00,

jerusalem ghosts.
haikyuu x kimetsu no yaiba

he breathes in, and trembles bone-deep - sucks in a sharp hiss as his skeleton slowly becomes a shallow grave to be filled with corpses of flowers stretching on his marrow, rotten like he is, spoiled to the brink of death. a kingdom of his own flesh resting on his skin. an empire crowned with the stench of glory & gore.

his body is no longer warm, no longer has the feel of a person alive, not someone who breathes; he's gone coldcoldcold like the snow gathered on his windowsill, innocent in the bathed light. red solidified on the cracks of his teeth, as they've long stopped flowing and dancing to the rhythm of his heart behind his ribcage now made of mold. it has long stopped beating since a blade tore it open and left it to burn and dry and shrivel in the mercy of the wind.

(ah, laughable - as if the wind carried compassion in its heels, as if it breathed like men, as if it was a being capable of something so generous. mercy does not get carried in the wind; only the prayers out the mouths of warriors like gospel induced poison, fresh out of delivering bloodied bodies for it to devour - mercy favors the brave. mercy favors those who take their swords and pledge to die with the blade beside their grave or you will not see them fall at all. mercy will not answer his call when he has not answered the calling of his own sword.)

he was a warrior, fallen and decrepit - rotten and paired with a soul of old. he was a warrior, once, a reject of talent and a product of hard work. he was a warrior, once, who used the sharp edges of his sword to cut down demons and see to their ashes like a faithful servant of the burning sun. he was a warrior once. now he was only the man who sullied his sword by using it to slice himself open, a sin so heavy it follows you to the grave.

he is already dead - yet the wind has not bid him a sliver of farewell. it's almost mistaken as a mercy, the way the choir tones sound, but all it was was a punishment for what he has betrayed, for the sanctity he has broken.

(you are never to turn your sword against yourself, lest you will never find a moment of peace.)

one.

two.

three.

four.

five.

a gasping breath shocks the silence still.

-and so the inevitable comes.

(he breathes.)

there he lies, the hole on his heart closed, waiting for the war to call him back.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

oikawa tooru dies on a winter night & wakes.

no winter has ever claimed him since.

ー this is not
your heaven.

c. serayume.
furudate & gotouge own the
characters and the universe.

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.
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notes ... regular updates as much as possible, non-linear narrative. yes, i made the hq cast catapult into the kny universe. loose storyline. other characters aside from oikawa will appear gradually as this goes on. mild graphic violence.