#fukenzena

      ‘   interested,   aren’t  you,   yukako  -  chan?    what’s  my  story?    ah,   let’s  see   —    ’    index  finger  tapped  a  cheek,   a thought  enraptured  at  a  story  that  was  once  upon  a  time.    no  one  bothers  to  ask  .  .  .   actually,   no  one  ever  cares,   even  though  the  memories  are  still  fresh  in  his  mind,   like  it  happened  only yesterday.    it’s  a  faint  reminiscent  of  a  bitter  afterthought;   and  that’s  all  it  was,   never  dwelling  on  what  could  have  been  or  what  if.    it’s  the past,   who cares?   besides,  never  does  he  waste  a  second  to  talk  about  himself,   even  if  prompted.    nor  is  he  looking  for a  pity  party.    it’s  not  really  his  thing  anyways.    what  does  he  gain  but  weak  emotions  over  someones  behalf?    they  can’t  control  the  misfortune.     (   a  secret  wishes  he  could  brew  anger.    he  has  the  right,   too  bad  he  can’t  feel  those emotions.    something  snapped  back  then,   he’s  sure  of  it.   )     but  ah!    where to start,   where  to  start  .  .  .

he  hums,   vibrating  from  his  throat.    i  still  remember  the  time  i  was  human.    why?    when  everyone  else  lost  memories  short  after  becoming  a  demon  themselves.    not  like  he  has  any  attachment  to  it  to  begin  with.    his  time  as  a  human  is  detached.    looking  back  .  .  .   it’s  not  him.     like  a  dissociation,   something  hard  to  accept.    a  person  who  was  so  disconnected  with  everything  about  them;    am  i  real?    am  i  a  boy?    was  my  fate  determined  the  moment  i  was  born?     what  about  my  selfish  parents  who  were  drunk  on  their  own  adrenaline  of  exposing  an  actual  child  to  something  so  stupid  like  gods  and  the  afterlife?      —   am  i  just  not?    there’s  a  scare,   a  temporary  feeling  of  ghosted,   shaky  fingers  wrapped  tightly  around  his  neck  and  a  familiar  face  flushed  in  anger.    oh  right!    he  remembers  his  mother  strangling  him  so  violently  there  were  bruises  for  days  .  .  .    maybe  weeks.    it’s  hard  and  fuzzy  but  not  a  single  tear  was  shed,   only  staring  with  no  emotion.     

how  long  was  i  like  this?    i  can’t  feel  anything.     why  are  you  crying,   momma?    am  i  not  doing  a  good  job?    is  papa  disappointed,   too?

his attesting to the nonpareil quality of shiseido tsubaki excites no need to reply,    and so yukako sits without immediate intent on continuing their conversation,    mentally inscribing his features in search of a possible corresponding description.    blond hair and golden eyes,    presumed to be his most distinctive feature,    considering how gemstone - esque they appear…    ––––––    he looks like someone most would dub attractive.

that smile…    oh!    a metaphorical lightbulb shines!    “    have you been in magazines?    ”

his head cants to the side briefly, but no curious expression appears on his face. he’s mostly just amused, his brows raising ever so slightly as it seems she puts the pieces together on who he is. he wasn’t necessarily expecting her to be a fan or anything like that, but he wouldn’t deny that he liked the attention.

The flowers sashay. Waltz. Cường watches them in their dancing on these flowershop’s humble shelves, these yet-to-bud April blossoms, and clings tighter to his bunches of clove and rosemary. Her? he thinks. Yes, something says. He acquiesces, and pointing to those daises just out of her grasp, hums. "They hear springtime with you. Maybe you give them hope. Strength. Like sun. You should take them back home. They’ll flower the best there.”

‘ augh, outta the way ! you’re blocking my view of kiyoko ! ‘ and he’s ungracefully trying to elbow her to the side. if it was any other girl, he’d probably try to hit on them or ask for their number, but it was yukako ! she hardly even counted. he’d never shove a girl normally, so he’s trying to hip bump her out of the way so he can spy on kiyoko from the bleachers. 

@fukenzena​ 𝚂𝙴𝙽𝚃 𝙰 𝙿𝚁𝙰𝚈𝙴𝚁 .  [ entwine ] + muichiro! WORD PROMPTS // no longer accepting . [ entwine ] for your muse to hold mine’s hand

     they  look  at  their  hands  ,  then  to  her  .  something  feels  familiar  ,  but  they  don’t  know  what  exactly  .  something  something  …  sibling  .  oh  well  ,  probably  nothing  important  .  muichiro  just  likes  being  here  with  their  friend  .  they  never  thought  they’d  have  a  friend  that  wasn’t  tanjiro  …    [  maybe  tanjiro  would  be  proud  to  know  that  they’ve  made  a  friend  …  they  should  tell  him  later  ]  .  some  moments  pass  ...

from  @fukenzena​​  :  “ what’s the plan here ? “ atsumu!

                                                                   random sentence starters  :  the third  /  accepting.