#IF WAKUI WON'T GIVE MY BBYGWORL SHION THE CHANCE TO SHINE THEN I WILL!!!

[the-tragic-heroine]

死鬼祭 | Shiki Matsuri

fandom: tokyo revengers

characters: kurokawa izana, kakucho, haitani ran, haitani rindou, madarame shion

pairings: tenjiku x female reader

cw: blood, violence, minor character death, supernatural elements, she/her pronouns used for reader

tags: @akemiixx01​

—✧ SUMMARY ✧—

The villagers say that you cursed them all. You believe that they were the ones who cursed you. (Or, in which the circumstances of your unfortunate birth woke a forgotten, slumbering god.)

Very vague depictions of the supernatural here, and a few cameos of specific yokai if you can spot them! Title is based off of a song by KODOKULOVE! More characters may be added as the story progresses.

Read on AO3 Read Chapter One | Read Chapter Two | Read Chapter Three

CHAPTER 肆 FOUR

“Damn, there’s even more of these fuckers around than before,” Ran said as he cleansed the shrine grounds. “Hey, princess— my beloved little bro’s training been paying off yet?”

“Fuck off,” Rindou grumbled from where he sat next to you on the engawa as usual. He clicked his tongue and pointed at the slip of paper you were writing on. “You missed a stroke there. And here— the kanji is wrong.”

“Not again,” you groaned, dropping your brush with an exasperated sigh. Your fingers were already stained dark with splotches of calligraphy ink. “Who decided to come up with this many characters? And look, they’re practically the same, too!”

“Yeah, keep saying that. Just don’t come crying to me when it doesn’t work.”

“C’mon, Rin— don’t be so harsh on her,” Ran said, dusting his hands off and making his way back to the two of you. “Anyways, I’m done. If any more come back, though, you’re handlin’ it. I’m gonna take a nap.” Before either of you could say anything, he plopped down by your side and stretched himself across your lap like a cat. With a contented hum, he let his cheek rest against your thigh and closed his eyes.

Rindou’s brow twitched. “Get off her, you lazy asshole.”

“Nope.”

“It’s okay,” you interjected with a little laugh. “I don’t mind, really. Besides, I think I need a break. We’ve been writing all day.”

Ran cracked open one purple eye. “Yeah, Rin. Let’s have a break.”

“Ugh, fine. Whatever.”

Rindou moved to gather up the papers and stand, but you stopped him by placing a hand on his arm. He glanced over at you with an incredulous expression as you lay down yourself, tugging him down together with you. “Hey—”

“I say we all have a nap,” you announced, beaming brightly. “Izana can’t be mad at all of us, can he?”

“He sure can,” Rindou muttered, but found himself settling down by your side all the same. “C’mere, the floor is hard. You’ll get a headache if you sleep on it for too long.” He shifted your head so that you lay against his shoulder—and at the same time, Ran moved off your lap, wriggling his way up your side and wrapping his arms around your waist.

“The fuck are you doing?” Rindou snapped.

“You’re gettin’ too close. At least lemme have a bit, too.”

“Shut up, you guys,” you grumbled, but you couldn’t stop the giggle bubbling up. “Stop arguing and sleep.”

When Izana returned later that day, he found the three of you still curled up and fast asleep in a tangled mess of limbs—with both Ran and Rindou each clutching one of your hands. He smiled, as he usually did, and as he passed by bent down to brush a few strands of hair out of your eyes made a mental note to assign both brothers to housecleaning for the rest of the week.

—✧—

Kakucho steeled his expression when he and Izana entered town together—for him, the first time in a couple of weeks, as Izana had deliberately prevented him from going. Yet, from the state of the village, he could have been convinced that another hundred years had gone by.

What had originally been a flock of malevolent spirits scattered between buildings and people had melted together into a thick, oozing miasma that stretched over nearly the entire area, like if fog had solidified and turned black. The villagers could not see any of it, of course—but the negative atmosphere was palpable. People argued. Children cried. The rest wore a haggard, exhausted imitation of what their faces used to be. Not even a single bird dared to perch on any rooftops.

“You’re concerned,” Izana said, matter-of-factly like he was merely stating the weather. There was no sense in debating it, so Kakucho simply shrugged his shoulders in half-hearted affirmation. Izana’s white eyelashes fluttered as he smiled.

“Don’t worry. She’ll understand,” he said, stepping into the village and breezing past wretched person after wretched person without sparing them a second glance. Kakucho trailed behind him with his mouth firmly shut. “Even if she doesn’t, she will not have a choice. This place is beyond saving.”

Was it? The black-haired subordinate could not help but think back on his master’s previous actions: how he never allowed any of them to cleanse the village; how he never permitted more than one person to patrol the area without him; how he purposefully allowed your tormentors to live; how in spite of his over-protectiveness and constant watchful eye, he never warned you against going back into town until you were violently driven out yourself. He thought about Rindou’s words and how you finally started to trust them, even after all that you went through. His stomach twisted inside-out. Of course, even without having to look at him, Izana noticed.

“I normally don’t appreciate weakness,” the god said. “Especially not at this crucial moment. But, you know, I’m glad. That you care about her so much.”

Purple eyes caught Kakucho’s startled gaze. “I’ve known you ever since we both came to be,” he continued. “Together we learned about the cruelty of selfish humans and the world—yet your heart is still as soft as it was the day you were born. What is yours is mine and what is mine is yours, too. Don’t forget it.”

With that, Izana entered one of the village homes. Kakucho followed instinctively, and it was only when he heard the telltale sound of weeping that he realised where they were. Hunched over the unconscious form of a familiar young man was his equally familiar mother, crying without end. He lay deathly still upon a worn futon.

Kakucho knew right then what Izana wanted him to do.

What is mine is yours.

Your smiling face flashed to his mind—the last living person who held Izana’s heart in her hands. The heart that had been crushed into dust and left to rot over centuries. Without any more hesitation, Kakucho reached into the young man’s chest, gripped that weakly beating organ, and squeezed.

Black ink bubbled up from the corners of his lips, parted to let out one last breath. Out poured more of the putrid liquid, streaming from every orifice: his ears, nose, and eyes, forming a gaping shadow on the floor reminiscent of your mother’s death.

—✧—

Unbeknownst to you, the first stone had fallen. (But in Izana’s eyes, that stone had already tumbled into motion centuries ago.)

It arrived at your doorstep in the form of a loud commotion: a litany of hushed, frantic voices, intercepted in-between by shrieking wails of blood-curdling anguish. Terrified, you found yourself huddled inside of your room once more, mind looping with blurred memories. Shion was pacing irritably in front of the closed door; the second you saw him materialize out of his spiritual form, cracking his knuckles with a feral grin and a bloodthirsty glint in his eyes, you had dragged him inside with you before he could even protest. (Why the others had left him alone with you again, you did not know—although you had an inkling that perhaps they felt he was not competent enough to join them on more important missions.)

“Lemme at ‘em,” Shion growled, a prominent vein bulging from the side of his half-shaved head. “I’ll teach ‘em not to mess with us.”

“No,” you snapped. “No. Pretend we’re not home and they… they might leave. Or at least, buy us some time before Izana and the others make it back home…”

“Why? Why do I gotta wait for ‘em?!”

“Because you’re gonna turn this place into a bloodbath!”

“So? They’d do it too. That’s the fuckin’ point—”

“Yeah, but you would find a way to make it so much worse—”

Your argument was cut off abruptly by the voices outside, now close enough that you could distinguish what exactly they were saying.

“Please!” A voice you instantly recognized pierced you right through the chest. “Please, my son— Please do something, I’m begging you—”

“Ma’am, it’s dangerous! Come home!”

“There’s nothing that witch can do! He’s already dead…!”

In an instant, you were on your feet and pushing Shion aside. He gaped at you, stuck in place with a dumbfounded expression as you shoved open the fusama and ran to the shrine entrance. A beat later, he was chasing after you, shouting in confusion. “[Name], what the fuck?!”

Your response was to whirl around and slam your hand against his chest. Shion only had half a second to glance down at a piece of paper, which had adhered itself to his body, before an electric jolt paralyzed him from head-to-toe and he collapsed to the floor. One of Rindou’s talismans, he thought as he convulsed in place, glazed eyes only able to stare at the ceiling. Unable to move, he listened your footsteps recede. Bastard.

By the time you made it to the entrance, the villagers had already given up on holding the grieving mother back—and when you emerged from behind the door, they cowered and fled. The woman threw herself at your feet, her face a mess of tears and snot, hands curled like claws around your ankles. You crouched down hesitantly, leaning in as close as you could so that you could decipher her through her sobbing.

“Please,” she cried. “Please bring him back! I am sorry for everything we have done! Just please… give him back to me. I have no one left. I am all alone…”

I am all alone.

Your feeble heart shattered and as best as you could, you wrapped your arms around her while she wept into the dirt at your feet. There was nothing else you could do, for even a god such as Izana could not bring the dead back to life. You wondered about the remaining teenagers back at the village; you had not seen any of them during the last time you visited, and shuddered at the memory of Ran’s coldhearted yet gleeful retelling of their injuries. Were they near death, too? Would they be next? How many more people would break just like this, finding themselves at your home and begging desperately for a forgiveness that you still were unable to grant?

“Please, say something,” the woman said, lifting her head to look at your stricken expression. “I will do anything to save him. Please tell me there is something you can do…”

You swallowed. “Ma’am,” you breathed out, forcing yourself to remain steady. “I… I’m not a witch, nor a healer. There is nothing I can do for your son. I’m sorry.”

“No,” she rasped, eyes wild. “No, you’re lying.”

With a growing pit in your stomach, you realised where this conversation was heading yet again. You attempted to wriggle your way out of her grip, still locked like a vice around your ankles. “I’m not,” you protested, trying not to panic. “I’m not lying—”

The relief when she let go was fleeting; you had no time to react when she launched herself at you, shaking you viciously by the shoulders. The force of it sent you careening to the ground, landing you flat on your back and knocking the wind from your lungs.

“You’re lying!” she screeched, spittle flying from her cracked lips, tinged with black. “I’ve seen those ghosts creeping about your shrine! You have been communing with demons, haven’t you?! Give him back! Give my son back!”

This time, both of her bony hands wrapped around your throat. You wheezed, nails scrabbling at her wrists, legs kicking out from beneath you as your vision began to grow spotty. Her shouting grew muffled as your ears began to ring—but it wasn’t just her voice anymore. Your eyes flew open in horror, all the while gasping for air, just in time to witness the first few trickles of a dark substance leaking from the corners of her mouth. Then her ears, her nose, her eyes—and with a distorted cry, it all rushed out of her at once, engulfing you both in a twisting mass that threatened to permeate your own body.

Why did you think you could fix things? Why did you think you could do this alone? Why did you think that there was even hope for them to be saved? Now, because of your own stupidity, you were going to die, and without your belief to keep them going, Izana and the rest of his followers would die, too—

“Tch, tell Rindou that his stupid talismans ain’t SHIT!”

The black smoke surrounding you burst like a bubble, scattering blobs of goo in every direction. Sweet, sweet air poured into your airways as you were abruptly released. One of your hands grasped your aching neck while you coughed and gasped, the other bracing yourself on the ground. In front of you stood Shion, cracking his neck and rolling his shoulders, a look of pure fury on his face. And, writhing several meters in front of Shion was the grotesque form of the village woman, now completely covered with a ghastly, laughing mess of demonic spirits.

“I’ll get back atcha for doin’ that, you bitch,” Shion grumbled, turning his head briefly to glare at you over his shoulder, but his words lacked any real sort of venom. With that he turned back around and stalked toward the demons, whose attention was now focused entirely on him. Then, he was onto them.

Shion did not fight like Ran, who moved with a conscious elegance and grace like he were putting on a performance. He did not fight like Rindou, whose form was stable and practiced to perfection. Instead he was like a wild animal, all vicious teeth and claws, ripping through each entity as if they were nothing but rice paper. You watched, wide-eyed and frozen in place, while Shion tore his way through the horde until only the villager remained—still tearfully wailing into the forest, tongue black and dripping liquid soot. He spared you one more glance with burning eyes, only for his brows to furrow and his rage to shift into something else: softer, more muted. Don’t look.

But you did look. Maybe it was the guilt gnawing away at your insides, or maybe you were too enraptured by the sight, or maybe your brain was still struggling to process everything in anything other than slow-motion. Whatever the reason, you watched as Shion plunged one hand down the woman’s gaping mouth, her jaw snapping further open as his entire arm vanished up to his shoulder. Several long, agonising seconds passed before he appeared to grip something—then pulled. With a horrific spray of dark liquid, both blood and enigma combined, Shion yanked her still-beating heart right out of her body. Around it curled a demon, clutching the dripping organ in the imitation of a warm embrace.

“My son,” it gurgled, before Shion crushed it into nothingness.

A heavy silence fell upon the woods. When he appeared by your side next, a bloody hand reached for your face—but quickly recoiling in realisation and awkwardly offering the sleeve of his yukata instead. The fabric brushed against your wet cheeks. You did not know you had been crying.

—✧—

“Can’t believe fuckin’ Shion out of all people saved the day,” Ran bemoaned. “All ‘cause we weren’t home for what, one fuckin’ hour? D’ya think Izana did it on purpose?!”

“That’s what you’re upset about?” Rindou shot him a glare.

“Shut up, Rin. You’re the one who’s mad he didn’t get to see our little [Name] use his talisman on the buffoon.”

“Look, I’m not mad. I just wish I could have seen it in person.”

“Maybe we could ask her to do it again?”

Both brothers glanced over at you, sandwiched between the two of them at your usual spot. But you gave no sign that you were even listening, eyes staring blankly ahead as you sipped a cup of tea. Ever since that incident, the men had been staying home more often than not; instead, Izana, sometimes accompanied by Kakucho, was the one who was absent in their stead. In fact, you had not seen the shrine god in quite some time—not after the evening he spoke with you in private.

“It’s been a while since we’ve last talked like this,” Izana murmured. He was laying on his side next to your futon, one hand propping his chin up and the other stroking your hair. “I take it you’ve been enjoying the company of my servants, however.”

You studied his face through sleepy, half-lidded eyes and slowly nodded. Izana smiled, as he always did, but this time it was tinged with the faintest melancholy. He pinched a lock of hair between two fingers, rubbing them together before letting them fall against your cheek. Purple eyes traced every little movement.

“Soon,” he said, voice gentle like a sweet lullaby. “Soon, the sun will rise… but only after the storm has passed.”

“I don’t understand,” you whispered. “What are you doing…? What are you trying to do?”

“When the time is right, I will tell you, little one. Just know that I am doing it all for you. And for us.”

Izana really was beautiful, you thought to yourself; the moonlight shining through the window illuminated his white hair and lashes with an ethereal glow. In moments like these, he truly embodied the image of a deity. Yet…

“I thought that gods and spirits were different from us,” you admitted quietly. “But now, I think… I think that you’re all just another kind of human.”

“In any other situation, I would be offended,” he said with a small laugh, “but coming from you? I can be convinced to take it as a compliment.” As he spoke, his fingers drifted to your mouth, thumb swiping across your bottom lip. When he leaned in, your eyes fluttered shut.

You awoke to an empty room with the taste of plum sake on your lips.

#tokyo revengers x reader #tkrv x reader #tenjiku x reader #kurokawa izana x reader #kakucho x reader #haitani ran x reader #haitani rindou x reader #madarame shion x reader #IF WAKUI WON'T GIVE MY BBYGWORL SHION THE CHANCE TO SHINE THEN I WILL!!! #don't worry it gets worse from here #im almost done w chapter 5 but i've already written chapter 6 #chapter 5 is the calm before the storm #but chapter 6 will be brutal