Fandom among the wisteria -- nohero x din

[tsumu]

1x1 between nohero and myself; dnp

 

[tsumu]

doi kenji

kazuki fujiwara

 

[tsumu]

Kazuki Fujiwara - 18 - Tags; n/a

It hurt to breathe. Every desperate gasp for air was accompanied by a sharp, stinging pain in the lungs and ribs. It hurt to move as well; every swing of his sword prompted a series of nearly unbearable pains to shoot up the length of his arms and abdomen.

“Isamu!” Kazuki wailed, his voice weak and pathetic, nearly swallowed up and swept away by the wind. He brought his sword down one last time against the great cedar tree he was meant to be slicing before dropping the weapon and collapsing to his knees. After a brief moment of silence throughout the forest, Kazuki chomped down on his lower lip to keep tears from flooding his eyes. He doubled forward, splaying his chafed, red palms against the leafy ground, and gritted his teeth, ready to scream-- or sob.

“Isamu!” he repeated instead, the yell torn from his very core, loud enough to scatter the critters shuffling in the underbrush nearby. It hurt to yell just as much as it hurt to suck in air.

He remained in that position for quite some time; until a foreign sound joined the typical chirping and rustling of the forest-- footsteps. Kazuki looked up desperately towards the source, and before long, was met with the sight of his mentor. He was afraid-- Isamu walked with no great hurry, ambling towards his student as he might during a leisurely stroll in the daytime.

“Kazuki?” asked Isamu upon drawing closer, close enough that Kazuki could make out the patterns on his haori in the golden light of the late afternoon. That day, he was wearing a cream cloth embroidered with fine patterns of leaves. The slayer’s expression changed as he neared his student; morphing from apathetic to concerned.

“I cannot,” Kazuki said, voice thick and choked from the emotions and stimuli flooding him. His eyes misted over as Isamu approached him; the shame was overwhelming. His sensei consistently put so much effort into teaching him his art, and yet Kazuki had fallen short of expectations. No, he had not just fallen short, he had not even entered the running.

Isamu came to a stop next to the cedar tree looming over Kazuki. In it was an indent; a sloppily cut line in the beautiful natural bark of the tree. It did not go more than a fifth of the way into the sizable trunk. Isamu leaned down to inspect it, running his fingers over Kazuki’s work, and the boy on the ground dipped his head.

“It seems so.” Isamu said, the tone of his voice absolutely indiscernible. Kazuki could not tell if he was disappointed or angry or sympathetic, or ready to cast him aside as a student. Looking up, he found that his sensei was looking down at him with an equally unreadable face.

“I can scarcely believe you’ve done this to yourself,” began the slayer, pacing a couple steps closer to his student before taking to his knees in front of him.
“I did not foresee that you’d begin hacking away like a lumberjack if you were unable to utilize your teachings. You do surprise me sometimes,” there was mirth in his voice, and Kazuki gave a wobbly smile despite the great aches in his entire body and the way his lungs still burned.

“This is not what I wanted for you. Before you can master your breathing, you must master the art of, hmm, asking for guidance, perhaps?” Kazuki sniffled, sitting back on his heels as his sensei looked on with newfound warmth in his gaze.
“I do not teach you with an end in mind. Whether it takes one day or one-hundred years to perfect something, I will always be willing to help you, Kazuki.”

Kazuki felt heat creeping up onto his face. He should have known that his sensei did not send him to cut down the tree for the sake of retrieving the wood, but to merely have an opportunity to put his knowledge and training to use.
“I am sorry, Isamu-sensei…” he mumbled, and reached for his fallen sword so that he may sheath it. He knew for a fact that Isamu did not appreciate it when he left weapons laying about.

“Do not apologize. Why don’t you just agree to let me guide you some more, and then one day soon, you may return and try again?” Isamu suggested, and began to rise from his kneeled position. Kazuki followed suit, a faint smile on his lips.

“Yes, sensei, I would like that a lot.”
“It is decided, then.” Isamu smiled softly, the lines of his face becoming clear. He was not a slayer of particularly advanced age, but he had not been a youngster when he took Kazuki in, and he was certainly not getting any younger.
“Sensei, I am in pain.”
“Yes, I gathered as much.”

The two walked back to Isamu’s home in companionable silence, relishing in the day’s blessings; the wind through their hair, the falling cedar leaves, the creatures that would dart about the forest. Kazuki was mulling over the day’s incident as they walked, forcing himself to be a little gentler in his critiques. Isamu’s goal for him had been to cut the tree-- Kazuki had known all along that it was meant to be done in one swift, hard slice, but he could not accept his failure after multiple unsuccessful attempts at focus-breathing. He’d been sent out in the early, early morning, and by the time he’d finally broken down and called for Isamu, the sun had nearly begun to set.

“I am sure that with only a bit more practice, you’ll be able to show that tree who the real slayer is” Isamu said, amused, once they reached the steps of their home. Well, it was most definitely Isamu’s home, but Kazuki had come to think of it as his own as well. It was a low, grand building painted in soft browns, reds, and whites, and over the years Kazuki had been under Isamu, he’d filled it to the brim with things of his own, and his presence was ingrained into the very structure of the place.

“Thank you, sensei. I look forward to it.”


Kazuki slowly came back to his senses, the fond memory floating slowly from his mind as the real world drifted back into focus. He was walking; his feet hurt a great deal, in fact, but it finally seemed as if he was approaching his destination. Ahead of him, he could see a telltale lavender glow amongst the murky backdrop of the forest and sky. Wisteria.

Kazuki had to fight the urge to run. Isamu would’ve most definitely scolded him to save his strength, tell him that he’d be there soon enough anyway. He found it quite ironic that he’d suddenly remembered his first great failure as a student on the home stretch of his journey to what was required to be his greatest success as a student. He was en route to Fukijasane Mountain to participate in the Final Selection-- a test that would not only determine his survival, but his right to bear the title of Slayer, as his sensei did. This test would determine a lot of things, in fact, but first and foremost, whether he lived or died.

Before long, Kazuki had reached the foot of the mountain. Entering the wisteria forest, he felt a distinct calm wash over him. He was unfazed by the prospect of what was to come, somehow, and instead put his all into appreciating the scenery. A wisteria forest was not something he got to see every day, and as he bore the name which meant “wisteria plains”, he felt as if it was his birthright to enjoy his time there.

Even if he’d soon be faced with hell. He did not intend to die, of course, but he supposed very few students actually intended to die during the Final Exam. Isamu had not honeyed his descriptions of the exam, instead choosing to prepare Kazuki in the most practical way he knew how. Kazuki knew well that he’d be faced with a plethora of tests up on that mountain; his physical, mental, and moral strength would be pushed to their very limits, and the person to come out of the Exam might very well be different to the one who went in. He was prepared. Succeeding meant he’d get to spend his life doing what he was most passionate about, after all-- wielding a sword and sending vermin back to hell.

 

[Hakuji]

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In a word, it's filthy. The buildings within this village are filthy, with filthy windows and filth-covered rooftops. The paths are paved with filth. The air stinks of it. All the world's scrubbing would not cleanse this place. And the smell of all this filth, it is between rotting meat and rotting defecation and rotting people - the gnats and horseflies are thousands thick, floating in the air or floating just above the ground. And the smoke - the smoke of all the taverns and inns, that too hovers in the air, and its scent is so overpowering that it must be a miracle these people remain on their feet, though no God of theirs would bestow a miracle upon these people. ​

​

Not here.​

​

Terraced establishments jostle each other for space; they are each so old and unstable that with every movement of every brawl inside, they give just a little bit, lean a little bit on another for strength. Termites long ago hollowed the walls. One couldn't have opened a lead-paned window without a shower of dust and termites onto the head of a random passerby below. And then, those termites apparently hollow out the heads of that passerby, and soon enough you are left with a hoard of ignorant, unwashed, raucous, bawdy people with no taste other than that insatiable one for alcohol. And for flesh. Inside every disintegrating building lounge whores, filthy whores who escaped the annoyance of children by getting boxed in the pregnant stomach during a nearby fistfight, or by doing it themselves. Filthy whores with their heaving fleshy breasts and hips; and no one to be their master, for any man in town could fill the duty so long as he knocks the other contenders to the ground. ​

​

There is no quiet, there is no emptiness; every inch of the street, of the taverns, of the alleys, is filled, whether with vermin or people or garbage or mangy rabid hounds. The din produced by them is unbearable - screeching laughter, a rumbling undertone of conversation, catcalls, glass shattering, men swearing, women crying. Someone is pissing out some high-set window. Young boys with sake pass the bottle around the group lurking atop a grimy fire escape; teenage girls dress like sluts, too much of their skin glowing in the night; some lucky person is vomiting uncontrollably in an alley, lying in it. And the girls keep walking, the boys keep drinking, the whores keep laughing, and the men keep brawling behind golden-lit windows or shattered glass. ​

​

A perfect location for hunting unseen. Cloaked in the blanket night had to offer was a man far more dangerous than any predator within the animal kingdom. With an unnatural desire to feed his insatiable hunger or revenge and anger. Lurking in the darkness of a single alley was this very man. Clad in his standard haori with black hakamas and zori on his feet. Upon the pale complexion of his skin resided no marks or scars. He was flawless. His skin was pale, even amidst the darkness his pale skin stood out brighter than the lights. His flamboyant red hair kissed the top of his forehead and nearly parts of his brows as well but the rest was tied up from his face in a high ponytail allowing his red locks to flow behind his body. From the careless passengers perspective this man appeared to be godly and perhaps even from a foreign region of the country. A man that, though strange in appearance, was just like every other within this god forsaken town. But they assumed wrong.​

​

With his back turned to the mouth of the alley his attentions were focused forward. And if one were to stumble upon him and look closely they would quickly notice the mound of mutilated demon bodies lying around. For almost the entire year Doi Kenji had been a name most assumed had been forgotten to the world. On the night his entire family and village were taken from him one could only assume the young man had gone to his early grave alongside his family, and he should have. Luckily for him he managed to survive the attack and wandered about the world for three whole days until he was discovered by a person he hadn’t expected to meet. Up until the attack on his village Doi didn’t believe in things like demons. Demons were just fishwives talk to scare children in the village. Unfortunately that hadn’t been the case at all.​

​

Demons were real and a growing menace to human society. It was a demon that came and killed everyone within his village in one night. And if demons were real then so too were the warriors that took up arms against them. The person that had rescued Doi was that very man. A Hashira that went by the name of Rengoku. He took Doi under his wing and trained him. Day after agonizing day Doi was pushed to his limits. Most nights he’d come stumbling back to bed with a broken bone or two and his lungs on the verge of collapsing. After dedicating himself to Rengoku he vowed to become a worthy and powerful demon slayer. To avenge his family and friends who all perished at the hands of a demon. ​

​

One by one Doi faced each challenge to him with precision and dedication. It felt as though he flew through his breathing training with his mentor and took little time for him to unlock his inner strength and earn his own weapon. After successfully completing his training Rengoku often sent him on small errands, but nothin to the extreme to this. In between running his errands for his master Doi could never pass up the opportunity of slaying a demon. It was foolish and brash, he knew, and if Rengoku ever discovered that his disciple had already tasted the sweet taste of a demon's death then surely he’d be disappointed with him. But Doi was strong, and he knew it. Lowly demons were no match for him.​

​

• -

In approximately two days time he found himself arriving at the final exam. After venturing through the village and dispatching the few demons that resided there he decided not to sleep and continued his journey until he reached his destination. He had been one of the first to arrive and as more showed up he took his place closest to the entrance. One by one more young men and women arrived with various faces and backgrounds. Doi could easily spot out those that wouldn’t last the night and those that wouldn’t make it through this exam. They were walking right into their own demises and he pitied them for it.​

​

Doi however was entirely confident that he would not only survive this exam but that he’d come out victorious. He’d slay as many demons as he could and allow his sword to drink up demon blood. However, the more students that arrived there was one that stood out. Doi couldn’t help but stare at the newcomer a bit longer, racking his brain as to where and how this young man seemed so...familiar? ​

 

[tsumu]

Kazuki Fujiwara - 18 - Tags; Doi Kenji

The wisteria forest was all Kazuki could’ve hoped for and more. He stepped in and was immediately swathed in the light, delicious scent of the flowers around him. They hung in nice, live bunches pointing towards the ground, and occasionally, Kazuki would stop along the path to cup some of the blossoms in his hands to sniff them delicately. His appreciation of them went beyond mere admiration; he knew it was morbid, but lest he get slaughtered on Fujikasane Mountain, he wanted to know what it felt like to run his fingers lightly over wisteria petals and have them tickle his skin; he wanted something to hold the memory of him should these be his final days.

After walking for a while, Kazuki paused once more and strayed off the path ever so slightly. He came up to a branch and murmured a gentle apology as he cupped one of the bunches of wisteria in his palm. With his other hand, he deftly plucked some offshoot petal stems from the main stem of the flower, and one by one, he slid them into his hair, behind his ears. He did not overdo it for the sake of the tree, and he was satisfied after only a half dozen little petals. When he returned to the path, he felt the slightest bit lighter, and his scabbard did not weigh him down quite as much.

Before long, the path herded him into an empty clearing, where the ground was just dirt and the middle was devoid of any trees or plants. Well, it was nearly empty. In the clearing, young, hopeful students milled about, waiting for the Final Exam to start. Kazuki walked forward, and within less than a minute, he’d observed young men and women on all sides of the emotional spectrum. Some looked angry, their brows knit together while they glared harshly down at the dirt, and others were more subdued, looking sad and hopeless as they stared up at the dark evening sky.

He hated to judge, but he felt as though he was already keen on which students would survive the Exam. Successful slayers, Kazuki had been told, had an air about them; it did not matter their size or build, really, it only mattered what their spirit was composed of. Many of the young people he passed did not strike him in the slightest; he was able to gauge the strength of their will and spirit, and for the majority, it was disappointing.

Scanning the crowd, he was able to indeed pick out a couple of promising figures-- a girl with a bright pink haori and gritted teeth, an especially young boy with a permanent scowl on his face and only one eye, a man that looked to be near Kazuki's age in all black, but his scabbard was immaculately polished silver. One in particular, however, caught his eye more than the rest. Most concerning about the man was the way he was staring; his eyes seemed to bore into Kazuki’s, and yet, he found he did not feel compelled to lower his own.

This man wore a red haori just like Kazuki, and seemed to glow in the dim light of the moon-- his hair and eyes were shocking, to say the least, and Kazuki had scarcely seen anything like it. Well, that was most certainly untrue, but the last time he’d seen a boy with such distinct hair and eyes had been… back then. And there couldn’t be a correlation; certainly not. Even if the man seemed to have the same facial structure and defiant quirk in his brow, there was no way...

Kazuki was ready to move on and find a place to settle, but he was stunned into stillness as the fire-haired stranger began to march his way, looking far too scrutinizing for Kazuki’s liking. Not a word was exchanged between the two as the stranger drew closer and closer, until he was directly positioned in front of Kazuki, scarcely a hand’s length between them.

“Hello?” Kazuki breathed, utterly confused as his eyes roved over the man’s face. His brows were furrowed and his mouth was distinctly curved downwards. Was he looking for a fight? Kazuki wondered, and was about to put some space in between them when finally the man spoke.

“Fujiwara Kazuki,” he said lowly, voice tight. Kazuki’s mouth popped open into an ‘o’ shape. His adam's apple bobbed nervously in his throat, and the peaceful zen garden of his mind that Kazuki worked so hard each day to maintain was promptly thrown into turmoil. The sand was stepped on, the rocks kicked and splashed out of order.
Kazuki inhaled sharply, “Yes?” he said, not daring to move an inch.
“How old are you?” The man asked, and Kazuki could feel the intensity radiating off of him in thick waves. He studied the face of this stranger, and the more he did, the more he was thrown off balance.
“Eighteen. As of two months ago,” he answered immediately and truthfully.

He was hardly aware of his hand drifting towards the stranger’s forearm, until he made contact and his fingers closed gently around it. It was tense, but the man did not pull away.
“No…” breathed Kazuki, leaning ever so slightly closer. His throat tightened. “No,” he said again, this time his voice caught in his throat.

The man’s brow furrowed even further, and he looked downright angry. Still, he did not step back, nor indicate in the slightest that he was looking to harm Kazuki.
Kazuki’s other hand drifted up by its own accord; it had a mind of its own because Kazuki’s was short-circuiting. Softly, with all the lightness of a drifting dandelion seed, he slid his cool fingers along the man’s jawline and cheek, and cupped the side of his warm face in his palm.

“Hey-” came a gruff protest, but Kazuki was not fazed. He pulled the man into an embrace, working around the stiff muscle and unwilling form. He was warm, despite the cool night air, and Kazuki found himself drawing even closer still, his fingers buried in the fabric of his haori.

He should’ve expected to be shoved away, really. It hurt though, as he was torn from the warmth and surprising softness of Doi Kenji. Some things never changed, and it definitely seemed like Kenji had not lost his edge. It hurt physically-- his old friend had most certainly honed his strength to a point, and he'd pushed right on his sternum-- and also emotionally. Why, why didn’t Kenji want to hug him, touch him, see that he was in fact real? Was it because there were now many pairs of eyes on them? Kazuki wouldn't have cared even if all the Hashira themselves had stepped out of the trees and called for attention.

“Kenji.”

 

[Hakuji]

The more students that drew themselves to the center of the open space the more faces Doi knew he would never see again. He had an eye for noticing promise in a person and he considered himself an excellent judge of character. He could tell by the way a person carried themselves, their posture and body language, and the expressions on their faces; who would live and who would perish. He’d commend the men and women for being brave and bold enough to attempt to make a difference but it was such a shame to know that half if not more of these people would not be returning at the end of the week. He had half a mind to tell them to turn back and not throw their pathetic lives away, but how would that look? Instead he continued to silently observe. His impatience grew by the second. Just knowing that there were a handful of demons just beyond the wisteria trees made his adrenaline spike.

The idea of slaying filthy demons gave him the breath of life that he needed. He had no love nor sympathy for demons, and he never would. They were undeserving of it, and Doi had little mercy to give now a days. After the attack on his village he had completely changed. Casting aside who he once was and replacing that person with the individual he was today. Rengoku often noticed how stoic and cold Doi came off and encouraged his disciple to possess a more positive outlook instead of seeming so professional all the time. Doi never truly understood the weight of his mentor’s words. How could he be anything less than what he was? Not to mention wasn’t the goal of demon slayers to kill demons? Regardless he had promised his mentor that he’d try his utmost best at his request.

But old habits die hard.

He wanted this exam to start so that he could get it over and done with. Once he passed (and he knew that he would) he would return to his mentor and begin taking on assignments wherever needed. He didn’t mind being on the beck and call of the Hashira especially if that meant getting to kill more demons. Though the depths of his mind were preoccupied with thoughts and promises of his future that all came to a stand still when another stranger broke through the path concealed by wisteria trees. Doi’s eyes subconsciously turned to the newcomer and from far away he couldn’t quite make out the man’s face but that haori he wore was almost exactly similar to the one he wore. Yet that wasn’t the only strange thing about this man.

There was this air of familiarity to him that Doi just couldn’t put his finger one. The longer he stared at him in silence the more this familiar sensation overtook him. It was without a doubt that Doi had met this person before. Everything in his body told him that he had and yet he couldn’t put a name to him nor a time where he recalled seeing this person. Perhaps they had met on one of the many assignments Doi had been accompanying his mentor? Maybe this was someone from one of the many villages he had traveled to? His head was starting to ache as he tried to rack and search his brain for the answer.

But then..

He felt his eyes widen some and his mouth drop slightly ajar. His heart began to race and his muscles became increasingly tight. His mind had pieced a small idea and conjured it up, and just thinking about it made Doi incredibly uneasy. He needed to know, he needed to be told that he was wrong and that there was no possible way that this person was..

Immediately his feet began to carry him across the emptiness of the enclosed area and he stormed over to this new comer. Caring very little for the weird glances and exchanges that were thrown in his direction. His feet didn’t stop until he reached this person, and up close he found the man’s facial features shockingly familiar to the very person he knew was dead, and normally Doi wasn’t one to approach people so boldly but he couldn’t help himself. It was as if he was being directed by his instincts and emotions alone rather than logical thought.

So he asked his questions, trying his best to hide the emotion in his voice and when this person answered to the name Doi felt his heart nearly stop. This couldn’t be, it was impossible. On the outside he was struggling to keep himself composed but on the inside he was a whirlwind of emotion. And that emotion bubbled to the surface when Kazuki gripped the sleeve of his arm and drew himself close. The revelation on his face when it seemed that he had put two and two together made Doi highly upset. All this time...being alone and thinking that everyone he had ever loved had died and yet Kazuki, his Kazuki was still alive and a demon slayer no less?! He should have been happy, and he should have returned his friends affections but..he wasn’t.

He felt only anger, not an uncommon sensation for him but unnatural in this instance. He shouldn’t have been angry, but he was. Even more so when Kazuki’s hand cupped his face and then pulled him into a tender hug. An action that meant more to him that his companion would ever know, but alas he pulled back and pushed his friend from him by the center of his chest. Avoiding immediate eye contact he turned his face elsewhere.

“Enough..” he responded coldly. “Everyone’s watching us you idiot.” he said. He was so mad he had to conceal his voice from rising any higher. His body visibly trembled and his hands balled into tight fists at his sides. “How..” he began. “How did you get here? Why are you here? Can’t you see this is a place for demon slayers? So then that means...you’re a slayer.” he said while returning his stare back to his friend. A look containing all the hurt and pain in his eyes. He wanted to know how Kazuki survived and how he had managed to escape and why...why he didn’t come looking for Doi. He felt mildly betrayed and his heart ached. “You don’t belong here Kazuki.” was the only response he could think of. “You should turn back before this begins.”