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A Struggling Artist (literally)

Summary:

Managi, an artist with a knack for collecting dead things, finds himself close to death, surrounded by his beloved yet horrid creations. He feels it's fitting but is bitter at the village's lack of understanding for his creative flow.

Notes:

Aah this is the first fic i'm actually posting! wow!! please let me know ways i can improve my writing <3 i am just a wee lad wanting to share my ideas lol. and i hope i wasn't too ooc with managi/gyokko! he's one of my favorite upper moons i wish he got more attention... :(

Work Text:

It was a miracle, really, how he’s managed to stay alive for the past two days. How the maggots haven’t eaten away at his bleeding and rotten flesh. How the scent of dead fish and broken pots haven’t made him throw up on himself. But Managi thought, well, perhaps he lost the energy for such things. All he can really do is lay there and wait.

Oh, but he just wondered how he looked. How the blood pooling around him, staining his clothes appeared. How pathetic and gross he felt. He bet if he could have an out of body experience and see how he looked laying there with a fishing prong through his chest, he’d just squeal at the beauty of it all. He’d immediately be grabbing his supplies, infact.

But no one would have understood. No one ever does. Managi had been told his whole life he was weird, a freak, for finding fascination in dead things. How collecting fish carcasses was odd and disturbing. Ever since his parents died, people had believed he lost his mind. And maybe he did.

Maybe he did.

“I bet your parents died because they were in too much of a hurry getting away from you!” The boy laughed. It stung his ears.

Managi could recall bashing the boy’s head in, hoping he’d shut up. Hoping it would shut everyone up. Hoping the world would just understand him. But that seemed like too much to ask. Maybe he didn’t need the world’s approval.

But the world was blind and cruel. He hated it. He hated humans. God, why couldn’t death hurry already?

As if it was called over, Managi, with what senses he had, could hear the sound of the door sliding open. Quiet footsteps approached him and knelt before him.

It was just an ordinary man. But he definitely was from out of town. He wore a fancy black kimono with a gold pattern on it. His hair was long and black and hung around his pale face.

But one thing made him stand out. The one thing that told Managi that this was no ordinary man were his eyes. Red and bright like rubies or blood. Piercing through him, as if it were judgement day. Managi felt himself shrink and shrivel at the man's presence.

But everything about this man was a work of art. He felt i inspired and in awe of it all. As if he were blessed to even be in his presence. He wanted to thank him. But it was short lived for Managi had remembered the condition he was currently in.

“I couldn’t help but stop in while I was passing by. The smell seemed to stand out.” The man started. His voice was deep and shook the silent room “You poor thing…” Managi felt a cold hand against his cheek, swiping at a tear he forgot were falling.

“Wh…” Managi tried to respond but only coughed up blood. The man infront of him cringed, pulling away and then looking around the room. “Your art… is quite interesting. Did you do all of this yourself?” He stood and walked around, looking at the pots that were displayed. Was he… complimenting him?

“I’ve never seen such art before. You have a brutal view of the world, hm?” He walked back to Managi but stayed standing, “You must hate it.”

Managi must’ve widened his eyes at the remark because all he saw was the man smirk at his reaction, getting back down on one knee. “But I bet… no one appreciates your art like I do. Have you been praised before?”

He didn't wait for Managi to answer, he set his hand on top of Managi’s head and hummed. “You shouldn’t die living a life where you were under-appreciated. I’ll help you.”

Finally, someone who knew Managi for what he was worth. Who understood his art and was willing to help him. If he could’ve, Managi would have smiled at the man and expressed gratitude. But the feeling of it all was cut short by a sharp and painful sensation in his scalp.

He mumbled something as he dug his nails into Managi’s head “I’m going to give you some of my blood. If you are able to handle it, you’ll be a demon.”

A demon…? What the hell?

But he couldn't think about the man’s words. All he could think about was the agonizing pain surging through him. Everything grew hot and he felt his own blood thicken in his veins. He felt like he was going to explode. But somehow, he stayed intact.

“Farewell, Gyokko."

And as soon as the man arrived, he was gone.