Tread Sofly
Title: Tread Softly
Rating: PG (...in this journal? WUT?)
Warnings: Ah...Character death?
Summary: Three mothers, and Kurama had seen the death of the two of them. Left in the lurch, he turns to his third mother for guidance.
Notes: Don’t expect much, this is just a short stupid little thing to get this idea out of my head before it attacks me with sharp pointy teeth. Return of Mother, yes, I know. He is becoming persistent once again.
-
Tread Softly
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
-
Shiori’s death sparked a long time of reflection for Kurama. He had quite a few thousand years to reflect upon. He’d taken the week off work on his step-father’s insistence. The old man was grieving, just as Kurama was, however Kurama felt...almost disappointed that he’d had a shorter lifespan. In essence, that would have made the time that he had spent with his mother stretch out many, many years with nothing even touching on centuries upon centuries of time with which he had to compare the amount of time he had spent with her than he had been without her.
Shiori had grown old gracefully, and her family had been with her upon her death. Still, even though he held her hand long enough to feel the warmth leave her delicate wrinkled fingers, he felt as if he were intruding. He didn’t truly belong here, and it had taken him many years to feel the regret of taking her true son's life and replacing it with his own. But he felt it now, more than ever.
He was not within the habit of letting human compassion touch him so much, but her death seemed to warrant it. He was not himself.
So, as he stared at his own reflection in the window above his large apartment’s sink, and studied his own reflection, he let his grief wash over him, knowing that he would soon have to will it to pass. He was used to death, and he would be ever grateful for her treating him as if he truly were her son.
He was older now. His time spent in the human would, with his affiliation to the demon world left behind him, had changed him. He was no longer the youth who seemed fragile in frame until he proved himself otherwise. Broad shouldered and certifiably handsome instead of...bishiounen as he had been defined years ago, he held a regal, imposing grace while still appearing harmless and charming.
He’d kept his hair long, oddly. Still he kept his seeds and guarded his territory in the human world from the lower level vermin who thought they knew him well enough to provoke him with mentioning of his human mother. Mostly it brought them an assuredly hasty death in slow, painful ways. Perhaps, because he could no longer filter his Youko urges to fight through the missions he was once forced to endure, he now guarded his territory with considerable malice that was more suited to Kurama than it was to his human façade.
As such when he saw the red-haired being seemingly materialise beside him in the reflection, he did not react in any great way. The green silk of a kimono and long flowing hair scrapped along his hardwood floors as the being advanced on him and finally placed long fingers on his shoulders. A cheek pressed into the crease between his shoulder blades, the audible sigh tickled his flesh and raised the hair on the back of his neck.
“I too lost a mother once...”
Kurama, with his arms crossed over his chest, only looked down at his sock covered feet and turned the words over in his mind. Who had been Earth’s mother, if not the universe itself?
“I have lost brothers and sisters too. Mars, Venus, Pluto, Saturn, Uranus, Jupiter...as by the names you know them.”
The fingers on his shoulders shifted, the long black nails dancing on his neck in ways that made Kurama stiffen and grit his teeth. He closed his eyes.
“Sol still lives. I have not visited, though he smiles upon me continuously. Reaches out to touch me. I am beside myself. Do I greet his ever expanding caress?”
Mother sighed heavily, pressing lips against his neck where his skin was bared by the white collar of his shirt. His hair, tied up to prevent him from annoying himself further, proved no resistant to the black stained lips.
“Luna refuses to speak to me, she is as cold and dead as she will ever be. She only watches and treats those who greet and visit her with silence and powerful jaws.”
The touch sent shivers down his spine, and his instincts were barely remaining beneath his control. They wanted it away, they wanted something torn to shreds, they wanted no more of this filthy human grief. She was dead, yes, she had served her purpose.
But in the human world, Kurama no longer needed such voices and urges. They were from a long ago past life in which he wanted no further participation in.
“My point is, Kurama. You can never be too powerful to grieve because of the loss of one whom you cared about. Human, demon or otherwise. You are what you are.”
“She was different-” he began tersely, only to be cut off.
“No. She wasn’t.”
Kurama pulled himself from the feminine grip and turned to face him. His mirror image in all but gender and race. Dressed in the formal court kimono and watching his with ancient eyes. He wanted to hurt him, cut away that blatant understanding.
Because he was angry and confused. He’d lost two mothers now. One through petty revenge and another through life’s cycle.
His third only offered him understanding and a chance to release his rage and want and sadness and-
He missed the past.
Things were simpler.
“If you want to fight, fight me. If you want to fuck, fuck me. If you want to cry, I’ll lend you my shoulder. You are my child, I chose to rebirth you in my image and I will see to it that you retain integrity through whatever path you choose. You have no mortal ties to this world, you cannot remain so young looking forever, people will grow suspicious. Your return to Makai is inevitable.”
Mother twitched a long black nail at him.
Bitterly, he said, “Shiori was the kindest mother of you all.”
But he only smiled with black lips that dripped symbols down onto his chin that swirled in odd repetitive patterns. “Vent that rage over here...”
Mother turned on his heel and walked in the direction of his bedroom pointedly. After a moment Kurama followed.
Rating: PG (...in this journal? WUT?)
Warnings: Ah...Character death?
Summary: Three mothers, and Kurama had seen the death of the two of them. Left in the lurch, he turns to his third mother for guidance.
Notes: Don’t expect much, this is just a short stupid little thing to get this idea out of my head before it attacks me with sharp pointy teeth. Return of Mother, yes, I know. He is becoming persistent once again.
-
Tread Softly
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
-
Shiori’s death sparked a long time of reflection for Kurama. He had quite a few thousand years to reflect upon. He’d taken the week off work on his step-father’s insistence. The old man was grieving, just as Kurama was, however Kurama felt...almost disappointed that he’d had a shorter lifespan. In essence, that would have made the time that he had spent with his mother stretch out many, many years with nothing even touching on centuries upon centuries of time with which he had to compare the amount of time he had spent with her than he had been without her.
Shiori had grown old gracefully, and her family had been with her upon her death. Still, even though he held her hand long enough to feel the warmth leave her delicate wrinkled fingers, he felt as if he were intruding. He didn’t truly belong here, and it had taken him many years to feel the regret of taking her true son's life and replacing it with his own. But he felt it now, more than ever.
He was not within the habit of letting human compassion touch him so much, but her death seemed to warrant it. He was not himself.
So, as he stared at his own reflection in the window above his large apartment’s sink, and studied his own reflection, he let his grief wash over him, knowing that he would soon have to will it to pass. He was used to death, and he would be ever grateful for her treating him as if he truly were her son.
He was older now. His time spent in the human would, with his affiliation to the demon world left behind him, had changed him. He was no longer the youth who seemed fragile in frame until he proved himself otherwise. Broad shouldered and certifiably handsome instead of...bishiounen as he had been defined years ago, he held a regal, imposing grace while still appearing harmless and charming.
He’d kept his hair long, oddly. Still he kept his seeds and guarded his territory in the human world from the lower level vermin who thought they knew him well enough to provoke him with mentioning of his human mother. Mostly it brought them an assuredly hasty death in slow, painful ways. Perhaps, because he could no longer filter his Youko urges to fight through the missions he was once forced to endure, he now guarded his territory with considerable malice that was more suited to Kurama than it was to his human façade.
As such when he saw the red-haired being seemingly materialise beside him in the reflection, he did not react in any great way. The green silk of a kimono and long flowing hair scrapped along his hardwood floors as the being advanced on him and finally placed long fingers on his shoulders. A cheek pressed into the crease between his shoulder blades, the audible sigh tickled his flesh and raised the hair on the back of his neck.
“I too lost a mother once...”
Kurama, with his arms crossed over his chest, only looked down at his sock covered feet and turned the words over in his mind. Who had been Earth’s mother, if not the universe itself?
“I have lost brothers and sisters too. Mars, Venus, Pluto, Saturn, Uranus, Jupiter...as by the names you know them.”
The fingers on his shoulders shifted, the long black nails dancing on his neck in ways that made Kurama stiffen and grit his teeth. He closed his eyes.
“Sol still lives. I have not visited, though he smiles upon me continuously. Reaches out to touch me. I am beside myself. Do I greet his ever expanding caress?”
Mother sighed heavily, pressing lips against his neck where his skin was bared by the white collar of his shirt. His hair, tied up to prevent him from annoying himself further, proved no resistant to the black stained lips.
“Luna refuses to speak to me, she is as cold and dead as she will ever be. She only watches and treats those who greet and visit her with silence and powerful jaws.”
The touch sent shivers down his spine, and his instincts were barely remaining beneath his control. They wanted it away, they wanted something torn to shreds, they wanted no more of this filthy human grief. She was dead, yes, she had served her purpose.
But in the human world, Kurama no longer needed such voices and urges. They were from a long ago past life in which he wanted no further participation in.
“My point is, Kurama. You can never be too powerful to grieve because of the loss of one whom you cared about. Human, demon or otherwise. You are what you are.”
“She was different-” he began tersely, only to be cut off.
“No. She wasn’t.”
Kurama pulled himself from the feminine grip and turned to face him. His mirror image in all but gender and race. Dressed in the formal court kimono and watching his with ancient eyes. He wanted to hurt him, cut away that blatant understanding.
Because he was angry and confused. He’d lost two mothers now. One through petty revenge and another through life’s cycle.
His third only offered him understanding and a chance to release his rage and want and sadness and-
He missed the past.
Things were simpler.
“If you want to fight, fight me. If you want to fuck, fuck me. If you want to cry, I’ll lend you my shoulder. You are my child, I chose to rebirth you in my image and I will see to it that you retain integrity through whatever path you choose. You have no mortal ties to this world, you cannot remain so young looking forever, people will grow suspicious. Your return to Makai is inevitable.”
Mother twitched a long black nail at him.
Bitterly, he said, “Shiori was the kindest mother of you all.”
But he only smiled with black lips that dripped symbols down onto his chin that swirled in odd repetitive patterns. “Vent that rage over here...”
Mother turned on his heel and walked in the direction of his bedroom pointedly. After a moment Kurama followed.