he hates us now?” “No.” “You don’t know that.” “He listened.” That alone separated him from half the patients she’d worked with. A staff member eventually appeared to escort VIP guests toward their seats, and Kaede nearly levitated with excitement again, clutching her laminate pass to her chest like a sacred relic. Kikyo allowed herself to be guided through the labyrinthine inner corridors of the stadium with measured silence, absorbing details instinctively. Security checkpoints. Emergency exits. Medical staff locations. Fire suppression systems. The nearest AED mounted beside Section B. The roar of the stadium struck them all at once, the moment the final doors opened.
The crowd thundered beneath waves of lights and giant LED screens, tens of thousands of voices merging into something primal and feverish. Kaede actually stumbled from the force of it, grabbing Kikyo’s arm with wide eyes as they were ushered toward the VIP section directly beside the extended stage runway. Their seats were absurdly close. Close enough to see individual dancers preparing behind moving platforms. Close enough to read the tension in security personnel. Close enough that when the lights suddenly died, Kikyo could hear Kaede stop breathing entirely. Then the stadium exploded. The first burst of pyrotechnics ignited in blinding gold. Music slammed through the arena with enough force to rattle her ribs, bass reverberating through steel and bone alike as thousands screamed his name in deafening unison. A spotlight cut through the darkness, and there he was.
Kaigaku emerged from beneath the stage like something summoned rather than introduced, draped in black and silver beneath torrents of light. The exhaustion she’d seen backstage vanished so completely it was almost violent. His posture straightened. His expression sharpened. Every fractured, exhausted piece of him disappeared beneath precision-crafted charisma. The transformation was clinical in its perfection and terrifying because of it. Kaede was openly crying beside her before the second song. Kikyo remained still, though her gaze tracked him carefully as he moved across the stage with impossible energy. To anyone else, he looked untouchable. Effortless. Divine beneath the lights, but she noticed the moments between choreography.
The delayed inhale after high-intensity movement. The slight instability in one knee during a pivot. How his left hand occasionally flexed like he was fighting numbness. How sweat gathered too quickly at his temples despite the stage cooling systems. No one else saw it because no one else was looking for collapse. The crowd only saw brilliance. The fourth song arrived. Right on schedule, his heartbeat finally betrayed him. She saw it from her seat before he even missed the step. A fractional hitch. His pupils blew wide beneath the spotlight. One hand briefly braced against the microphone stand. Kaede grabbed Kikyo’s wrist immediately, panic spiking. “He looks pale.”
“He was pale before,” Kikyo replied quietly, though her eyes never left the stage. Then he smiled again. The audience screamed louder, and somehow he kept going. By the end of the concert, the stadium felt half-delirious with adrenaline and heat. Confetti still drifted through the air like ash while fans sobbed openly around them, clutching phones and banners to their chests. Kaede looked emotionally resurrected and moments from cardiac arrest herself. “I can die happy,” she whispered hoarsely. “You’re dehydrated too now,” Kikyo answered. VIP access granted them backstage once more after the encore ended. The corridors felt different now. Staff moved faster. Sharper. Tension threaded through every hurried footstep and clipped whisper. One assistant rushed past carrying towels stained with makeup and sweat. Another was already calling for iced electrolyte packs.
Kaede, oblivious in her post-concert euphoria, bounced beside Kikyo while clutching merchandise to her chest. Then they turned the corner and found him sitting alone against the dressing room wall. His head rested back against the mirror behind him, throat exposed beneath harsh vanity lights while someone peeled an in-ear monitor from blood-specked skin. His breathing had become shallow, uneven beneath the remnants of stage makeup now streaking down his face. One trembling hand covered his eyes. The room fell silent when Kikyo stepped inside. One exhausted stylist looked almost relieved to see her. Kaede froze completely, and Kikyo’s gaze swept over him once. Pulse elevated, peripheral tremors worsening, skin flushed despite exhaustion, and possible stimulant crash layered atop severe dehydration. He was still conscious solely through force of will and somehow, absurdly, when he sensed them there.
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It was an overdue night among the girls. The pressing weight of their project finally alliterated from their shoulders. A near perfect grade was all it took for them to relax. It took some pushing to get her to lean into the idea. With how excited they all were, who was she to say no?
The group slipped away into the rhythm and and bright lights of the club. Many moving away to chat with others, noting familiar faces. Always returning back to their little spot, drinking again before slipping back out.
But Shinobu never seemed to budge. Firm in her duty in watching over the stuff left behind as the others left. Only letting herself leave if others remained. Assigning herself the responsibility of watching over the more eager and excited friends at her side who were far more interested in letting themselves on the loose. And with each passing round of drinks they went through, her shoulders began to relax. Tension slipping away from her, along with her gaze from the crowd. Warmth sinking deep into the tips of her fingers, coating already rosy cheeks a deep red.
With a friend mid-story, discussing something about their classmate just earlier in the week. Laughter spilling out among all of them, including Shinobu, her eyes fluttering shut— Far more focused in her laughter than the soft breeze of someone slipping past her. Not even noticing the crowd nearby split apart, with the air growing still around them.
—Enough.
The growl pulls her back to the world around her. Blissful laughter is cut short by confusion. Lips still parted, lost in her own thoughts as the two stand nearby; All eyes now focused on them and then to her as the drink falls. Spilling out across the floor, legs just narrowly avoiding the small splash.
' —Spiked? '
Embarrassment burned more than the liquor that rushed through her. A moment of respite and ease taken as weakness. If he hadn't seen him, then what? Steadying her heart, eyes forced to focus on the larger of the two. Avoidant of even giving the other man so much as a glance. Anger, and rightfully so, boiling over in her veins. ' Thank you. I got a little distracted. '
Bankotsu watched the embarrassment flare across her face before it settled into anger, and he understood it immediately. Wounded pride always looked sharper than fear. Most people, when confronted with how close danger had come, either collapsed into panic or laughed it off to protect themselves. Instead, she straightened beneath the haze of liquor and humiliation, gathering herself with a composure that caught his attention more than the trembling coward still lingering beside them. The man opened his mouth, likely preparing some pathetic excuse, but Bankotsu’s gaze slid toward him with the cold weight of an executioner’s blade. “Get out.” The stranger stumbled back without argument, vanishing into the crowd so quickly it was almost laughable. Predators like that only hunted where they thought there would be no consequences, but the moment real violence entered the room, they folded like wet paper.
The ravenette exhaled slowly through his nose once the man disappeared from sight, though his shoulders never relaxed. Clubs were crawling with vermin like him. Men poisoning drinks, hiding behind music and flashing lights instead of castle walls. His attention returned to the woman before him. “You being distracted isn’t the problem. Him deciding to take advantage of it was,” he said at last, voice lower now that the threat had passed. The neon lights shifted blue across his features before bleeding crimson a second later, painting the sharp lines of his face in alternating colors. Around them, the club had already begun moving again, the crowd eager to pretend nothing had happened. Music swallowed tension quickly in places like this, but Bankotsu didn’t move away yet.
His eyes flicked briefly toward the rest of her group scattered nearby, some only now realizing something had gone wrong. “Tch.” A quiet sound of irritation left him. “You shouldn’t leave drinks unattended,” he muttered, though the words lacked real bite as it was more observation than scolding. “Especially in places like this.” His hand reached toward the bar behind her, grabbing a fresh glass of water from the bartender with the kind of silent authority that made people obey before realizing they had. He placed it in front of her with a dull tap against the counter. “Drink that instead.” He leaned back slightly, one arm resting against the bar as his gaze drifted once more across the club like he expected another problem to crawl out from the dark the second he looked away.
01. avoids eye contact or looking at the floor.
02. wringing hands together in silence.
03. fidgeting with the hem of their shirt, unable to stay still.
04. looking at receiver in long silence before looking away.
05. silently leaves a folded note on the table in front of the other.
06. touches the others arm but pulls back out of guilt.
𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 -
01. slams fist onto a table without saying a word.
02. exhaling sharply through their nose and clenching their jaw.
03. throws an object across the room.
04. crossing their arms tightly, digging fingers into their own skin.
05. pacing the room with heavy steps.
06. glares at the other with a clenched fist.
𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 -
01. gently pushing stray hair behind the others ear.
02. resting their forehead against the others.
03. cups the others face with both hands.
04. pressing a kiss to the others forehead in silence.
05. lingering touches against the others face.
06. wraps their arms around the other from behind and rests their head on the others shoulder.
𝐬𝐚𝐝𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 -
01. wiping their eyes before someone can notice.
02. pressing their face into a pillow to muffle sobs.
03. pulls the other into a desperate hug and wont let go.
04. silently reaching for the others hand, needing comfort.
05. walks into the room with red-rimmed eyes and no words.
𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 -
01. spins the other around without warning in a hug.
02. links arms with the other and tugs them along happily.
03. provides the other with a handmade gift.
04. tackles the other in a sudden and joyful hug.
05. kisses the others cheek unexpectedly and grins.
𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐫 -
01. backing away slowly and looking for exits.
02. hiding behind the other and peeking around.
03. flinches at sudden movement from the other.
04. presses their back against the wall with eyes darting around the room.
05. jumps at a noise and instinctively grabs the others hand.
𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠
01. tucks a blanket gently around the other person's shoulders.
02. applies a bandage with slow and deliberate care.
03. brings them food and water and watches to ensure they eat.
04. runs fingers through their hair in efforts to soothe.
05. rubs soothing circles on the others back while they cry.
06. stays silently by the others side in support without saying a word.
𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠
01. raises a hand but hesitates.
02. grips the others arm a bit too tightly.
03. pushes the other away with more force than necessary.
04. turns their back on the other to begin walking away without a word.
05. rips a shared photo in half without a word.
06. steps in closely with cold and narrowed eyes.
@fedua1era asked: Bankotsu lounged against a sun-warmed stone, one leg stretched out, the other bent just enough to rest his elbow on. His grin was lazy, confident, the kind that had unsettled enemies and charmed fools in equal measure. Across from him, the elf sat with all the presence of a quiet afternoon breeze, her attention fixed on a small, worn grimoire in her lap. “Tch,” he clicked his tongue softly, tilting his head. “You always this enthralled by books, or am I just not special enough to get your attention?” The male pushed himself up, sauntering over with that loose, predatory ease. He stopped just within her space, close enough that most would’ve stiffened, flinched, reacted somehow. The ravenette leaned down slightly, peering upside down at the book, his face suddenly in her line of sight. “Whatcha reading?” he asked, voice dropping into something softer, almost conspiratorial.
Before she could respond, he reached out, quick and deliberate, brushing a stray lock of silver hair back behind her ear. His fingers lingered just a fraction longer than necessary. “So,” he said after a beat, squinting at her like she’d just rewritten the rules of the game. “That’s it? No flustered look? No heart racing? Bankotsu let out a short laugh, dragging a hand down his face before dropping beside her instead of looming. “Alright,” he muttered, leaning back on his hands. “New plan. I’ll just keep trying ‘til something works.” He glanced sideways at her, eyes glinting with something playful, stubborn. “I’ve got time.”
Despite her facade of aloofness, Frieren was very much aware of the mercenary's lingering stare. She just simply chose to ignore him. Her assumption was that he was bored and wanted to seek her out as a way of entertainment. Unfortunately for him, the spell in her grimoire wasn't only incredibly beneficial to herself but the group as a whole, thus - learning it took priority over becoming his playmate. However Her silence didn't seem to deter Bankotsu, instead it seemed to welcome him into pestering her more. He was even bold enough to touch her hair, his fingers warm against her cool cheek.
"You realize this isn't just book? I'm fairly certain I've already explained the concept of grimoires to you... so you- ...." words trailed off as he leaned in, foresty greens intertwined with those mischievous blue eyes. (What a cocky man. )
A brief silence followed ... before the band of seven's leader let out his complaint. Slightly confusing the elven mage. "Is that the reaction you wanted from me? To fluster like a young noble girl meeting her wealthy suitor?" a ghost of a smile curved pon her lips, almost amused at the absurdity of it. "I'll have you know that no one has ever made my heart race..." And then she leaned in slightly closer, her smile prominently wider and more playful.
"But I am slightly curious to see your other attempts. Perhaps you'll be the first to succeed?"
@fedua1era asked: Bankotsu had already decided persistence was going to be needed but sneakily. The human approached without announcement, dropping down behind her beneath the shade of the tree where she sat reading, her long silver hair spilling freely down her back like it had no weight to it at all. “You take no care of it,” he said at last, voice lower than usual, almost thoughtful. His hand lifted slowly giving her time to stop him if she wanted as his fingers slipped into her hair, gathering it gently, testing the texture like he hadn’t already noticed how smooth it was. It slid easily between his hands, cool and soft, catching the light in a way that made it look almost unreal. “It’s nice,” he muttered, almost to himself.
The ravenette smirked, just a little, before separating the strands and beginning to braid them with a surprising amount of care. “Most people I’ve met,” he went on, tone casual but quieter than before, “They try too hard. Dress things up, make a show of themselves.” His fingers worked steadily, weaving the sections together. “You don’t.” His hands adjusted again, and this time, as he smoothed a strand into place, his fingers brushed lightly along the back of her neck. A brief, deliberate contact to allow cool skin beneath calloused warmth.
“Still,” he added, quieter now, “ You don’t need anything to enhance your beauty. It’s better than most.” He continued braiding, slower than necessary now, letting his fingers drift just slightly as he gathered the next section, another light brush at her nape, less teasing this time, more absentminded or at least, pretending to be. The braid took shape between his hands, neat despite his rough nature. When he finished, he tied it off loosely and let it fall over her shoulder, his fingers lingering at the back of her neck again. Bankotsu stilled for half a second, then let out a quiet breath through his nose, a crooked grin pulling back into place. He laughed under his breath, pulling his hand back at last, but not moving away as his blue eyes stared directly into her own gaze. “Did it work? Is your heart racing yet?” he asked.
The benefit of having larger ears was that one could hear significantly better than the average human. Frieren knew of Bankotsu's arrival before he had even reached her. Though because he was a trusted ally she made no attempt to move, even when he sat himself right behind her. "I don't see the point of it, hair is just hair ....is it not?" When the mercenary's fingers found themselves lightly running through her moonlit strands, mage's silken lashes fluttered closed, the man had styled her hair before so she wasn't put off that he intended to do so now. If someone else wanted to deal with the hassle of it, that was fine by her.
Though she hadn't anticipated his sudden influx of compliments. words were smooth, even sultry. Which caused suspicion that he was up to something. "Well.... aren't you full of flattery ... what is it you-" words halted on her tongue when the warmth of his fingers grazed against sensitive skin, causing her to shift slightly. It wasn't a dramatic reaction but if her companion had been paying attention he'd see she DID react.
And then came the compliments once more ..... "Mm.... is my alluring beauty the reason you requested I join you?" she had intended to say more but his fingers were at her skin again, causing another shift, this time more obvious ..... it was clear he was doing it on purpose now. His question after finishing her hair also proved that. "......You're such a pain" gaze did not turn from his while her lips formed into the faintest of a pout. "treating a pure maiden this way ...." she'd opted not to answer.
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Bankotsu: Omnisexual describes a sexual or romantic attraction to people of all genders or sexualities. These individuals can still have distinct preferences for certain personality or physical traits, or favor dating specific genders, even though their capacity for attraction includes everyone. This is the closest I to him as he’s attracted to strength which is not just physical, but also mental as well. For examples typically he’s attracted to men more than women due to their strength and personality. He can be attracted to women as well though.
` * 𝐈𝐍𝐉𝐔𝐑𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐃 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 : a mix of dialogue and action prompts. sent "+ reverse" to reverse the roles.
𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 :
➔ you're gonna be okay , just keep your eyes on me.
➔ don't move - you're going to make it worse.
➔ it's not that bad.
➔ you saved me once before , now it's my turn.
➔ you fucking idiot , you weren't supposed to take the hit for me.
➔ i told you not to do that! now look!
➔ you're lucky that i know basic first aid , or you'd be dead!
➔ stay with me, okay? stay awake.
➔ i'll be as gentle as i can be , i promise.
➔ you're bleeding - oh my god , you're bleeding.
➔ you told me it was a scratch , this is not a fucking scratch!
➔ there's so much blood.
➔ next time you want to play here , just don't.
➔ stop fighting me and let me help!
➔ you're banned from doing anything remotely dangerous.
➔ you could have died , what were you thinking?
➔ if you die on me , i'm going to be pissed off.
➔ you didn't have to be so reckless just to prove a fucking point.
➔ the wound will heal but you'll have a scar.
𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 :
[ carry ] sender carries receivers muse to safety after finding them injured.
[ stitch ] sender stitches receivers wound.
[ hand ] sender holds receivers hand during a painful procedure.
[ wound ] sender cleans receivers wounds with gentle and shaky hands.
[ panic ] sender panics while trying to stop receiver's bleeding.
[ patch ] sender patches receiver up using makeshift materials (i.e. torn shirt).
[ fire ] sender drags receiver out of a burning building.
[ pressure ] sender puts deep pressure on receivers wound while yelling for help.
[ mouth ] sender gives receiver mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.
[ change ] sender helps receiver change out of bloodied clothes.
[ wash ] sender helps wash dried blood off of receivers face.
[ shower ] sender helps receiver shower after an injury.
[ broken ] sender tries to stabilize receivers broken limb with rope and sticks.
Bankotsu: Omnisexual describes a sexual or romantic attraction to people of all genders or sexualities. These individuals can still have distinct preferences for certain personality or physical traits, or favor dating specific genders, even though their capacity for attraction includes everyone. This is the closest I to him as he’s attracted to strength which is not just physical, but also mental as well. For examples typically he’s attracted to men more than women due to their strength and personality. He can be attracted to women as well though.
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As he exhaled through his nostrils, twin plumes of smoke curled like dying serpents, as Kikyo's hooves clicked against the warped floorboards behind him. He didn't turn. The cigar between his teeth had burned down to the stub, its ember trembling with every grinding motion of his jaw. His new molars, flat and broad, crushed tobacco into a bitter paste. The taste was the only thing left that felt familiar.
“This is a one-way ticket to paradise? It’s what you wanted, what we wanted?”
His hoof, already darkening at the edges, the keratin creeping up past what used to be his wrist, fumbled for another cigar. His fingers were gone now, just blunt, twitching stubs that knocked the tin open with a clatter. The scent of tobacco flooded his flaring nostrils, sharper than before, layered with nuances his human nose had never caught: the faint mildew of the rolling paper, the sticky-sweet undertone of molasses in the blend. He snorted, breath hot through his widening muzzle, and plucked a cigar between his lips with what remained of his teeth.
Lighting it was harder. His match scraped uselessly against the box, his hooves unable to grip the tiny stick properly. On the third try, the flame caught, illuminating the coarse brown fur now covering his cheeks. Then the leather split first, a wet, yielding tear as his toes bulged grotesquely against the confines of his boots. He staggered mid-step, the left sole flapping loose like a dying tongue. He looked down just as the right shoe exploded at the seams, shredded canvas hanging in tatters around his ankle. His socks fared no better, cotton fibers snapping one by one as his feet twisted inward, bones grinding with wet pops into new configurations.
“Tsh ..”
He kicked the ruined footwear aside with a noise that might have been laughter if not for the thick, braying edge to it. His bare hooves clicked against the ground with unnatural precision. Each step sent strange vibrations up his newly elongated legs, the sensation both alien and disturbingly right.
“Look at me? Why? There is fuck all wrong, would you stop worrying!”
As he just laughed, his tail swaying as he smoked, the coarse tuft at the end flicking dismissively like a horse shooing flies. His laughter came out rough-edged, punctuated by wet coughs as his throat struggled to reshape itself around the sound. The cigarillo dangled precariously from his jaw, its ember glowing brighter in the dim tavern light as if mocking the last vestiges of his humanity.
“Fine!”
As he walked outside with her. The alleyway exhaled with them, damp brick walls slick with condensation, the sour tang of rotting food and spilled liquor clinging to the air. His hooves struck the pavement with hollow clicks, the sound echoing unnaturally loud in the sudden quiet. No laughter here. No shattered glass. Just the distant hum of the Ferris wheel’s broken motor, groaning like a dying animal. As he huffed, his elongated nostrils flared wide enough to disturb the cigar smoke curling around his muzzle. She wanted to leave? Fine. His tail lashed against the alley wall. The impact barely registered through the numbness spreading up his spine.
“Come on then, there is an exit around here somewhere.”
As he walked, his hoof skidded on a shard of glass as he rounded the corner, nearly sending him sprawling. The alley dead-ended into a carnival funhouse, its facade cracked and sagging like a drunkard's grin. One wall was nothing but shattered mirrors, fragments clinging to warped frames in jagged teeth. His reflection stared back at him from a dozen angles, distorted, elongated, some twisted into shapes that made his gut churn. He snorted, breath fogging the nearest shard.
The glass showed him what he already knew: his face wasn't his anymore. The muzzle too long, the ears twitching above matted hair. But then his reflection went wrong. The mirror-Kaigaku peeled his lips back further than possible, baring yellowed molars in a grin that split his face like a wound. His ears twitched independently, swivelling backwards in a way real flesh couldn't.
“Is this what got you scared, tricks? Fun? Illusions? Tsh.”
As he then coughed, letting out a weak start of a bray that dissolved into wet, guttural laughter. The sound echoed strangely in the alley, too deep, too resonant, vibrating through his elongated throat like wind through a hollow log. He spat a glob of dark phlegm onto the broken pavement, watching it splatter against a discarded candy wrapper as he coughed a few more times, spitting up a little bit more as his throat ached.
“Come on then, you want to leave, then let’s leave, spoil sport.”
Kikyo followed him out of the tavern as each step was measured, deliberate, though nothing about the act of walking felt natural anymore. Her hooves struck the warped floorboards behind him with hollow clicks that echoed too loudly in her ears, each sound a reminder of what her body had become. The tavern door groaned open, and the moment she crossed the threshold, the air changed. Kikyo’s gaze remained fixed on his back, on the coarse brown fur spreading across his neck, on the way his spine arched unnaturally beneath his clothing.
Smoke curled from his nostrils in thin streams, dissipating into the stale night air. Her ears twitched at the sound of his voice. The change in it was unmistakable, now thickened, dragged through a throat that no longer shaped words correctly. Beneath it lingered that same rasp, that same creeping distortion. Kikyo’s hooves clicked against the stone as she stepped fully into the alley.
The ground here was slick and uneven. Moisture clung to the bricks, and the scent of rotting food, sour liquor, damp decay, rose sharply into her lungs. Her nostrils flared again before she could stop it, pulling in the layered stench with painful clarity. Ahead of her, he fumbled. She watched as what remained of his hands, blunt, darkening stubs, struggled to grasp another cigar. The tin clattered loudly against the ground, the sound ricocheting through her heightened hearing.
The sound of leather splitting was wet, yielding. His boots gave way under the pressure of bones that no longer fit within them. She watched as the material stretched, warped, and then failed entirely. The sole of one shoe hung loose before falling away entirely. The other burst apart at the seams, shredded fabric collapsing uselessly around a foot that was no longer a foot. She heard wet pops, grinding, and the unmistakable sound of structure breaking and reforming.
Her ears flicked sharply backward as Kikyo felt the sound more than she heard it. It vibrated strangely in the air, thick, uneven, breaking apart into something closer to a bray than human amusement. His tail lashed behind him, the coarse tuft snapping through the air with restless agitation. The instinct to drop forward, to let her weight settle onto all fours, surged through her body with sudden, overwhelming force. Her muscles trembled with the effort of resisting it, of forcing herself to remain upright despite the strain clawing through her legs. The alley stretched ahead, narrow and dim, its walls slick with condensation that caught the faint glow of distant carnival lights. The noise of the tavern faded behind them, replaced by something far worse.
Her ears twitched toward it involuntarily. Each step he took rang out sharply against the pavement. His hooves struck the ground with uneven force, slipping once on a shard of glass that sent a harsh scraping sound into the air. The funhouse loomed ahead, its structure sagging, warped by time and neglect. Shattered mirrors covered one wall, their jagged surfaces catching fragments of movement and light. Kaigaku stepped closer to the mirrors, his breath fogging the nearest shard, and Kikyo watched him see himself.
However, it started as a bray and collapsed into something wet and guttural. The echo lingered too long in the alley, bouncing off the walls with unnatural depth. Kikyo felt it in her chest as that sound was a warning. Long ears rising from dark hair. The subtle lengthening of her face. The tension in her posture as her body fought against its own reshaping. Her hooves struck the pavement with quiet finality as she came to his side. “This place shows the truth, and you still call it an illusion,” she said softly, her voice strained but steady. Her ears twitched, catching the distant sound of braying carried on the wind. Beneath the surface of her composure, the pressure continued to build, her body pulling her further from herself with every passing moment.
