801rabu: (fic)
[personal profile] 801rabu

Pairing: Ohno/Nino
Rating: NC-17
Genre: Taisho Era AU, drama, angst, romance, smut.
Chapter: 4/4
Word Count: ~8200
Disclaimer: Don’t own them; apparently, old fart Jani does.
Summary: A gruesome storm is about to reach Minamata, ready to wipe all sins in its wake.

Notes: Mah. This got me forever to finish, again. Work takes all my time and energy during summer, and I'm a bit lazy too ˉ 3ˉ Also, I still LoVE this story, but it gets so indefinably long and tedious to write man...

So---- this fic has so been beating around the bush, yesnoyesno- I might like you but we cannot- can’t you see we cannot- blablabla. ENOuGh thankyou. The Ohmiya tug of war finally reaches a conclusion in this my first attempt on citrusy fest ʘ­_ʘ (not without some struggle in their way, once again). Hope you enjoy it guys! (Also, here’s an epic length story with no f word whatsoever. Proud of me, a hopeless badmouthed jerk. Wanted to give this historical AU an elegant vibe, muahahaha).

You’ll find a musical note in one of the chapter breaks instead of the usual asterisk. There’s a link to a storm atmosphere audio there, you can listen to it while reading this chapter, suits the story perfectly. There’s an app also available, and I would recommend using headphones cause the sound quality is not so good otherwise, at least in my laptop. Well, I’ll chutup nao, it looks as if I got paid to advertise this shite. If you're lucky enough, you could have a real summer storm outside your window while reading this.

Onto the stuff!!


Because you are here, I was born
Until the dawn breaks, stay close to me


Kazunari woke up at dawn, the sound of the pendulum clock spreading through the whole building. He’d never started a day in such anguished tremor. In shaking steps, he paced the stretch towards the kitchen in absolute dread.

He inspected the door to the basement with caution, not daring come too close. Noticed no fuss, no telling sound behind it. Satoshi had to be still asleep, the first rays of sunlight not able to reach him down there.

Somewhat chilled out, he opened the access slightly in order to leave some food inside, and after closing it again, he pulled a bunch heavy objects against the iron door in case Satoshi happened to transform during the day. He went outside and covered the small windows that led to the basement with wooden planks and bushes. Once he woke up, he would understand the sun wouldn’t affect him if he stayed there.

He dressed swiftly, got ready and left the house to purchase everything necessary to set up his plan. Once in the village, he boarded the first train to Kumamoto. There he would find all the equipment required to turn the basement into place where to keep the Mujina at bay.

He was back by afternoon loaded with several latches, blinds, handcuffs and thick ropes. The prospect of actually using them on Satoshi made him feel guilty, and Kazunari was certain that anyone who was to rummage inside his rucksack would surely take him for a derailed kidnapper, but nevertheless, he believed it to be the only available solution.

One last task was left before returning home. He would also need a big net to set a trap in the staircase that led to the cellar, and hoped to find one in the harbor of Minamata Bay. He grabbed the bicycle he had previously parked near the station and rode along the bay till he reached the decaying marine construction used as warehouse.

As soon as he set foot in the place a pair of rough fishermen glanced at him, their reception nothing but caustic, and one of them took his leave in a rushed and rather riled parade. Once again, Kazunari felt as if he were the Black Death itself. Even using the most polite of speech and a good amount of money, he was sold a mediocre net that had been mended a thousand times. He prayed for it to be sturdy enough to confine the powerful constitution of the Mujina.

Distant clouds roared as he rode back to town. A violent storm was finally on its way and Kazunari felt like drowning in a pressure cooker that was about to explode. He had spent all summer waiting for such a vehement blast to plummet upon the place.

As he reached the village, a gruesome sensation struck him. The streets, courtyards and porches… they were all empty, deserted, as if he had just entered a ghost town. A shudder corroded his veins. He tried to deny all evidence, forced himself find a justification to the sudden disappearance of all life. Any explanation but that one.

No, he repeated constantly. No, not Satoshi.

Continuing towards the crossroad that led to the manor, he was startled to discern a group of people in the distance.

No, he corrected. It was a horde.


They were obviously waiting for him. What for, he could only guess, but as he slowly pedaled onward, he understood those people were far from throwing him a welcome party. Not that he expected anything of the sort from them. The fisherman who had fled previously was among them. He had probably alerted the crowd he was back in town.

Dozens of people stood blocking his way, but even so, he tried to pass through, as if he were an imbecile who was oblivious to their intention. He was of course unsuccessful. Some men prevented his escape brusquely, knocking the bicycle down into the dirt road. Kazunari hurt his knee pretty badly, but had no time to inspect the damage before he was hauled from the ground and dragged towards town. The rest of villagers followed suit.

Scarce but thick drops of rain fell from the clashing clouds as he was led to one of the old houses built around the main well in town. Vainly fighting against the assault, he was eventually obliged inside and harshly jostled into the backside of the house. He braced himself for the worst. His corpse would never be discovered.

The robust men shoved him into a humid stance. It was the restroom of the family. There was a woman there, kneeling next to a wooden bathtub, and inside the water, the indescribable.

A girl lay in the tub, being washed in the arms of her caring mother. Yet, the scene was anything but soothing. The poor kid’s hands were crippled, weirdly bent and inflamed. All her body seemed clamped, painfully twisted. Her skin was severely flaked and unevenly discolored. Her head bent backwards, it forced her inexpressive mouth wide open in a slack gesture, showing few and rotten teeth. Her scant words were mostly a slurred mumble of incomprehensible sounds. Kazunari stared at her lost eyes, and paralyzed by a mixture of empathy and apprehension, he concluded. She was the personification of human horror.

Kazunari felt sick to his stomach, and still in shock, he was punched by one of the men. He collided against the shelves in the wall, several pots crashing into the floor.

“You must be proud of this, coming back here as if nothing had happened.” Kazunari was scared to death by then, too much to refute such false statement. “As if your family hadn’t destroyed our lives, our world, our children’s future!!” The man, presumably the girl’s father, spate the resentful rant in a tone way beyond irate, nearly histrionic, but no one would dare judge him. Least of all Kazunari.

Kazunari tried to look as if he were harmless, show his remorse openly, but they wouldn’t budge. Yanking at his hair, another man took him outside again, the crowd closing around him.

The rain was pouring hard over the village by then, the endless days of torrid heat turning the dusty streets into a sea of mud. The hostile hand threw Kazunari into the dirt, everyone ready to jump on the defenseless man. Kazunari’s hands sunk in the slick mud, making his movements slippery, his attempts on escaping futile.

Was that the end?

He crawled lamely, whimpering in terror. They got closer at every step he tried to take back. He managed to stand up clumsily and scrambled madly, running for his life.

He left his satchel behind.
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November 2016


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