#enchantainer

 @enchantainer​

The wind chill was ceaseless but it was an unwavering calm that kept the fusionist in his place, atop a just-creaking fence. His fists had tensed up in their grip, yet his nerves were stilled. Surely in this city they wouldn’t find him, but he didn’t need a resident outing his location to anyone. Surely, surely, he could get away with the fact that he was a traitor, at least for now.

Surely, he had time. This city may eat trails of dust from the sky in however many days, Sora knew. But he had people to protect, the numbers went up and up to two, three, four or even five he’d wanted to keep safe. 

“I had seen you grabbing my hands and running away, but             Since you're tired, you trampled my back with your heavy foot.”

The words came out impulsively, his singing wasn’t even that good. But it was a song he’d had stuck in his head for ages and the chorus was staring to bother him. With the lights twinkling over his head, he couldn’t be stopped.

Yuuri takes the bouquet from Yuuya, notes each and every flower nestled in it.  The belladonna stands out the most, nestled in the center, surrounded by the rest--he knows what Yuuya thinks of him.  The belladonna, the marigold, the hyacinth, it is easy to see the things Yuuya sees.

Love

Sorrow

Anger and Fear

They’re all in this bouquet, and Yuuri reaches out, presses belladonna lips to Yuuya’s.  Yuuri pretends that they’re rose red, pretends that he is white lilac and primrose instead of hydrangea.

His breath catches--a sharp hiss of surprise that pushes through the facade that he’s kept up.  Roots push through the cracks, twisting and winding their way around his heart, pushing through his skin to form the very veins and arteries that let him live.

Yuuya’s mouth on his fingers, hesitant kisses, gentle--

Gentle--

Too gentle--

Is new.  Something that makes Yuuri jolt, jerk his hand back, stare in wide eyed horror and fascination.  The skin Yuuya’s kissed burns.

It burns.

Hot, hot, hot pinpricks of something that makes Yuuri’s heart hammer hard--harder than it ever has.  New, this is new, these roots pushing through his body and seizing his heart.

Never--

No one has ever--

“Yuuya,” Yuuri rasps.  Confused, startled, uncertain, for Yuuya’s never shown this much affection.

@enchantainer

Yuugo bites his lip, barely daring to breathe as he counts. One, two, three, four.

That is the number of footfalls echoing softly through the hallowed hallways.  Four.

He can do four.

He closes his eyes briefly, centering himself, picturing that white flame inside him burning brighter and brighter, spreading from his abdomen to his arms and legs, coiling up into his skin until it shrouds him in a cloak.

Blue eyes snap open and he moves.

The first guard crumples soundlessly, mouth agape in shock as Yuugo darts past him, jabbing his fingers into his neck.  The second and the third meet similar fates, two overwhelmed to raise their voices in warning.

It is the fourth that gives him trouble, whirling around with a snarl as he swipes at him with his massive guandao.  Yuugo leaps back, only just avoiding the blade as it sails past the black cloth covering his face, lowering himself into a crouch.

“Who goes there?!” the guard thunders, as actual electricity starts to gather at the tip of his blade.  “Who dares enter the holy sanctum?”

Of course, Yuugo isn’t stupid enough to answer, although his lips do curl up into a cocky smirk beneath his cowl.  He doesn’t have much time left before he has to make a mad dash for the other side of the room, channeling qi into his legs. The guard makes to swing over-reaches and he immediately steps forward into the gap and a flash of his short-blades makes quick work of his opponent.

Finally, Yuugo heaves a sigh of relief, tugging the oppressive face-mask off as he steps over the unconscious bodies, the last of the sanctum’s guards.  It seems, he thinks to himself, the shrine’s defences are woefully inadequate compared to the treasure that it holds.

His own footsteps sound far too loud as he crosses the final stretch, pushing open the heavy stone doors with a long, ancient creak and he has to stop and stare.

[das right anons u ain’t lived the true die hard Shirosaki Kujaku life until you buy a commission of him >:V

[gfdi Ciru why did u have to go and finish it >:V the funniness was in it not being completed darn it 

|| @enchantainer

He had to get used to it, being dead.

The idea of it, at least.  His body just a walking husk of what he had been as a human, harboring resentment and a grudge unfulfilled.  After all, though he looks as he did when he died (human, all too human), it’s only a disguise.  Underneath his skin is the monster, after all.  Fierce, destructive, a rotting corpse mangled, covered in sickly feathers and scales, and skin stretched over spindled muscle and bone.  

There isn’t exactly anything pretty about what he is underneath it all, just as there isn’t exactly anything convenient about being dead.  It’s a mess, something that he doesn’t like working with, and though he dresses like he’s cold (a coat, black, a scarf wrapped tight around his neck and a turtleneck beneath, thick jeans, and heavy boots) he can’t feel anything.  He can’t even see his own breath in the air.

(not like he needs to breathe)

Sure, there’s a sense of morbidity in sitting on his own grave, watching as the snow falls, but he has nothing better to do in his death.  People don’t even really know he’s back, reanimated and walking among the living as some anonymous being.  He’s gone under many different names, has kept himself anonymous, because Kurosaki Shun?

Is dead.